Not me, but my landlord
Landlords of student houses! Cheap bastards, aren't they?

In my second year of uni, I lived in a beautiful Victorian house. Alas, the landlord had decided to budget approximately a hundred pounds into making it habitable. Rather than put in radiators, he put in night storage heaters, which, in a large, high-ceilinged Victorian house provide approximately as much warmth as leaving the light on.

The oven was a good forty years old. It took about an hour to cook skinny oven chips--I say "cook", but what I mean is "melt": they were usually still stone cold in the middle.

The beds, I must admit were very comfortable the first few times used. They were actually new. Sadly for us, they were also the cheapest ones Argos had to offer and within a week most of the slats had come out and had to be taped back together, or one must endure sleeping in a V-shaped bed.

The sofas, too, were new. I suspect that Poundland has branched out into furniture, as these were the saddest sofas I have ever seen. Allegedly they were two-seaters. That would be fine if Victoria Beckham and Nicole Ritchie had come round for tea. Two normal-sized people could not sit on them. Within two weeks, they sagged more than Ann Widdecombe's tits. I think the cushions may have been made out of bricks, too.

I lived in that house for a year, without a mirror, a desk or even any shelves.

Landlords! Please spend more money on your furniture.
( Queen of Cheesecake, Fri 4 Jan 2008, 13:59, 6 replies)

I'ma student landlord
And i swear to god I'm a nice one. Never had one complaint and my houses are lovely. They're not furnished though so i have posh students, or at least, ones with their own chair.
( I have run out of coke is a little sweaty, Fri 4 Jan 2008, 14:03, closed)

"Within two weeks, they sagged more than Ann Widdecombe's tits"
Done a LOL

*click*
( Scaryduck LIKES EGG, Fri 4 Jan 2008, 14:09, closed)

Landlording scum!
The house I lived in for my second year of uni was terrible too, the landlord had obviously spared no expense buying himself nice things, to the point where my desk was a wooden door, fixed to the wall at one end with a couple of "L" brackets, and held up the other end with a pair of stair banister spindles.

I decided against putting my computer on it, after it wobbled from the weight of a couple of books.
( Cawl, Fri 4 Jan 2008, 14:16, closed)

Lanlordly woes
I lived in a shared house in Mile End that was owned by this apparently respectable architect bloke. It wasn't too bad in general, aside from the bathroom and indeed the plumbing in general.

For a start, the boiler was a tiny one, designed (so we were told by the guy who came to fix it once) for a bedsit, not a four-bedroom town house. I'm really not exaggerating when I say that you had to run around in the shower to get wet -- it was like a slightly leaky tap. There was no bath.

If something ever went wrong, the landlord would either fix it himself (he fancied himself a handyman) or send around the dodgiest cowboy he could find -- the one who told us about the boiler also pointed out that its thermostat had been bypassed (with a bit of wire) because it was knackered, kept going off and the tight fucker wouldn't pay to replace it.

It all came to a head when the landlord decided the time had come to sell the place. But he couldn't sell it in the condition it was in -- in particular, the bathroom needed stripping out (it had been converted into a sauna -- no, really -- but was unusable as such) and replacing. So he decided to do it all himself.

So he stripped out all the wood panelling, leaving great gaping holes in the walls through which you could see daylight. To get in behind the radiators, he just took them off -- without switching off the water, thus flooding the kitchen and breaking the boiler once and for all (in the middle of winter). He then refused to pay to have it fixed.

He fucked up the plumbing on the new bath so badly that the water wouldn't even come out, but the shower was now completely broken so we ended up bathing by boiling water in pans on the stove and carrying it upstairs to the bath. The memory of kneeling in two inches of lukewarm water while ice-cold air blew in through the cracks in the walls still makes me shiver to this day.

We all moved out, but the bastard refused to repay our deposits because of some made-up damage he accused of doing (something like, breaking the frame of one of his pictures -- both untrue and also, not nearly enough damage to warrant such a penalty).

I can't think of a single person in the world that I genuinely hate, besides this guy. If I were ever to bump into him in the street, I'd kick him in the cobblers until he bled from the mouth.
( reallywittyname veraciously conspues lexiphanicism on, Fri 4 Jan 2008, 14:34, closed)

@reallywittyname
If you posted that as a new post, rather than a reply, I would've clicked I like this.

As it is, please simply accept a wibble.
(Captain Skippy pooed in a bag and left it on your doorstep, Sun 6 Jan 2008, 17:14, closed)

I know the feeling
When I moved into my second year house, my bed was a bit saggy, but I figured that it was just a bit of a dodgy old mattress and didn't think anything of it
That is, until the bed collapsed. At 3am. While I was asleep in it
Scariest. Thing. Ever
(The Who Bird is eating Jaffa Cakes on, Mon 7 Jan 2008, 19:48, closed)