Our student house has a bathroom.

The problem is, there is only one of them. This wouldn't be a problem if I lived alone, but I live with two other people. This, if my mathematical skills aren't playing up again, gives us one third of a bathroom each.

Yet, and call me selfish here if you like, I am not the caring-sharing person who is only prepared to use one third of a bathroom. When I go for a bath, I like to use the whole. I like to have all three thirds at my eager disposal, as it were.

So, it's one bathroom and three students. He who dares wins.

When I wake up late enough for missing the seminar (again…) to be a sufficiently probable possibility, with cigarette and drink odours clinging to me after another night on the town, I jump out of bed, and, grabbing a towel, enter the race for the bathroom.

The competition is fierce for the bathroom this morning. Although only on opponent has entered the race, he has a distinctive half-second lead as the race turns the first corner and heads down the stairs. He tries to throw me off course with a copy of the yellow pages as we turn the second corner and enter the final straight.

A slight swerve averts phone book-induced disaster and we both put on a final spurt for the bathroom. My housemate passes over the finish line, and, slamming the door shut with a victorious cheer, leaves me to hurtle into the locked door in agonising defeat.

The race is over for another day.

Tomorrow, I shall be victorious. The bathroom shall be mine.

Sam Fugill

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