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This is a question House Guests

"Last week," Ungersven confesses, "I vomited over almost everything in a friend's spare room. The only thing to escape the deluge was the rather attractive (alas engaged) French girl who was sharing the bed with me." Tell us about nightmare guests or Fred West-a-like hosts.

(, Thu 6 Jan 2011, 14:20)
Pages: Popular, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1

This question is now closed.

The unholy trinity
Snowytherabbiits story down there reminded me of my favourite houseguest ever.

A group of us went out one Friday night for a few beers. My friend Kevin brought his work colleague / bit on the side with him to meet everyone. I shall call her Laura for that is her name. She seemed nice enough but really tiny and in need of a burger or something.
The night gets very messy and and we decide to head back to mine to carry on the night.

A few hours later and we were all pretty out of it and having a great night.
Laura decides she needs to use the bathroom so she gets up and promptly falls over backwards (no idea how she managed that) onto the glass coffee table sending cans of lager flying everywhere. She was wearing a teeny mini skirt so everyone was fully aware at that point she was wearing knickers

Anyway....a while later, Laura decides she’s had enough and needs to lie down so I let her sleep in my bed. Another friend of ours had already passed out in my room and I knew I wouldn’t need it for a while yet so I offer her my very comfy king size bed for the next few hours.

At 11am we decide to head to the pub. I go into my room to try and wake the sleeping beauties to get them to come to the pub with us.
My friend was where I’d left him on top of the duvet and Laura was tucked up under it. I could not believe the smell in there. I assumed my friend had done a lot of beer farts and I opened the window.

We head down the pub and after a while those two join us. I kept joking that the brown stain that had appeared on the back of Lauras leg was shit. But someone said it may have been where she fell on the table and hurt herself.
Laura was still wasted and after a half of lager she sat on a high bar stool and gave us a flash. She was no longer wearing knickers. We decided to send her home.

After a few hours I felt shocking and really wanted to head back to my lovely king size bed and sleeeeeeep.
I got home and threw back the covers only to discover a soggy skiddy shit on the side of the bed Laura had slept on. To make matters worse, she’d obviously pissed herself AND come on her period too.
She tried to blame it on my friend (who’d slept on the other side and on top of the duvet) when I called her. She didn’t seem bothered at all.

She paid for a new duvet and mattress but still blamed my friend.

I’d love to know where she’d thrown those skiddy knickers
(, Fri 7 Jan 2011, 10:56, 2 replies)
A recent story will be that of my friend Jimbo. After a fairly heavy drinking session at a club in Brighton on Halloween we all decided to have a kebab before we took a taxi home. Jimbo was known throughout his uni days as quite a big eater. This was odd as he is actually quite short and small.

So, at the kebab house, Jimbo orders the largest kebab. I have the same. He eats his in 3 minutes. I eat half and throw the rest in the bin. Jimbo disappears.
While we spend 20 minutes looking for our friend as our taxi deadline draws closer, Jimbo is at a Subway ordering TWO footlong subs (with cookies of course). After devouring both the subs and cookies he returns just in time to catch our taxi back to Adams house.

The next morning I call Adam to arrange a meet up for a coffee and to discuss the previous night’s antics. After mentioning Jimbo’s mammoth food intake Adam went quiet on the phone for a moment and then said he couldn’t talk about it. We made arrangements to meet and that was that.
While at Costa, a very dishevelled Jimbo began to explain how when he got back to Adams, as soon as he laid on the airbed inside his sleeping bag, all of the food he had eaten had decided to return in force! All over the airbed and inside the sleeping bag went jimbo’s chunder!

When I had called in the morning, Adams dad was cleaning up the sick and the mess and Jimbo!
(, Fri 7 Jan 2011, 10:36, Reply)
two quick stories
1 - my gf at uni lived in a very nicely decorated posh flat, with very nice posh rich girls. one evening i was staying over, drinkies were had, then me and the missus slipped off to take some acid. for some reason i couldnt stop eating and drinking, so i went off and got a battered haggis supper. i stuffed it down, and sank beer after beer and it didnt settle well at all. i ended up boaking in the kitchen, mostly into an open cupboard over dishes and into a cutlery drawer. haggis boak is all grainy and gets everywhere, and the acid made me think the room was covered in it. terrified that we could all be contaminated, i spent the rest of the night doing a deep and pervasive clean of the kitchen. mostly lying on the floor with a j cloth. i was not allowed back in that flat.

2 - the guy that rented my room after i moved out was trouble, but my pal olly the landlord was a very easy going guy. he didnt mind when the new guy fell behind in the rent in the third month, and he didnt mind when the new guy ran up hundreds of pounds on the phone calling gay chatlines. He didn't mind when the new guy stopped cleaning up after himself, and even didnt mind when the new guy started selling used washing machines from the front garden. but when he found the new guy lying on the floor beside his bottle of glenfiddich (empty) and two empty bottles of diet coke, he threw him out of the house. you dont take mixers with good malt.
(, Fri 7 Jan 2011, 10:26, 9 replies)
How long after your girlfriend splits up with you is it reasonable to expect her (and her two kids) to move out of your house?

Two months so far.
(She owns a house too, but that's got some paying tenants in it. Who moved in two months ago.)
(, Fri 7 Jan 2011, 9:50, 12 replies)
Schoolboy error
I had a flat mate at uni called Mark. He liked a drink, and when his brothers came up to stay for his Birthday, I found out that this was a family trait.
After a heavy night on the pop, and failure to pull, the three of them came back and crashed in three seperate rooms.
Next morning Mark got up, looking a little hung over and sheepish, as he carries his bed linen to the washing machine. "Schoolboy accident last night." he says. Transpires he's pissed the bed.
His elder brother is next down the stairs, also carrying a bundle of sheets. "Schoolboy accident, boys" he announces, turning round to see brother number three also trudge down the stairs carrying sheets.
It transpires that liking a drink isn't the only thing genetics has imprinted upon them. We also found out where they got it from, apparently on his 50th Birthday there dad shat himself in bed.
(, Fri 7 Jan 2011, 9:47, Reply)
I, mad Pete and small Mark had gone to visit our friend ginger Jonathon in Bristol, where he was at university. We went for a few drinks then came back to his (shared) house. As Jon was having trouble fitting his key in the lock, and while he struggled mad Pete was making friends with a cat who was winding round his ankles. Eventually Jon opened the door and we all fell in. The cat slinked in too.

We were hungry, and in the kitchen was a roast chicken which Jonathon's landlord had cooked. Of course Jonathon forbade us to eat it, so we only took some tiny slivers which the landlord would never notice, before going to sleep; Jonathon in his room, me and small Mark on the living room floor, and mad Pete sprawled out in the toilet, for some reason.

Next morning we were woken by the sound of shouting from the kitchen. Jonathon's landlord had discovered his chicken half eaten, and a drunken mad bloke sprawled on the toilet floor. We apologised for mad Pete and told him that his cat must have eaten the chicken. But he didn't have a cat. That's when we discovered the cat shit under the table in the kitchen, and fleas everywhere.

We trooped out, chastened, and scratching.
(, Fri 7 Jan 2011, 9:32, 1 reply)
...and that's why I don't eat kebabs any more
I did a four-year course at Uni while most of my friends did just three. We'd still get together once in a while, with those that'd left town kipping over at my place wherever they could find space.

On this occasion we'd been to an Irish pub, played much pool, drunk bad Guinness by the barrel and whiskey too, and on the way home stopped at the 'bab shop. I wasn't hungry so skipped it but Scott was in the mood for some sustenance. Christ, it looked horrible (even in my beered-up state) and smelled worse. But he ate it and we carried on home.

All the various sleeping spots around the house were taken up one by one, leaving Scott with the only remaining space -- under the desk in my room, next to the bookshelf. I gave him a sleeping roll and a blanket and crashed out.

In the morning, I awoke to a lethal hangover and the most god-awful stench I've ever witnessed. It was coming from under the desk...

During the night, Scott had changed his mind about the kebab and parted company with it. In his addled state -- in a vain effort to avoid spraying it all over the floor -- he'd reached over to the bookshelf, pulled out the first thing that came to hand and spewed in it. And then closed it, put it back on the shelf and gone back to sleep.

What he'd selected was my photo album -- you know the kind, the ones with the little flippy-over pockets for each photo. So not only was the floor of my bedroom now covered in regurgitated meat-style protein and garlic sauce (and I'm telling you, the smell never went away), I also spent the following day carefully sliding each individual photo out of its sleeve and wiping off the congealed puke in an effort to preserve four years' worth of irreplaceable mementos.
(, Fri 7 Jan 2011, 9:14, 1 reply)
I had a very frustrating visit
from my nephew Withnail and his friend.
(, Fri 7 Jan 2011, 6:21, 11 replies)
Crazy Al
Sitting watching TV one night enjoying a quiet beer, the doorbell rings, and there's Crazy Al, a schoolfriend from Adelaide who was great fun for a night out, but universally acknowledged as nobody you'd ever want to live with. And he'd somehow been given our address.
"I'm on my way to London," he says, "Got a stopover in Sydney and thought I'd pop over and say hi, lets go get a few beers in!"
The beers run late, so he asks if we'd mind him kipping on the couch "just for the night"... and so it begins.
The stopover, it seems, was as far as he'd booked the flights and as the days turned to weeks, Al would happily wander Sydney seeing the sights, getting plastered and coming home at all hours with an increasingly strange assortment of friends he'd made in his travels to eat all our food, drink anything in the house, crank the stereo up and have a great old time.
The final straw was the punk girl he'd met at a gig and brough home for loud sex in the living room, breaking furniture as they moshed nude.
With a dozen mutual friends and our parents friends with his we couldn't just throw him out, so...
The next day John (the flatmate) and I took action. We bought a bottle of tequila, sat Al down and started him drinking.
By about noon he was smashed and up for anything. "Lets go to the city!" I say so off we go. "Lets drink some more!" says John, so we do, "Let's go in the travel agency!" I say, so we do. "Lets buy a ticket to London!" we chorus. And he did.
By the time the bender was over, he was in huge credit card debt, we'd shaved his head into an anti-mohawk, he was packed and at the airport waving goodbye.
The phone call, when it came a few days later, went something like this:
"Fuck me, I have no idea how the hell I got to London, I just remember going out for a few drinks. It's freezing here and I'm almost broke, but I know a mate who lives in Islington who should let me kip on his couch for a night or two..."
God help them, he left more than a year later.
*Actually I've just been reminded I have a video cassette somewhere of John and I shaving Al's head while he sings. I'll see if I can a) find it and b) upload it somewhere).
(, Fri 7 Jan 2011, 5:49, 3 replies)
Staying over at a party
My friend unfortunately fell out with the hostess and I was drunk enough to go along with his cunning plan for revenge.

Finding her collection of cassettes (ask your granddad) we, er, licked the magnetic tape, as apparently this would render them unplayable. To this day, if I rub my tongue against my fillings, I can faintly hear "Kayleigh" by Marillion.
(, Fri 7 Jan 2011, 5:24, 1 reply)
Drunk friend, piss and poo.
My old friend, let's call him Keith (for that may very well be his real name), had a habit of getting drunk and then sleep pissing. Taking note of this, i very rarely let him stay over my house, although the one time I did, i found him in my hallway with a very confused look on his face as he was pissing into my work boots.

This was excused for the fact that another friend of mine, once let Keith stay over his house, and awoke to strange noises and found Keith taking a poo in his hallway.

Incidentally, Keith has also pissed on his sisters television and on one occasion woke his mum and dad up by pissing on his mum when they were in bed.

(Oh and he once shagged a girl who looked like Mortis)
(, Fri 7 Jan 2011, 4:36, 1 reply)
Golden Showers - should have gone right instead of left...
I've known my friend Sean for a good few years; he was one of the first people I met since moving to this country and although being a bit crazed (I'm sure he won't mind me saying this), he is a great bloke. His bird's also lovely and they get along really well and I have absolutely no problem with her.

So I drive up to come and chill with him for the evening. He lives about 40 miles from me so it's more common than not for me to kip on his couch - whenever I turn up, it's one of the first things he offers me which is always nice.

So the evening in particular, I call to say I'm on my way and he tells me he's round another person's house and to come over. I've met these other people once or twice before and all's cool. I asked him if he could get his hands on any greenery and he says it's almost certainly likely.

I turn up and there's a 12 pack in the fridge as well as the 12 pack in my hands, both of which get demolished by four of us in about half an hour, with me having probably more than my fair share (hey I'm English, I've got a whole nation's reputation to upkeep here). Then the bucket bongs (gravity bongs for your Americans) come out and it's been a few years since I've had one, so I agree, it's looking like it'll the only chance to smoke any of the small amount of greenery on offer and damn it it's been a hard week. Being the big man and trying not to cough - although anyone who's hit one of these will tell you, it's like trying to inhale a solid rock of smoke down a small pipe - I hit it, hard, and hold it in once before choking - just the once (without any smoke coming out, you know the one), but I can feel all the beer, and my dinner, coming up fast.

Unfortunately this isn't my tale of being a bad house guest as I excuse myself to the bathroom, 'lose me lunch', wash my face and walk back out unnoticed only to crack another beer and jump back on the horse, as it were.

So yeah everything's going swimmingly, more beer gets drunk, albeit at a more steady rate, then it's back to Sean's to watch some TV and generally pass out for the evening. Which is what I did...

"Mr_Lew, wake up!"
"Wake up, you've just pissed everywhere!"
"...huh? Nah man, what?"
"You've just pissed all over my bed!" Bollocks, I think, I'm just sleeping here on the sofa, he's winding me up, "you've just pissed all over my bed, now you've gone to sleep in my dog's bed!"

OK, this is where things start to click in my mind. I am feeling the relief of a person who's recently been to the bathroom after having a full bladder, but... But I was asleep... So this kind of wakes me up and I start to deny it in my foggyness, half opening my eyes, "look, there's piss all over the front of your shorts!" Hmmm, my leg is a bit wet...

So I open my eyes fully and realise that yes, I am indeed asleep next to his dog who looks a bit pissed off at me being there. There's also a big semi-circular (only because I was wearing shorts) wet patch on my knee, and then I hear the shower running and hear the immortal words: "YOU'VE PISSED ALL OVER MY GIRLFRIEND!"

Mortified was not the word.

Luckily for him he'd not been in bed and had been watching TV with me (although I'd long since passed out) and I'd got up, obvious to all I was going to the toilet. He said he looked at me and my eyes were closed though. I then left the room and apparently took a left turn into his bedroom instead of a right into the bathroom and mistaken his white cotton sheets for a big white porcelain bowl.

In my defense I didn't actually piss directly onto his girlfriend but did unleash a whole bladder onto his memory foam mattress which seeped (sept?) over to her side of the bed, before walking to the other side of the bed and going to sleep with his dog on the floor. The wetness apparently awoke his lovely sleeping Mrs who realised what had happened and told him about it. I'm surprised he didn't knock me out (in fact when I was blotting my piss out of his expensive memory foam mattress topper with kitchen roll I did contemplate offering my face to his fist).

Luckily they both kind of saw the funny side and yes I have been back and stayed the night since (even under invitation), the first thing his girlfriend said to the people already there who I'd never met? "meet the only guy who's ever given me a golden shower."
(, Fri 7 Jan 2011, 3:58, 2 replies)
Turning assumption on its head
I was a brilliant house guest to an ex girlfriend.. my "meeting the parents" scenario was when she brought them to one of my boxing bouts. unnannounced, nothing like pressure, thanks J! (Especially seeing theyd all moved up from a rather posh part of London and the Dad especially hated Geordies.. great!)
Anyway, with a lovely 14-12 victory behind me, I was invited over for dinner the next week. But not before midway through the week, I was pulled by J for a little chat:
"I know you only got a chance to say hello to my parents the other night, but please be good on saturday."
"The fuck dya mean? Im always good man!"
"Yeah but theyre both convinced youre some sort of scumbag, and are worried youre abit violent."
"Nah man itll be sweet, just watch."

Anyway, the time passes by, Saturday arrives.
I helped mother cook the dinner.
I fixed the fathers car (only needed a jump start.. haway big fella!)
I shagged their daughter upstairs, but they didnt find out.
The brother hated me.

But I turned out to be the most "polite, but abit quiet" boyfriend shed ever had..

Truth is, I hate knocking on peoples doors. Ill text them when im in the street. Thats not even a joke..
(, Fri 7 Jan 2011, 2:41, 5 replies)
Mate Of Mine
had some unexpected, uninvited, house-guests. A nest of wasps that had set up in his attic. Thousands of the fuckers. His eviction plan was quite clever though. He got togged up in his bikers leathers and sealed wrists, ankles, waist and helmet with gaffa tape and headed into the attic to do battle.

His cunning plan involved sucking the wasps out of their nest with a Dyson. Allegedly, it worked surprising well with mangled wasp carcasses been spun around at several thousand RPM leaving a creamy mess on the inside of the hoover of death.

It all went tits-up though when he misplaced his foot and crashed through the floor dragging Dyson and the remains of the wasps nest (which split open on impact) with him. Flat-mates were unimpressed with several hundred angry wasps being suddenly introduced into the conversation....

(, Fri 7 Jan 2011, 2:08, 5 replies)
Well, where to begin
I'm not some kind of rigid disciplinarian or anything, honest I'm not, but unlike everyone else these days (or so it seems) I have tried to raise my kids to appreciate authority and the law. And normally they're pretty well behaved.

But sooner or later everybody slips up. My darling sprogs, doubtless having seen countless US TV shows featuring 'sleepovers' and 'pyjama parties', decided they wanted to have a friend come and stay. But they thought I wouldn't like the idea, so the little rogues managed to smuggle him into the house without me knowing, and hide him.

It turned out that this bloody friend of theirs was a lot older than them, not to mention, shall we say, from a completely different background. First he crept out of hiding and stole my flipping beer. Then he stole one of my kids' toys and completely bloody wrecked it. Then it turned out he had some nasty bug and gave it straight to my younger boy, making him really ill. And then, to cap that, it turned out he was in trouble with the authorities, and I had half the local police turn up on my doorstep. I didn't know where to put my face, I can tell you.

The last straw was that when I finally got this toerag out of the house, he stole one of my sodding geraniums and made my son's bicycle fly. Now is that or is that not beyond the pale? Thank god he's not shown up again since; I've been dreading a sequel for nearly thirty years....
(, Fri 7 Jan 2011, 0:59, 5 replies)
Chocolate Cake
Id just bought new sofas (cream coloured one of those fluffy ones) fucking expensive they were too.
Anyway back to the point, I had my brother and 5 year old niece staying. So early Sunday morning while everyone was dozing my niece and little daughter were playing. My niece says to her 'Shall I show you how my mummy makes cakes?' She then proceeds to get milk, eggs, bannanas, water and starts mixing and mashing the items on the sofa! Then she gets the flower pot and tips the soil in to get that special 'Chocolaty Flavor'
I wake up and come down to find my niece looking like she has been rolling with pigs. She sees me and with the sweetest, cutest litte voice says 'Uncle do you want a slice of my chocolate cake?' This just got to my heart and took all that anger away and I said 'Awwww of course give me that piece thanks' Like fuck I said that. I went through the fucking roof!
Years later she brought a beautiful chocolate cake that she had baked herself. She came in placed the cake on the sofa while she took her jacket off. I just looked at the cake then I looked at her and we both broke down laughing!
(, Fri 7 Jan 2011, 0:04, 3 replies)
One for the men in white coats
As a newly qualified teacher going to my first job I moved into a very cool house share in Chelmsford. Lots of up for it people living in a big house...spot on. This guy moved in and seemed fine for the first week. After that the Special Brew started appearing, as did his rather weak attempts to convert his room into a dungeon where he could 'hang the bastard women upside down and do them up the a**e". We escaped him one night to go to the local cheesey nightclub but he managed to find us. The head boy of the school I was working at was also there and I had just got chatting with him when this guy turns up, pretends I'm his best mate and starts telling the head boy about OUR plans for his dungeon. Thanks for that! Our landlord used his references to track down his parents...turns out he was bipolar and not long been released from a period in the local loony bin. The men in white coats came for him a few days later...
(, Thu 6 Jan 2011, 22:25, Reply)
I love the concept of the Couchsurfing system and signed up as a host when I lived in Scotland.
The two folks who did come to stay (separately) put me right off the idea of having randoms staying in my house and I gave it all up.

First chap was a NewZealander who was backpacking alone through Europe and wanted to stop for a few nights. Nice enough chap with a few interesting stories, but fuck me, he stank. Serious, overpowering, nasty, sickly sweet B.O. that made my eyes water. I started off trying to ignore it, but that was impossible, so I moved on to subtle hints, telling him he was welcome to have a shower if he wanted, which fell on deaf ears. Eventually I could not stand the stench any longer so told him straight that he smelled bad and really, really needed to shower. He took a serious huff and left the next morning. The flat stank for about a week after he left, despite me hosing the place with Glade and Febreeze.

The next one really took the piss though. Two Irish girls wanted to stay for 2 nights. I had a sofabed that they were happy to share and all seemed well. Once settled, we were having a drink and talking when I got a phone call from work's security centre. I was on call-out that evening in case of emergencies and some junkie had seemingly panned in the shop windows and helped himself to the stock. I was pretty wary about leaving two strangers alone in my flat, but they seemed ok....besides, I had little choice. I told them I would probably be a good few hours and off I went.
I returned home about 1am and as I parked my car, asked myself what unsociable cunt would be playing pumping dance music at this late hour...then noticed it was coming from my own flat. In the door, I found about a dozen people there just getting into the swing of a house party. From what I gathered, these two dippy cows had got bored so went out to the pub (how did they get back in as I never gave them a key? must have left the fucking door open!) got pissed and invited a load of people back to mine for a party.
It took a lot of hassle to get everyone out, but fortunately, things had not gone far before my return so damage and mess was minimal. The two girls were too pissed to make any sense so I left things till the next morning. I was up early enough, but found that they had left some time before I got up. No apology, no effort to clean up.....nothing. Ignorant fuckers.
(, Thu 6 Jan 2011, 20:53, 2 replies)
Richard de Clare, 2nd Earl of Pembroke.
We've all had guests that overstay their welcome, but this cunt just took the piss.
(, Thu 6 Jan 2011, 19:33, 10 replies)
Goths in Latex
Sweat profusely. Never invite one back to yours in the summer regardless of how attractive they are. Turns out, a brisk half mile walk back from the pub can generate smells that would not be out of place under John McCriricks foreskin.
(, Thu 6 Jan 2011, 19:14, 1 reply)
When my brother was a student in Norwich the old woman from the flat upstairs came to visit.
I say visit, more a case of the liquid from her rotting corpse leaking through his kitchen ceiling.


(, Thu 6 Jan 2011, 19:07, 5 replies)
The Empire Windrush.
Amirite, lads?
(, Thu 6 Jan 2011, 18:58, 4 replies)
I was a guest as well, but this still counts, right?
I was staying at a friend's house in Brooklyn, along with Charley, a longtime friend of mine. Absolute stand up guy, salt of the earth. You will see how salty soon. We went out for a night on the town, and came back a bit worse for the wear. I went to bed, along with our host Rex (not the same bed you perverts) but Charley, being a bit of an insomniac, stayed up.

At some point during the night, Rex's brother Liam gets up to go to the bathroom, whereupon he finds Charley almost incoherently drunk, on his knees in the middle of the bathroom floor, scooping up vomit with his bare hands and placing it in the toilet. "There's no paper towels" he says, to which Liam replies. "Charley, what are you doing? You can leave this until morning. We will go get paper towels and you won't have to use your hands."

"No! It's all about respect!" was Charley's slurred reply, as he resumed scooping puke into the toilet.

To this day, any good deed Charley does is always acknowledged by a curt: "All about respect, right Charley?"
(, Thu 6 Jan 2011, 18:52, Reply)
My parents are more than happy for me to spend a night/weekend over
with my girlfriend but insist that as we are not married we have to sleep in separate bedrooms. Despite the fact I've been married since 1992 but then I got divorced in 2000 so all reasonable bets are off again. And I'm 40 this year.
(, Thu 6 Jan 2011, 18:35, 3 replies)
A friend's fiancee
won't use anyone else's toilet. Ever. So she rarely goes visiting for fear of drinking too much and having to sit on someone else's (presumably crab-ridden) lav seat. She doesn't even pee at work; she's like Finch out of "American Pie".

I asked how they managed to go on holiday but apparently "hotels are different". I suppose it's a long dash home from Fuengirola when you need a slash.
(, Thu 6 Jan 2011, 18:13, 2 replies)
My father in law
must have a knob like a piccolo, because the pee appears to come out of the sides. He doesn't pee in the toilet so much as near it. Thank goodness we eschewed bathroom carpet, as should everyone.
(, Thu 6 Jan 2011, 18:11, 2 replies)
Apologies for length and lack of the funneh
Picture the scene;

I've just moved out of home to go and live with a friend (he lurks around here occasionally but I don't know his username) in a nice quiet suburb or Birmingham. All is well I'm settling into being away from home (albeit only about 10 mins from my Mums house) money is tight but then I was only working part time but had enough for rent and the occasional night out.

I had recovered from quite a serious depression about 6 months previously and was getting used to being able to go and do what I wanted when I wanted, within reason.

Unfortunately neither I (nor any Doctors) had anticipated that the depression had been anything other than a reaction to the passing of a relative with whom I had spent all my life living with. I started to become ill again and once more began taking medication to attmept to pull me out of the depression. During this time I became rude, argumentative, incredibly smelly and a complete cunt to be around. Unsurprisingly I also lost my job.

What at the time neither I nor the Doctors new was this depression was the precursor to a manic episode. I don't recall a huge amount about the few weeks that this went on but I do remember doing such strange things as running round the garden trying to make myself pass out sand papering my hands and various other silly arse schemes that seemed like a such a good idea at the time.

The reason above all the others why I was such a "memorable" house guest was one particular evening. A friend was in the process of divorcing his then wife and as they were still living together he and his new girlfriend would come and stay in the spare room at the house I was living in.

To this day I'm not sure why things went the way they did, I had been drinking and watching the football I think, but about 2am I awoke and went downstairs to grab a glass of water. The kitchen had a large glass window overlooking the rear garden. I was acutely aware I was being watched through this window by an alien. I saw it. I know I did. It was their. As clear to me then as the computer infront of me now is.

I panicked grabbing a sword that my Wing Chun practicing housemate had hanging n the hall way, grabbed the torch and went out into the back garden to find the alien. This is were my mates have filled out what happened as my recollection is a little hazy to say the least. R the chap whose house I was living in and R2 the chap who was visiting us with his girlfriend (first time I had met her. God only knows what she thought she had walked into)come outside to find out what all the shouting and flashing of torches is all about to be greeted by a now hysterical me screaming about aliens and running around like a man possessed.

In trying to calm me down I very nearly hit R2 with the sword before he gets it off me and the next thing I know is everyone sat around me as I cry like a baby for a few hours. Utterly terrified and completely bewildered as to what is ging on. They then help me to bed after phoning my Mum (a nurse) to let her know her son has gone batshit mental.

A trip to the Doctor's and a move back home were very much in order.

I want to say this though. If my housemates had phoned the police or the mental health team, as they probably should have, then life would have been very different for me. I would almost certainly have been sectioned and things would have been very different.

So I suppose this was more suited to a "friends" QOTW but it's a tenuos (sp) enough link.

I've tried to thank R and R2 on several occasions but they both stop me before I get the chance to finish so here I can type it and say it.


Oh and R congratulations on soon becoming a Dad for the first time. You'll be fantastic.

Sorry for lack of funneh.
(, Thu 6 Jan 2011, 18:09, 1 reply)
I didn't
move out of my parents home until I was about 23, my sister on the other hand moved out when she was about 16 (to go and live in an Austin Maxi 1750 with her, somewhat insane boyfriend - but that's for another QotW).

Some years before this, as teenagers, we lived in Australia. My sister had a friend called Kayleigh, who was a petite little thing and barring the God awful accent, was actually quite a nice girl.
Back to the present and my sister is now getting married - thankfully NOT to the aforementioned psychotic idiot, and as a polite thing to do sent an invitation to Kayleigh back in Australia. They hadn't seen each other for around 12 years at this point, and so it was thought to be more of a formality than anything else.
That was until, I got a phone call asking if it was ok that Kayleigh come and stay with us, hidden, until the day of the wedding. She'd caught me unawares, it being her Saturday morning and our Friday night, I was quite pissed, and thought "What a great idea!". It wasn't.
A few month later, this frail and petite little Australian girl arrived on our doorstep, only she wasn't frail and petite any longer - she'd put that bloke that Jerry Springer 'saved' to shame. She had to turn sideways to get in and out of doors, and in fact, when she went with my mum to the greenhouse, we had to take out the door so she could fit through the frame. Anyway...no great shakes, we've all put a bit of weight on over the years. She had obviously got used to surprised looks on peoples faces and offered, without anyone saying anything "Oh, my weight? Yes, I have a glandular disease."
No. No she didn't, and hasn't.
I have never to this day seen anyone consume as much food and drink as this woman. We'd have a glass of orange in the morning, she'd have three cartons. Fancy a bacon sandwich - no hope, despite the fact that that morning you'd have just bought a 5 pack jumbo deal. It was incredible.
One morning, I dragged myself from my pit and into the kitchen just in time to see her kick our 16 year old cat across the room. I asked "What d'you do that for?". "He bit me!" was her reply. I'd had that cat 16 years, not once did he even so much as raise his hand to me. Although, given that she may have been at his cat food as she'd eaten everything else, I suppose anything was possible.

It all came to a head, the day after the wedding when she did a similar thing to my 1 year old nephew. After that episode, and being caught doing so by both my mum and dad, she had to pay extra to change her flight to an earlier one.

Thank Christ.
(, Thu 6 Jan 2011, 18:08, 4 replies)
The police broke in to my house once while I was away thanks to a houseguest.
My housemates let some chap they met stay over for a few days because he'd just split up with his girlfriend and had nowhere else to go.

My housemates were students and cleared off for the summer holiday leaving this chap in our house without a key so he could leave in his own time and pull the door to behind him. He did this, but first he used my landline to call his ex and tell her he was off to hang himself in our loft.

The police turn up, get no answer and kick my door in. The first I knew about it all was a phonecall from the landlord to say the house had been broken in to, and it took me a couple of days to find out what had gone on.
(, Thu 6 Jan 2011, 18:05, Reply)

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