b3ta.com qotw
You are not logged in. Login or Signup
Home » Question of the Week » Neighbours » Page 10 | Search
This is a question Neighbours

I used to live next door to a pair of elderly naturists, only finding out about their hobby when they bade me a cheerful, saggy 'Hello' while I was 25 feet up a ladder repairing the chimney. Luckily, a bush broke my fall, but the memory of a fat, naked man in an ill-fitting wig will live with me forever.

(, Thu 1 Oct 2009, 12:41)
Pages: Latest, 11, 10, 9, 8, 7, ... 1

This question is now closed.

The sky at night
I used to live next door to Patrick Moore. At least I think I did - most nights I could hear some woman shouting "Oh! Patrick...more!"
(, Wed 7 Oct 2009, 16:33, 5 replies)
Depilation fail
A while back I was seeing a girl in Hull, and used to stay over at weekends for a bit of nudey prod. Once, when I had the Monday off work, I was still in her boudoir on the Sunday night, but with one thing and another she'd neglected to shave her pins since the middle of the week, meaning various parts of my body ended up getting grated and red. I was too much of a gentleman to complain, but the extra friction was obvious, and she sheepishly promised me she'd "do something about it" in future.

Fast-forward a few weeks, and I'm back at the horizontal jogging but still getting scratched raw, so in as diplomatic a way as possible under the circumstances, I reminded her of her previous pledge.

"Urr, nurr", she replied in her endearing East Yorkshire accent, and explained that she'd switched to a depilatory cream, as the beautician who lived next door had told her it would have a longer-lasting effect. Sadly, she'd had a bad dermatological reaction, and her skin had gone all rough and torn, with little bits sticking up all over the place like hangnails. "Just can't win", she complained. "First it were me stubble, now it's these bloody Nair burrs".
(, Wed 7 Oct 2009, 16:17, 3 replies)
I've just walked upstairs...
... we have a window on our landing, meaning we can pretty much see into our back neighbours garden whether we like it or not.

His son is trampolining.


It is raining.

I need to go bleach my eyeballs now.
(, Wed 7 Oct 2009, 15:31, 14 replies)
My old mum and dad, RIP.
My old mum and dad are sadly no longer with us, but this is one of my favourite stories involving them.

I used to live in a tenament flat in Edinburgh. A big solid looking building, but sadly the walls between flats could have done with an awful lot more insulation - especially between the bedrooms, if you get my drift.

My next door neighbour seemed a pleasant enough girl. I didn't see too much of her, but she always said hello on the stairs. However, she started seeing a guy who was a bit of a prick. He'd double park his car if he couldn't park within 5 yards (literally) of the front door, played loud music at all hours of the night, slammed the front door as he went in and out of the flat - you get the idea.

The loud humping, initially anyway, was slightly entertaining. Every night for a fortnight was getting a bit much - especially as he seemed to work shifts and 5:45am on a Tuesday morning seemed a popular time for making my lightshade swing - firing clouds of dust over my sadly unaccompanied form, whilst I was forced to listen to her taking a pummelling.

My mum and dad were coming up to see me one weekend. They were going to have my bed for the night, and I was going to kip on my living room floor.

I'm sure you can see where this is heading.

I hoped to Christ that she'd have the painters in that weekend, but I had to prepare for the worst.

Sunday morning arrived, and my mum came through to the living room.

[important point: my mum was always quite naive regarding 'downstairs' activity]

'Sleep ok mum?' I enquired.

'Not bad son, but I was woken up by a heck of a racket at one point.'

'Oh, really?', I enquired, cacking it slightly.

'Yes, I heard a baby crying really loudly, and lots of banging - like someone running up and down the stairs. I haven't a clue what was going on.'

At that point, my old man appears.

'Hi dad, sleep ok?' I ventured.

'Not really, that pair next door were at it like a pair of friggin rabbits all night. Does the girl ever sleep? She must walk like a cowboy.'

A mouthful of coffee squirted up my nose.

Mum didn't have a clue what he was on about. To the day she died, I don't think she ever twigged what the 'crying baby' noises really were.
(, Wed 7 Oct 2009, 14:30, 5 replies)
When i lived in an estate in norwich
all my neighbours and everyone in the surrounding 30 mile radius were related to me
(, Wed 7 Oct 2009, 14:11, Reply)
you want to use my toilet?
Now i like my neighbours. they are an Italian couple and live - not suprisingly next door - the other half of a semi.

Their house mirrors mine...50's semi. They moved in a few years after me - my house is more modern and doesnt smell of pasta.

Mrs Italian knocks on the front door

"ello init"
she comes in and declines a cup of tea.
"I wanna do toilet" - a bit odd as you could just go next door but i point her to the recently converted cupboard off the hallway had been converted in to a downstairs toilet. When i say "toilet", I mean "room just big enough to have a wee in provided you do it standing up"

pops her head round the corner...just as Mr Italian knocks on the front door
"oh, Mr Italian, he want to do toilet too"
by some act of contortionism he manages to squueze in too. This is just wrong. they are having italian sex in my toilet i thinks.

Then out they pop - imagine twins being born at the same time,

"Yeah, it good...we do toilet like yours too"

They want to make a toilet.

The really disturbing thing was not that, but one of them managed to have a wee whilst they were in there
(, Wed 7 Oct 2009, 13:42, 3 replies)
What neice neighbours he has

kick ass
(, Wed 7 Oct 2009, 12:58, 11 replies)
The chavs
When me and Mrs. Bad_Dogg bought our house a family occupied one side and the other side was empty. The eldest daughter of this family was 17. She had a mouth fouler than festival toilets and shriller than a smoke alarm - we'll call her Jade.

One day I come home and Jade's swearing up a storm at her Mother. Mother is downstairs, she's upstairs in the bathroom (their bathroom is the other side of the wall to our landing, I'm in the spare room just off the landing). I pretty much phased out her high-pitched yelling and then I hear her Mother say "but how do you know he's gonna stand by you?"... She's up the duff thinks me, and I pay more attention to the arguement.

Fastforward 6 months and she's about 7 months pregnant. The bad news is that her chavvy bloke has moved in and the rest of the family have moved out, having bought a house elsewhere letting Jade and her bloke rent their house while it's on the market.
It was about now that the arguements started. She'd be all "you f*cking c*nt" this and "you f*cking c*nt" that, he'd say much the same but call her a "f*cking stupid bitch" or "stupid f*cking slag".
She was the main problem here. He'd often try and walk away from the arguement and she'd chase him down the street, still at full volume, swearing to the max - and often in her pajamas. Also she'd always try and get him to hit her, which he never did.

Fastforward another 3 months, the baby is born and named somthing chavvy like "Kyle" and is about 6 weeks old... and then the mother of all arguements errupts. It starts off with the usual but goes on longer. She keeps saying "f*cking hit me then you f*cking c*nt", he hits everything else in the house, doors, wardrobes, and keeps asking her to get out of his way, trying to leave. Can just hear the baby crying in the backround - this is the first arguement since baby chav was born. One of the neighbours calls her parents, lots of curtains are twitching in the street.
The end result was Jade had a broken arm (probably from trying to stop him leaving) and her parents threw them out - trying to get Jade to move in with them. Jade being a proper chav had none of it and went to an emergency shelter so as to get fast tracked into a council house, and he went back to live with his parents. Good riddance!

And they had dogs, lots of f*cking chavvy dogs! I like dogs but these were nasty f*ckers that often got loose.

Yes. Yes. Yes I am bitter
(, Wed 7 Oct 2009, 12:51, Reply)
Friendly neighbours
We’ve lived in the same place for close on 20 years and had the same set of neighbours on one side for all that time. As neighbours go, they’ve been mostly more entertaining than annoying, especially in the past few years.

To start with, they’ve been on benefits for most of the time we’ve known them, claiming for a variety of ailments. Despite this, they’ve managed to raise five (yes, five) fairly decent kids. The two eldest are particularly good guys, although we no longer see the oldest son as he had the temerity to marry a woman 20 years his senior, so the family have disowned him.

Then came the incident when they asked me around to look at their computer as they were having dial-up connection problems. They knew me to be a bit of a computer geek and thought I might be able to help.

Needless to say, it worked perfectly while I was looking at it – and downloaded all their e-mails – many of which came from a domain called “Adult Friend Finder”. Somehow I managed to say nothing and refrained from investigating until I got home.

Never has the boot cycle on my PC seemed so long, but I eventually confirmed what I suspected: the neighbours are swingers. Not only that, but a bit of judicious searching found some pictures of them in flagrante with another female, as well as herself bent over the bonnet of their (Motability-provided) people-carrier, flashing gash.

Shortly afterwards, four identical stickers appeared on the corner windows of said motor. Bearing in mind that they ferry their kids around in the car, it was a bit of a surprise to find that the stickers showed the logo of the local swingers’ club (thanks Google image search), but the most frightening encounter happened several weeks later.

Again, their computer had gone on the fritz, probably as a result of downloading gigabytes of pr0n. Hubby came and knocked on the door (I work from home) and asked if I could take a look at the PC. As some of us have to earn our cash, I told him that I’d nip round after work, which I dutifully did.

The missus answered the door, wearing pixie boots, fishnets, a skirt like a pelmet and a tight black top. It was obvious she had no bra on since her tits, after five kids, looked like roof-tilers’ nailbags and were keeping her stomach warm. Now, some people might have been put on guard by this, but this was her normal daytime garb and I can be very naive.

She proceeded to tell me that hubby had fixed the PC, which she thought might have been affected by “some of the sites we visit”. She then explained that these unnamed sites were really good for meeting people and had improved their social life dramatically. In fact, her husband had even been contacted and asked if he wanted to be a pr0n star!

Sometimes, I’m not the brightest of bulbs, but I suddenly began to suspect where this conversation was heading and, choking back the bit of sick that had popped into my mouth, I did what a News of the World reporter would do: made my excuses and left.

Length: about 7" judging from the photo.
(, Wed 7 Oct 2009, 12:50, 3 replies)
Summer Loving
There were a few of us at my mates house, and as it was a hot summers night, we had his patio doors open, whilst we sat in the kitchen enjoying a few beers and cigarettes.

The conversation was flowing, when over the top of our ramblings, we heard the easily recognisable sounds of two people rutting vigorously. Peering into the garden, we saw the house backing onto ours had a solitary bedroom light on, and the window was wide open. We all fell silent, and sat and listened as the two lovers built up into a simultaneous climax, with the woman screaming, "Yes Mark! Harder Mark! Harder Mark!"

As Mark spilt his creamy load, letting out a groan of pleasure, an eerie silence fell - I imagine that the rather vocal pair had collapsed, exhausted onto their bed. After 30 seconds or so,we heard another neighbour, who to this day remains anonymous, start a slow hand clap, interspersed with shouts of "Well done Mark, good performance son!"

It was enough to send us into fits of laughter and was only topped when the bedroom window of the lovers was slammed shut.
(, Wed 7 Oct 2009, 12:43, 1 reply)
Cultural mash
My time spent in East London increased my cultural diversity no end - not hard when you're an Irish girl who grew up twenty-two miles from the nearest set of traffic lights. Despite the huge change in demographic I soon settled in amidst the Bengali families who inhabited most of the block of flats, tempted by the amazing scents of curry wafting from kitchen extractor fans. I was pleased to become a member of the local community. I felt accepted. I felt like I fitted in well.

The next door neighbours sent their son round to borrow a potato masher from me. That's flippin' stereotyping at its worst.
(, Wed 7 Oct 2009, 12:32, 2 replies)
Dum, Dum, dum dum Dum, Dum
I had used to live in a flat where the sound insulation wasn't all it might have been. And directly below my bedroom there was the bedroom of a guy with a love of the song "Stand by Me". He'd play it again and again, and he'd play it quite loud.

At night.

The bassline would be inescapable - even with earplugs, you could hear it.

Repeatedly, I (or my flatmate) would have to go downstairs to get him to turn it down. When he opened the door, it'd be plain that the song's audibility was only partially due to shoddy building: it would be loud. And he'd always deny that it was too loud.
"We can hear it in our flat. Even standing here, we're having to raise our voices to be heard. Ergo it's too loud," we'd say.

His response? He'd simply deny that we could hear it upstairs.
"So you reckon we spend the evening hanging around your door on the offchance that we catch a strain of 'Stand by Me' just for the pleasure of asking you to turn it down? Hm?"

He never had much of a response to that. Mind you, he never turned it down, either.
(, Wed 7 Oct 2009, 12:24, 7 replies)
Neighbours from hell
I'm sure there are posts here (not time to read all) about them....

We used to live next door to them. You could hear them shag - she looked like a horse never mind sounded like one. They used to play Phil Collins CD's from 07:30; they had 2 fucking great big hounds and a postage stamp garden where they buried their shit in an tiny bucket so small it overflowed and stank; my then cat Garfield hated the dogs and hissed and got stressed; then they parked their old Merc so we couldn't get in our driveway; got REALLY upset when my HB bought a new Merc; then there was the fight on the front lawn..... and they were just renting where it was our first house.

Ok so I am talking nearly 20 years ago but since then I have never moved from the house I live in now BECAUSE I HAVE NO NEIGHBOURS and have to call them up on their phone if we go away and they look after my NOW cat Pushky. And there are no dogs anywhere.

When you've been subject to living with complete arseholes, living in the country is wonderful. How you city people cope I don't know.
(, Wed 7 Oct 2009, 12:04, 1 reply)
My current neighbours are..
.. great! In fact, one of them dropped me into work last week when the battery died on my car. Top people!

However, my previous neighbour was an utter cretin. I used to live in a block of maisonettes and this particular neighbour kept her front window wide open all the time, so I could hear her every time she'd go into a screaming fit, because her child did something she shouldn't have done or dinner hasn't gone right, or one of her boyfriends has run out of pot.. Or whatever. Anyway, they happened a lot.

This one particular episode involved her daughter wanting to play with something. Her response went something like..


She then decided that it would be best if she grabbed the item in question (one of those big red cars with the yellow top that you sit and ride around in), pick it up and then launch it off the balcony accompanied with a screamy grunt..


Needless to say, the car didn't fair too well with the concrete pavement. It crippled the front two wheels and took the door clean off!

Length? About 10mins an episode.. Mostly at about 6-9 in the evening. At least twice a day.
(, Wed 7 Oct 2009, 12:04, Reply)
Mr Whippy
When I moved up North in 1998 I shared a house in Wakefield with four other lads. I think technically it was semi-detached - we shared the overall building with a family of four next door, but our garage and a ground floor room abutted that of the next house along, owned by a sixty-something busybody who'd probably spent his entire adult life working in local government or as an actuary for a life insurance company. Now, while we never heard a peep out of the family (with children) that we shared an internal wall with, any activity greater in scale than tiptoeing about in socks was apparently transmitted through our garage and our neighbour's with such force that his whole house shook, upsetting his elderly mother. If we reversed cars up the drive (so that the driver could actually get out, instead of being trapped in by a large hedge), the reverberations of exhaust on the garage door apparently shook his whole house, upsetting his elderly mother. If somebody ever (completely legally) parked a car so that any part of it crossed the invisible boundary on the street between our house and his he'd complain that "the ambulance" wouldn't be able to park there (I only saw one ambulance on our street in eighteen months, and that's because I called it when my mate had a fit and fell down the stairs).

The majority response to all his complaints was just to humour him (with a sotto voce "stupid old cunt"), although my Australian housemate did decide to do a great big steaming shit on his doorstep one night before flying home.
(, Wed 7 Oct 2009, 11:46, 1 reply)
Heard on the radio today
I used to play a newer version of knock-a-dolly on my next door neighbours.

To do it you have to lean their big green bins against the door (with the door lifted up) then knock and run and hide.

Then when they opened the door the bin would fall into them and they were greeted with a load of rubbish in their house.
(, Wed 7 Oct 2009, 11:39, Reply)
Never really had any bad neighbours to be honest.

Only notable event I can remember is being 12 years old when I lived in the Millarston high flats in Paisley and listening to the old bint downstairs getting pummelled by her fat husband. She really was doing some loud moaning.

Quite embarrassing for my parents who would turn up the volume of Blockbusters just to drown out the ectastic moaning and grunting from downstairs.
(, Wed 7 Oct 2009, 11:20, Reply)
The neigbours don't like us much
You see, our house it has a crowd. There's always something happening. And it's usually quite loud...

It's madness, really...
(, Wed 7 Oct 2009, 11:12, 4 replies)
Demon kids.
We knew that the kids who lived in the house next door when I was a teenager were ill-disciplined, and so it didn't take the deductive powers of Poirot to work out, when the cat turned up with a dart from an airgun sticking out of his hind leg, who'd pulled the trigger.

Their mother did nothing, and their step-father was too limp to do anything.

The kids had been left in while their mother and step-dad went out for the evening. We didn't know this, but we learned.

The fireworks started going off at around nine o'clock. We thought this idiotic, but didn't really think about it much more. Shortly afterwards, there was an almighty THUMP coming from next door.

Then another
and another
and another.

There was quite possibly someone getting murdered in there. We thought we might have heard the sound of furniture breaking. It was now approaching 10 o'clock and my Dad decided that he'd go and see what was happening. He rang the doorbell, but there was no reply. Just more thumping. More faint sounds of woodwork breaking. No lights.

Eventually, we discovered what had happened. The internal doors in the house were sturdy solid wood things, and each of them had a lock. The kids had somehow managed to lock themselves in a bedroom. Instead of sticking their heads out of the window to call for help, they'd had the bright idea of shooting fireworks out instead. (What kind of kid has fireworks under the bed?) Because they were the spawn of Satan, they'd been ignored by everyone living nearby.

So their next trick was to set about the interal door with a baseball bat. By the time their parents got home, they'd managed to knock a foot-wide hole in it.

The response of the step-father, whose house it was? Absolutely nothing. The weak-willed tosser.
(, Wed 7 Oct 2009, 11:12, Reply)
Surprise Neighbours
I am lucky enough to live in a nice rural location - however, it appears that this area is very popular and if you cannot afford the (admittedly) high property prices, why not just buy some cheap agricultural land and build an illegal caravan park.


Fucking wankers the lot of them.
(, Wed 7 Oct 2009, 10:38, 35 replies)
Crisps on my car!
Used to play football on a saturday back in the day, went round to my mates at 10 (see falling off roof story) for saveloy sarnies. Then up to astroturf (see knee destroying, glass covered "grass") to play wembly singles/doubles and penalty shootouts. Great Times.

One time we got back to the end of my street (cul-de-sac) and ending up chatting shit to 2 of my mates for a while, discussing nothing in particular, bothering no-one when along the street a figure appeared from his driveway, Les - a nobheaded (not literally unfortunately) who lived across the road to me.

Now Les was around 60+ and spent his days gardeing/shouting at kids passing his house. So he was wearing a pair of beige(i think) cords tucked into his thick socks (bit like golfers/charvs). So I shouted "nice socks" cos he was a wanker. He disappeared from view. We chortled at my cheek and continued to crack on.

After leering into view a few times he started to approach, and greeted us with "the police are on their way". To which we responded first with mild fear, then utter bafflement. Les must have noticed our looks as he followed up with "and ive got CCTV proving it was you so they'll be getting that when they get here". We moved from confused to amused.

"what did we do like?" perused my chum, "and why dont you show us the CCTV of us doing it". Les ignored our plea and trotted off smug in the knowledge we'd soon be sentenced to 30 years in a maximum security prison.

We decided to hang around a lot longer than originally planned (was only meant to be a roundup before saying see ya) to see how this panned out for us. After appearing a few more times he came along again saying we'd best move before the fuzz arrived. We asked again and he came out with "I saw you putting crisps on my car!"

Now we had already found the ordeal funny at the sheer insanity, but this sent us over the edge! we laughed our little bollocks off, much to his stupid sock wearing fury!! He stormed off SS-stlye no doubt to smack his wife around a bit and cuddle his CCTV tape, waiting for the flith to take these evil bastards away for besmirching his name and crumbing up his poor car.

After a handcuffless hour, no justice sticks were being administered to our heads so we asked a few of the young girls who had been playing in the street to investigate who were the crisp fiends.

Turns out one of the little ginger twins (age approx 9) in the street had hurled a handful of quavers at Les's drive in protest of him shouting at them for their ball going on there. Now Les's eyesight may not have been too good but surely 2 ginger minors dont look much like 3 6ft 16 year olds. So we waited there all night taunting him to turn the CCTV over to the police, even offering to ring them ourselves to give ourselves up. He was practically pissing himself with rage by the time we called it a day :-)

He really was a prize winning fucknut, we took revenge by taking a job posting leaflets and sandwiching a "big eat" stlye bag of quavers in amongst several dozen leaflets and posting them through his letterbox.

Length, I could see ankle all the way to mid shin.......
(, Wed 7 Oct 2009, 10:22, 3 replies)
Running water
About ten years ago, after a long-term relationship finished, I ended up renting a flat in a high-rise block on the Old Kent Road - 17 floors up, 270-degree views of the City, Canary Wharf, etc (okay, you had to move rooms for the full effect but you get the idea), well-maintained (it was owned by the City of London Corporation rather than Southwark Council which ran the way dodgy estate next door). Nice place all round, I liked it.

I only ever met one set of neighbours, and it was on my first full day there. I worked nights at the time, didn't always get adequate sleep during the day, spent too much time in the pub as well. I was working that night and thought I'd have a nice bath before I went in. Then the phone rang. It was my brother and we had a chat for ten minutes or so. By which time I'd forgotten all about the bath.

When I got off the phone with my brother, I decided to have a quick cat-nap, only to be woken up a short time later by some loud banging on the door. I swung a foot out of bed and thought "Where the fuck is all this water coming from?"

Ah. The bath.

I started baling the flat out for all I was worth with whatever was at hand - pans, cups, glasses, whatever, also eventually answered the door to find a rather irate Glaswegian gentleman (who lived in the flat downstairs) and who was a bit upset at all the water dripping into his flat from above and threatening to report me to all kinds of people.

Eventually I managed to mop everything up, the following day I bought some of that stuff plumbers use to clear drains (the pipe was blocked which is why the overflow didn't work). Also, went downstairs to check all was okay and offer the guy some money to take his missus out for a meal as my way of saying sorry (okay, a bribe), but he'd calmed down and said "No, you're fine".

I also applied a subtle bit of psychology - I grew up in London with accent to match, but I'm from Scotland, so I made sure I was wearing my Scotland football shirt. Must have worked because we ended up having a chat about the game coming up that weekend.

So, in a year or so of living on the Old Kent Road, that's the one and only time a met a neighbour (rather than someone who simply lives nearby). And writing the above, I'm amazed I didn't electrocute myself, or end up in the flat downstairs or something....
(, Wed 7 Oct 2009, 8:22, 1 reply)
I used to live in Hull.
Enough said.
(, Wed 7 Oct 2009, 7:43, Reply)
You are in a maze of twisty little passages, all alike…
I currently live in a shared house in an estate called High Kingsdown, in Bristol. The houses are all identical, arranged in a regular pattern with no road access. To get some idea of it, check out Google maps. That's not my house highlighted, for the record.

I'm living with two randomers, in houses surrounded by various types of student layabout.

Let's start with the room next to me. Here we have somebody who knows not the joys of bacon or gin, being a muslim. Poor fella. His family owns a take-away, so whenever he visits them he comes back with enough frozen curry to fill the freezer, leaving precious little space for the aforementioned gin. Now, this is fine, in fact I'm rather jealous, but he keeps asking me to wash up everything I use right away (sometimes while still eating the food I just cooked) as I'm preventing him from cooking. Once I do that, he proceeds to defrost his curry, reheat it, and cook some rice in a steamer that he never washes.

The other room is being occupied by a leggy, 21 year old blonde. Life's not all bad, eh?

To move further afield, there's the house opposite our front door. The front door is directly below the bathroom, which has no extractor fan. Obviously, the window needs to be open to get rid of steam while having showers. Before school started their back garden was always occupied by the nan and child of the family sitting at a table doing arts and crafts. Glancing out of the window and making eye contact with a child while showering with a stonking morning glory makes you feel like a film director^W^Wbad man for hours.

Their next door neighbours are a bunch of loud chinese students who revel in arguing at 3am. Being woken up by a slanging match isn't too bad if at least you get some juicy info from it, but if I can't even chuckle at the indiscretions that caused it I'm not going to be happy.

A little way past there is a building site, where the contractors seem to have a strange idea of normal hours. It seems they only ever do any construction on a saturday afternoon, the rest of the time they spend burning large amounts of plastic and stinking up the whole place. Invariably they pick a hot day when I have the windows open.

Our landlady also lives in the estate, and she doesn't have a great concept of how the world works. After chasing her for months asking where to pay my rent money to (and I'm a fucking awful debtor to have). I finally got a reply, saying that she was "very disappointed" to hear that I'd paid no rent so far, and the details were on the contract I signed. I reminded her that she was yet to provide me with my copy of said contract, despite it having been signed 3 months prior. She's still not replied to that, now 5 months down the line. Oh well.

The actual next door neighbours are fine, never hear a peep from them. We, on the other hand, are the cunts with a piano in the lounge and considering buying chickens.
(, Wed 7 Oct 2009, 1:10, 5 replies)
Flying poo
I used to live in a rather unpleasant towerblock, with the usual unsavoury characters. As it was 20 stories high, random stuff used to come raining down and it was wise not to walk round the perimeter. This included:


*A TV, video player and then the entire contents of a jilted guy's living room, accompanied by shouts of "throw your fookin self out yew stewpiiid barstarrrrd!" from his ex's dad

*Carrier bags full of shit. Actual shit. The regularity insinuated the flat had no working toilet.


*very well used tampons

*flaming magazines and phonebooks

That said, there were some decent people living there. It couldn't have been more than half a dozen numpties doing this.

Ooh.. also, the couple downstairs would argue loudly for hours, accompanied by random slaps and bangs. They'd then have angry, noisy sex mid argument..then smoke quietly in the post-coital afterglow for five mins or so, then..start arguing again!
(, Tue 6 Oct 2009, 23:45, 1 reply)
Ah bollocks to it, neighbour is mentioned somewhere below...
She was a pirate,
Before she moved in with me.
Her ways were so strange:

She would dance naked (
In front of all the neighbours)
Whilst playing the harp.

This was endearing,
Her peg leg plucking the strings,
Whilst stood on her hands.

I was very proud.
She was really beautiful.
Radiant Phina.

And then it began -
The fierce howling and wailing (
Of the calling sea)

It beckoned to her,
Veiling her merry dancing,
Tugging at her heart.

And, two days ago,
The kitchen table vanished.
And several sheets.

The bannister went.
Converted into a mast
As she sailed downstream

Into the ocean,
Blue and spicy, like her eyes,
And salty as tears

I saw her floating,
Seven sheets to the cold wind,
Blowing me kisses.

It is so, so, sad.
My harp, and my lover gone.
Love denied once more...
(, Tue 6 Oct 2009, 23:40, Reply)
He tried to beat up several cars...
Back in my murky student past, I had a flat in a big old creaky house. The house was older than the rest of the street, and stuck out oddly into the road, with no pavement around it. The row of semis leading up to it were set well back from the road, with long drives and a wide pavement. The gentleman next door lived in a state of constant fury over this. You see, it was a very narrow little road, and no-one could stop a car outside our house - it would block the whole road.

This shouldn't have been a problem - no-one in any of the three flats owned a car, and Mr. Fury didn't either. However, occasionally, someone would get a taxi home after a happy evening, or maybe with some heavy shopping in the daytime, and the taxi would pull up in front of his drive. These stops were rare (spend good booze money on transport?!) and very short - how long does it take to pay the nice driver, two minutes?

Each and every time this happened, Mr. Fury would run out of his house, glowing an honest-to-god purple with rage. If the taxi didn't pull away quickly, he would attack it with fists and feet. The sight of the weedy late middle aged man trying to kill their car often mesmerised drivers who could have ripped his head off and used it to decorate their bonnet if they had wanted to.

In the end, I'd arrange to get dropped off at the top of the street, even with heavy shopping, because of the sheer embarrassment factor.

The really tragic part of this took a while to become clear. Mr. Fury (who had a lovely, polite, kind wife by the way) was always yelling that we must not block his drive - even for two minutes - because his son might come to visit in his car. In the eighteen months I lived there, often at home in the day as a studenty layabout type, I never once saw the son visit.

Poor old Mr. Fury : (
(, Tue 6 Oct 2009, 20:56, 4 replies)
I made the mistake of buying an ex-council house
Next to a house still owned by the council.

The neighbours are parked across my drive as I type, blocking me in. I'm too scared to go round and complain.
(, Tue 6 Oct 2009, 20:55, 13 replies)

This question is now closed.

Pages: Latest, 11, 10, 9, 8, 7, ... 1