I came back from my weekend holiday to a filthy house. Some six of my friends had borrowed my flat for the weekend but none had the decency to leave it clean. My train came in just before five in the morning and I had looked forward to a two-hour rejuvenating nap before I left for work. The moment I entered my house I was overpowered by a strong smell. The whole flat stank of left-over stale food. The sink was full of dirty utensils. The fridge was empty, not even the usual bread, butter and cheese in it. The fridge carton that I had used to keep stuff on was broken. In other words, everything was a mess. I put my bags down and spent the next hour cleaning the house. Put out the trash. Switched on the exhaust fan. Threw the empty beer bottles and cigarette stubs. Cleaned the kitchen. Lamented over the broken box and consoled myself that it was just a carton. But I am still furious. They’re my friends and right now I could kill them.