It was 1am. The House was silent, but for a few dulls snores. Wearing the kind of hangdog expression normally sported by prisoners on the chain gang after they've finished a rock-breaking shift, Liam and Brian dragged their weary butts to Diary Room. They cut a sad silhouette. The housemates had voted to quit the task. Sleep had come. A basic food budget was just around the corner.
"I would like to say how disappointed I am in tonight's performance... or lack of it," groaned Liam, his voice monotone, his eyelids heavy. "People have once again been quite weak and selfish."
Brian nodded. "It's the first time in this House that he's been bothered by something," he said, as Liam studied the floor.
"I've been very irritable today having no sleep, so maybe I've spat me dummy, but we've let ourselves down as a team. I've heard my voice getting on my own nerves. But I felt we could do this."
It was harsh. But the reality of what was to come was much harsher.
"And now we've got a measly shopping budget, and people will be crying over bananas," he moaned.
"They've gone and hid food in the bedroom, they've emptied the fridge!" laughed Brian, finding humour in the sheer bleak face of adversity. "It seems pathetic. All we have to do is stay up until five and then get up at seven. And not go to bed until 12. Which we do anyway."
"I can't believe some people," continued Liam, exasperated. "Tracey was almost going to punch someone about getting this task finished. And there she is with her little white blanket going 'I'm so tired'. I'm the raver! How many ravers do you know who want to go bed after a couple of hours?!"
Brian scoffed. "You're having a laugh!"