A Farewell to Norway. Or; What is the plural of Moose?

Well, my roommate (and I use the term quite wrongly) has left... After what has seemed like the longest five-n-a-bit weeks of my life (thank you British "last minute" Airways), I finally have an apartment in Buenos Aires all to myself.

No longer do I have to hear him chomping and slurping on a Kiwi fruit as though it were the green, shrivelled, hairy nutsack of God himself.
No longer do I have to put up with him wandering around the place in nothing but his boxer shorts.
No longer do I have to listen to his opinionated, one sided babble about how Bosa Nova is the purest "art form" there is (I'm sorry, but it isn't).
No longer do I have to express reasons for my opinions (I don't like Flamenco because I DON'T LIKE FLAMENCO!!!)

I'm going to spend the next few days removing the stench of stale smoke from the flat, moving furniture to where I want it to go, and getting rid of all traces of the sixteen tonnes of facial cleansing products that he has left.

After that, I'm going to start enjoying my time in this country....
To quote the immortal words of WB Yeats: "Fuck Norway."

A.