Domestic bliss'Bo'.
Never liked the guy. Ever. Always asked far too many annoying, invasive questions about everything for no reason. I'm more the quiet 'I don't like you, so I'm not going to call you a cranberry but I'll happily ignore you' type and he wouldn't let me.
We were already jokingly questioning his sanity when he decided to drop out of 2nd year Physics at uni and, while we were all in our 3rd year, do some more A-Levels at a local community college. He gradually became more and more odd, and began leaving plastic carrier bags full of water all over the house. All accusations of his various misdemeanours were met with complete denial and a 'I'm-so-innocent-please-punch-me-very-hard' face. Then he started staying up all night doing various mentalcase things, like ringing directory enquiries 40 times for no apparent reason and trying to get us all to lie to the police and say his phone had been stolen because he thought he wasn't insured for its newly-broken screen. Finally while I was working on a piece of coursework (due in that day, natch) he smashed up a load of plates in the kitchen and went out, so I bolted the fucker out. He showed me the error of my ways by punching through the glass of the door and trying to open the yale lock thingy (a sensible course of action if you've just worked out the door is bolted, obviously). He cut his arm to shreds and got taken away in an ambulance. At the hospital he allegedly threatening staff, which ended in him being put in a mental ward. He spent his time there almost being killed by large, muscular nutcases he thought it would be funny to wind up. A week later his father (with very strong traditional indian values, you should have seen his mother cowering as his father explained that the doctors didn't know what they were talking about and threatening legal action). Anyway, his rich father's lawyers saw him out of hospital and back into our house (Doctors: go home and rest for a week Him: back after the fucking weekend). The medication he'd been prescribed for whatever was going on in his brain was promptly ignored, because his father knew a better one (boiling up various disgusting smelling things and drinking the resulting liquid). Then after an argument about how breakable double glazing was he took it upon himself to break one of the recently redone double glazed back windows when everyone had gone to bed. His bedroom was a work of art, with various demented scrawlings on the wall, including a very confused swastika that didn't know if it was coming or going. He paid to fix the front door. He denied all knowledge of the back window despite him borrowing a hammer and screwdriver about the same size as the hole mere minutes before it happened, so we all ended up paying for that.
Then there was Henry, who despite being vaguely posh and having been to Repton, spent all of his time stealing things and skateboarding, and none of it ever cleaning his stinking pit of a room. Always in crippling debt, never paid for the Sky nor ADSL to this day.
The other two in the house with me were great. Henry was fine as long as we weren't thinking about money or general cleanliness. I'm not the cleanest tidiest person in the world to this day, but I couldn't even approach Henry's standards of ming.
Then again, reading the other posts in this thread, it looks like I got away luckily, I'd have probably gone mad myself if some of the piss and shit things had happened in our house.
(,
Tue 18 Nov 2003, 16:00,
archived)
Never liked the guy. Ever. Always asked far too many annoying, invasive questions about everything for no reason. I'm more the quiet 'I don't like you, so I'm not going to call you a cranberry but I'll happily ignore you' type and he wouldn't let me.
We were already jokingly questioning his sanity when he decided to drop out of 2nd year Physics at uni and, while we were all in our 3rd year, do some more A-Levels at a local community college. He gradually became more and more odd, and began leaving plastic carrier bags full of water all over the house. All accusations of his various misdemeanours were met with complete denial and a 'I'm-so-innocent-please-punch-me-very-hard' face. Then he started staying up all night doing various mentalcase things, like ringing directory enquiries 40 times for no apparent reason and trying to get us all to lie to the police and say his phone had been stolen because he thought he wasn't insured for its newly-broken screen. Finally while I was working on a piece of coursework (due in that day, natch) he smashed up a load of plates in the kitchen and went out, so I bolted the fucker out. He showed me the error of my ways by punching through the glass of the door and trying to open the yale lock thingy (a sensible course of action if you've just worked out the door is bolted, obviously). He cut his arm to shreds and got taken away in an ambulance. At the hospital he allegedly threatening staff, which ended in him being put in a mental ward. He spent his time there almost being killed by large, muscular nutcases he thought it would be funny to wind up. A week later his father (with very strong traditional indian values, you should have seen his mother cowering as his father explained that the doctors didn't know what they were talking about and threatening legal action). Anyway, his rich father's lawyers saw him out of hospital and back into our house (Doctors: go home and rest for a week Him: back after the fucking weekend). The medication he'd been prescribed for whatever was going on in his brain was promptly ignored, because his father knew a better one (boiling up various disgusting smelling things and drinking the resulting liquid). Then after an argument about how breakable double glazing was he took it upon himself to break one of the recently redone double glazed back windows when everyone had gone to bed. His bedroom was a work of art, with various demented scrawlings on the wall, including a very confused swastika that didn't know if it was coming or going. He paid to fix the front door. He denied all knowledge of the back window despite him borrowing a hammer and screwdriver about the same size as the hole mere minutes before it happened, so we all ended up paying for that.
Then there was Henry, who despite being vaguely posh and having been to Repton, spent all of his time stealing things and skateboarding, and none of it ever cleaning his stinking pit of a room. Always in crippling debt, never paid for the Sky nor ADSL to this day.
The other two in the house with me were great. Henry was fine as long as we weren't thinking about money or general cleanliness. I'm not the cleanest tidiest person in the world to this day, but I couldn't even approach Henry's standards of ming.
Then again, reading the other posts in this thread, it looks like I got away luckily, I'd have probably gone mad myself if some of the piss and shit things had happened in our house.