Housemates from hell
What was your worst flat share experience? Tell us, for we want to know.
( , Thu 5 Apr 2007, 18:22)
What was your worst flat share experience? Tell us, for we want to know.
( , Thu 5 Apr 2007, 18:22)
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Evicted alien
South Manchester, pre-Desert Storm Mark I, in a shared house with a slightly mis-matched bunch of folk: the professional dentist hanging onto the last vestiges of studenthood by living in a cheap rat-hole, the couple with cats on the ground floor (one of their rooms being a de facto litter tray for the moggies (no tray, just the much-abused carpet), the devout (selfish) Christian, the student rag writer, the obligatory stoner (a certain Groover J.), and dear old Assad (name unchanged to persecute the guilty).
Assad was Iraqi, and had lived there for ages. He was writing his thesis (in a tiny room packed to the rafters with suspicious boxes) on a number-plate recognition scheme, approved and supported by the existing regime, which would send a letter to the criminal and deduct the corresponding amount from his unsuspecting bank account. Nice guy.
Assad lived entirely off boiled (frozen) mince with small sour aubergines and various pungent spices which reacted spectacularly badly with a hangover the morning (imagine the smell of rancid regurgitated doner kebab, inhale once, then boke). He also left computer-printed notes (a novelty in 1989) all over the shop in badly-written English (PLEASE NOT TO OVERENJOY HOT WATER. ENJOY YOUR TIME). These were ceremoniously burnt one evening after an over-indulgence with the smokables.
Fast-forward a year or so, with anti-Iraqi feeling running high (they were killing our boys! Hell!) The house was suspiciously broken into a couple of times, but without anything being stolen. Somewhat odd in South Manchester, even then.
Eventually (via the front page of the student rag), the truth became known. Assad had been escorted off the premises (and out of the country) by Special Branch, as he had been recruiting naive teenagers (does such a thing exist in South Manc?) for services for the Iraqi resistance.
I wonder where he is now.
On second thoughts, I don't. I somehow think that the last thing the Iraqis need is some pervert fining them for speeding...
( , Wed 11 Apr 2007, 21:45, Reply)
South Manchester, pre-Desert Storm Mark I, in a shared house with a slightly mis-matched bunch of folk: the professional dentist hanging onto the last vestiges of studenthood by living in a cheap rat-hole, the couple with cats on the ground floor (one of their rooms being a de facto litter tray for the moggies (no tray, just the much-abused carpet), the devout (selfish) Christian, the student rag writer, the obligatory stoner (a certain Groover J.), and dear old Assad (name unchanged to persecute the guilty).
Assad was Iraqi, and had lived there for ages. He was writing his thesis (in a tiny room packed to the rafters with suspicious boxes) on a number-plate recognition scheme, approved and supported by the existing regime, which would send a letter to the criminal and deduct the corresponding amount from his unsuspecting bank account. Nice guy.
Assad lived entirely off boiled (frozen) mince with small sour aubergines and various pungent spices which reacted spectacularly badly with a hangover the morning (imagine the smell of rancid regurgitated doner kebab, inhale once, then boke). He also left computer-printed notes (a novelty in 1989) all over the shop in badly-written English (PLEASE NOT TO OVERENJOY HOT WATER. ENJOY YOUR TIME). These were ceremoniously burnt one evening after an over-indulgence with the smokables.
Fast-forward a year or so, with anti-Iraqi feeling running high (they were killing our boys! Hell!) The house was suspiciously broken into a couple of times, but without anything being stolen. Somewhat odd in South Manchester, even then.
Eventually (via the front page of the student rag), the truth became known. Assad had been escorted off the premises (and out of the country) by Special Branch, as he had been recruiting naive teenagers (does such a thing exist in South Manc?) for services for the Iraqi resistance.
I wonder where he is now.
On second thoughts, I don't. I somehow think that the last thing the Iraqis need is some pervert fining them for speeding...
( , Wed 11 Apr 2007, 21:45, Reply)
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