Karen, bitch flatmate from hell!Her name was Karen, she lived for a hellish year in our flat in Edinburgh. She had a grating Weedgie accent, we should have guessed.
She had a boyfriend called Frank, who was a bit older, and married. Thinking back, we maybe got off on the wrong foot as when they both came round the first time and another flatmate, Nancie, made some comment about her father having come to view the flat with her. AT Frank moved in with her when he was eventually chucked out the house by his wife, we only knew this becasue of the almost daily letters adressed to Frank from the CSA.
Frank was a star, the first night they stayed he, drunk he claims though I'm not convinced, turned up naked in another (female) flatmate's bedroom.
Karen and Frank were drinkers, big drinkers. We quickly discoverd that it wasn't safe to leave booze in the kitchen. At first, she would apologize for the stolen booze with some excuse and replace it, but when the replacements started going astray as well, and when Nancie discovered a bottle of her gin was more than half water, we realised it was a lost cause.
They'd go out on benders and roll home in such a state that she rarely seemed able to operate the lock on the fromt door. Sadly, the doorbell was still within her grasp. Sometime near the end of her stay, after listening to her ringing and banging on the door for at least half an hour, I finally gave in and opened the door for her. 'About f*cking time' she sluured in her Weedgie drawl, 'what kept ye?', and staggerd past me into the flat.
Karen and Frank were fighters too, they argued like no couple I've ever met. Drink fueled arges at three in the morning were common. As the atmosphere in the flat plummete they tended to eat take-away food in her room and the fights regularly seemed to involve trowing the food, unless it was some kinky game. She came out mid fight to take a phone call with fried rice in her hair like glitter. The pinnacle though, was when the police arrived in the smal hours to tell us, with a bareley straight face, that a complaint of domestic abuse has been received. The reason for the officers smirks were made clear when Karen came out to claim that she had been assaulted with a kebab. On the plus side, Frank was chucked out and we disn't see him for a week or two.
Then there was the used tampon in the kitchen sink, we never did get an explanation of that one!
When she finally left we discovered the state of her room. All those food fights had taken their toll. The place was a toilet, it stank, there were bits of dried noodle stuck to the walls and roof. We also discoverd she's stiffed us on the concil tax.
I was kind of glad to see her go. She left no forwarding address, dissapeared into the night given the amount of cash wshe owed us, but we tracked her down. Last time I saw her I was on her doorstep, handing her the demands from the council and CSA and promising to pass on her new address to all and sundry, including the landlord who was keen to speak to her about a cleaning bill. The look on her face was a picture and made up slightly for the hell she'd put us through.
(,
Tue 18 Nov 2003, 8:22,
archived)
She had a boyfriend called Frank, who was a bit older, and married. Thinking back, we maybe got off on the wrong foot as when they both came round the first time and another flatmate, Nancie, made some comment about her father having come to view the flat with her. AT Frank moved in with her when he was eventually chucked out the house by his wife, we only knew this becasue of the almost daily letters adressed to Frank from the CSA.
Frank was a star, the first night they stayed he, drunk he claims though I'm not convinced, turned up naked in another (female) flatmate's bedroom.
Karen and Frank were drinkers, big drinkers. We quickly discoverd that it wasn't safe to leave booze in the kitchen. At first, she would apologize for the stolen booze with some excuse and replace it, but when the replacements started going astray as well, and when Nancie discovered a bottle of her gin was more than half water, we realised it was a lost cause.
They'd go out on benders and roll home in such a state that she rarely seemed able to operate the lock on the fromt door. Sadly, the doorbell was still within her grasp. Sometime near the end of her stay, after listening to her ringing and banging on the door for at least half an hour, I finally gave in and opened the door for her. 'About f*cking time' she sluured in her Weedgie drawl, 'what kept ye?', and staggerd past me into the flat.
Karen and Frank were fighters too, they argued like no couple I've ever met. Drink fueled arges at three in the morning were common. As the atmosphere in the flat plummete they tended to eat take-away food in her room and the fights regularly seemed to involve trowing the food, unless it was some kinky game. She came out mid fight to take a phone call with fried rice in her hair like glitter. The pinnacle though, was when the police arrived in the smal hours to tell us, with a bareley straight face, that a complaint of domestic abuse has been received. The reason for the officers smirks were made clear when Karen came out to claim that she had been assaulted with a kebab. On the plus side, Frank was chucked out and we disn't see him for a week or two.
Then there was the used tampon in the kitchen sink, we never did get an explanation of that one!
When she finally left we discovered the state of her room. All those food fights had taken their toll. The place was a toilet, it stank, there were bits of dried noodle stuck to the walls and roof. We also discoverd she's stiffed us on the concil tax.
I was kind of glad to see her go. She left no forwarding address, dissapeared into the night given the amount of cash wshe owed us, but we tracked her down. Last time I saw her I was on her doorstep, handing her the demands from the council and CSA and promising to pass on her new address to all and sundry, including the landlord who was keen to speak to her about a cleaning bill. The look on her face was a picture and made up slightly for the hell she'd put us through.
mmm drink and drugs..I lived in canada for 3 months a few years back, and my flatmate there suffered from manic depression. He would get slaughtered most nights out and try and pick a fight with someone.. but one particularly colourful night he brought home some girl he'd pulled in a nightclub and proceeded to have rough and noisy sex with her in the living room. ... it then turns out she was a heroin addict and she really flips, next thing i hear from the relative safety of my bedroom is her smashing up the place, and we're not talking half-heartedly here, proper holes in the living room walls. Then I hear him saying to her "you shouldn't eat those.. you're really pretty and that will spoil your looks", apparently she was eating my dipsposable razors, blades and all! I got out of bed to ask them both to get the watermelon out and she looks me in the eye and starts gobbing all over the floor! Eventually I got her out of the house by suggesting we all go for a coffee somewhere, as soon as we were out of the house she lies down in the middle of the road saying "seeing as you are both my new best mates.. you'd save me from being run over wouldn't you?"..... I went home again at that point :)
(,
Tue 18 Nov 2003, 8:56,
archived)