ey up, lads!
When I was elected to this position of housemum, they didn't tell me that it would involve WRITING. So pay attention, Yanks, you might 'av to learn a new language -- British English!
The 'whine & geezer' on Friday night of Homecoming weekend started slow, while everyone was admiring Steve Amador's new poker table. Looking at a few repairs that needed doing, I thought to myself I must mention this to someone, but I was out of luck -- everyone I saw wouldn't even remember his own name in the morning, never mind suggestions of a bit of duct tape and a staple gun! Mind you, we could have done with some duct tape when the CORNELL songs from yesteryear, with Ralph Olivier always the instigator, started up, and, for some reason, the lads jumped up and down whilst singing. Oh, my! This already sagging floor is going to need some jacking up before the end of the night!
On Saturday, I was observing the dates at dinner and wondering was it the dresses getting shorter of the legs of these young ladies getting longer? I made up my mind it was because the ozone layer and pollution in the air, that these girls had legs up to their necks! Didn't notice any complaints from the old farts -- oops, sorry, distinguished alumni!
George Hamilton was dressed in his best bird-pulling attire and his orange tan; by the end of the night he was decidedly green, after ordering barmaid's choice. Not my fault, as the only side of the bar I'd see was the side you hang your bag on! And when you've had too many sniffs of the barmaid's apron. That swivel chair barstool you looked fabulous on at the beginning of the night turns into a monocycle, and you're the clown trying to get off.
For some reason the booze disappeared and the old farts divvied up and went for more, maybe because they didn't want the party to end. Myself and my old fart tended the battleship cruiser (that's 'boozer', or bar, to you Yanks), seeing as we didn't want any more bottles growing legs, after the young girls before us got paid and buggered off!
By the end of the evening, the once well-postured girls had become rather loose and slightly unstable on those three-inch heels they just simply had to have to go with their dresses (which they threw on for the night, but almost missed). The young PiKAs didn't seem to notice, while the old PiKAs thought it might be a good time to see if any needed any mauling -- er, I mean, help to their taxis! I myself was chatted up by a couple of lovely young PiKAs who maybe thought I was cougar material. I think one of them even called me a babe...
Housemum's thought of the day for young PiKAs: If you're not in bed by
10pm and it's a school night, go home! 
