Last month, complete with Spongebob Squarepants in arms- TV characters have a longer shelf life in Spain- my friends and I ventured to our strangest soiree so far- a house party for someone who did not live in the house at hand.

ERASMUS connections are intrinsic to year abroad survival. They provide the much-needed attention that stops one watching Friends reruns whilst eating cheese by the mouthful. Furthermore, the people you meet provide connections that have the potential to come in handy later on in life. Take Señor Party Time, for example. Deciding to use his position at the Embassy to full advantage, the cheeky chappie decided that his current dwellings were not up to scratch for smooth house party success, so opted to persuade a mutual friend to host his leaving party at the palatial mansion that wasn’t his home.

Unfortunately, we had decided to turn up to the event, having met the person in question for a brief introduction the previous night. I then realised that I had left my non-Spanish speaking housemate at the toilets without loo roll, as well as three very obnoxious Americans, hitherto referred to as VOA’s.  My other flatmate was out of range, as she began to dance solo. “Hannah, open the door, I am worried for your safety!” I (think I) bellowed. As I brazenly knocked for a further two minutes screaming words of comfort and anxiety, the door swung open to reveal the unimpressed waiter, with his trousers down, happily enjoying his poo until I walked in.“Oh shit, sorry! Not literally!” I barked, as I found my flatmate waiting at the door. My flatmate continued to dance solo.

“So, hasn’t your friend left already?” said one of the actual house members. “Yeah, she went out, why?”. “Don’t you think it’s a little weird that you are still here, when she’s gone?”. “No. I think you’re being incredibly insulting actually. I happen to be very good friends with Señor Party Time (lies) and plenty of other people here (lies), such as my dear friend…”. “I also live here, you know.” “Well, I’ve been here a lot, and you’ve never been around. I’m not sure if you’re lying.” “Name one person you know here.” “I decided to exit the room to rescue my flatmate.” She continued to dance solo.

We realised that we were slowly being edged towards the door by the Very Obnoxious Person. As I realised that my flatmates had lost the ability to speak, I decided to shed my fruity ways to get them home in one piece. It still pains me to think that I did not get the last word. My dear friend then went on to vomit out of the taxi door whilst I ranked up a list of the many people I would like to give a vodka-induced telling off to. What can I say?

Jasmine Andersson’s Spanish soiree turned sour…