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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)
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This question is now closed.

It was my great grandads birthday last week
It was his 90th so we decided we had to get him something special as he probably won't last much longer.

In the second world war he lost his fathers pocket watch so it was only fitting that we get him a similar one but with the added extra of getting it engraved.

His name is Nigel abraham but everyone called him abe. He was also a renound sleeper (Which gave him the nick name Z) so we had a bit of a strubble as to what to put on the back of the watch.

So i need your help guys should we put N-abe-or-Z
(, Thu 8 Oct 2009, 13:31, Reply)
Be grateful
You never appreciate decent neighbours until you get some absolute cunts.

Mine are absolute cunts.
(, Thu 8 Oct 2009, 13:19, Reply)
Round our way...
There is a method of public transportation that is dedicated to legendary comedian Frankie Howerd.

Many's the time I have gone into town on the 'Nay, nay, and thrice nay-bus'

*Kicks chair away*
(, Thu 8 Oct 2009, 13:12, Reply)
Baby talk
When we were young, my parents and the neighbours used to take turns walking my sisters, neighbours' children and me to the school bus stop and back. One day, next door's youngest complained that she didn't like the cold weather as it gave her the knee brrrrrs.
(, Thu 8 Oct 2009, 13:05, 1 reply)
The guy who lives three doors down from me bought some rowing equipment on eBay, and was thrilled to discover that the seller was Gloria Estefan's son. He's very proud of his Nayib oars.
(, Thu 8 Oct 2009, 12:57, Reply)
I can heartily recommend the prostitutes in the Knebworth Area...

In fact, I keep a couple locked in my basement at home - cos you know what they say:

Kneb-whores, everybody needs good Kneb-whores.

Consider yourselves lucky...I was going to do one about the bloke who played Ironside doing a horse impression.

*Shuts door on way out*
(, Thu 8 Oct 2009, 12:40, 5 replies)
When I moved into my house
My neighbour suggested that when I was ready I should come over sometime.

This was a bit weird – but it was the country, so I thought, when in Rome...

Later, when I turned up at my neighbours door he looked me in the eye, looked down at the load of herbs I had on a little plate, dripping and swimming in hot man goo, and he closed his door quiety, without saying a word...

Never spoke to me again.
(, Thu 8 Oct 2009, 11:25, 7 replies)
Crazy Brummies
I had to work in Birmingham for a bit in the early 1990s, and ended up renting a little semi in Bromsgrove. I was befriended early on by the middle-aged couple next door, who were the most ordinary, normal (tr: dull and boring) pair of people you're ever likely to meet, but had the amazing (to them) claim to fame, that their daughter was married to the creator of Men Behaving Badly. I'm not sure if they ever watched the laddish comedy, but the fact that their son-in-law was A Famous Person clearly meant a lot to them, as they would never shut up about him. They really were a pair of Nye bores.
(, Thu 8 Oct 2009, 10:56, 2 replies)
If stopmeandslapme wrote soap opera theme tunes
Are a bunch of fucking cunts
Just a hateful scowl each morning
Helps to piss you off all day

Being cunts to one another
I wish they'd fuck off
And just go away

That's when bad neighbours
Become worst enemies
(, Thu 8 Oct 2009, 10:42, Reply)
I started typing a big long answer out
but thought it could be quite dull so I'll just link you to this
(, Thu 8 Oct 2009, 10:30, Reply)
I once pissed in my neigbours pond
Wouldn't have been so bad. But I was stood on my roof at the time.
(, Thu 8 Oct 2009, 10:02, 1 reply)
It's a wonderful cliche,
but we have a church at the top of our road, and the Vicar lived halfway down the road in the Vicarage. I say lived, as true to the cliche, he turned out to be a paedophile and has recently been in court for having/making a load of pictures and videos on his computer.

I wasn't especially surprised when I found out, as he looked a bit strange. My reaction was "Oh, I didn't know he could use a computer!"...
(, Thu 8 Oct 2009, 9:32, 1 reply)
Coming soon to a deli near you
When I moved into my current house nine years ago, the house next door was being rented by an affable Frenchman who was seeing a local lass. He was a bit of a foody (aren't they all), and though gainfully employed as an accountant, was convinced he was going to make his fortune by coming up with the next food fad. Quoting sheep's cheese and that coffee that's made from cat shit as examples of how the British palates were more adventurous than ever, he told me that they were bound to embrace the concept of butter made from horses' milk. Though personally I don't think I like the sound of neigh beurres.
(, Thu 8 Oct 2009, 9:15, Reply)
What happened at Toad Hall
I lived in a flat with a couple of young chaps. We used to call it Toad hall as it was a rather symetrical shape and it amused us to do so. At some stage it had been terribly flooded - in the cupboard under the stairs you could see a water make that would come up to your chest (or even over your head if you are the vertically challenged type)
In any case the flooding and depth of have nothing to do with my story which hinges around the Samoan family(?) living next door.

'Toad Hall' was a two story building and was divided in half vertically. We had one side, they had the other.

The back yard was made of sterotypes - our lawn was mowed and vegetables grew in the garden. They had managed to grow an old car with no wheels and obscure the fact by letting the grass grow freely.

I have two abiding memories
#1 - The day they fixed a car
Car outside bonnet up. Two of the neighbour disappear inside and re-appear having accesorised in white dust coat and a beer each. Hammers and screwdrivers may have been involved. They obviously had no idea but I liked the fact that they made a very real effort to look the part.

#2 - The day of inclement weather
As suggested earlier, these were not gifted green thumb types. Mostly the garden was dead and dying.
One sunny afternoon returning from work I was unlocking the front door when I felt spits of rain. Must get the washing in I think when I realise that the rain is mostly a yellow stream from out of the upstairs window. I don't think this was a one off as the patch of grass underneath said window was well dead...

Not long after I moved to get away from the fundementalist flatmate but that's another story.

Length? Long enough to get past the windowsill
(, Thu 8 Oct 2009, 9:10, Reply)
I was a lucky girl
I lived in a tenement flat in the 70s. It was above a pub and was full of interesting characters. The best neighbours were the hippies that lived downstairs in their dodgy commune and also the hare krishnas that lived in the flat upstairs with the strange posters of many armed elephants and the like. Little Evil Bunny was entranced by these larger than life people.

Anyhoo the hippies parties were legendary and lasted for endless weeks and many is the night I drifted off to Led Zep or Hendrix. However dad wasn't chuffed as he had work in the morning yadda yadda. He was fed up going downstairs and knocking on the door so came to an arrangement and when the noise level got so loud he would bang on the floor with a hammer that he kept under the bed and they would know and turn the volume down. This plan worked well generally and peace and harmony was restored. Till one party night. Time and again he hammered to no avail. Eventually he got up in his PJ's, grabbed his dressing gown and headed downstairs to tell em off. He was gone for ages...and ages... and ages...

Eventually, he comes back upstairs full of glowing praise for the hairy ones downstairs 'they were lovely, offered me a drink so I thought ok then one of the girls gave me a wee cookie...it was delicious...Jessie (mums name) you really have to get the recipe, they were smashing...lovely lovely people...

Yes indeed they had fed my dad a hash cake and plied him with alcohol to help him sleep and stop the banging on the floor. He was never the wiser bless him

(, Wed 7 Oct 2009, 23:07, 2 replies)
Across the road from me lived a woman in her late 40's who lived alone, when i was younger we used to call her the witch.
The witch used to come out and randomly scream at us when were all just sat down chatting, we weren't being overly loud or anything like that. It was just completely out of nowhere. I brought this up with my mum one day and asked why she did it. My mum then explained to me that the womans daughter had been sectioned and that the woman also suffered problems but not severe enough to be sectioned.
So from then on she was known as cuckoo.

A couple of years later cuckoo began to go crazy (well crazier). She would go to the field at the back of her house or into her front garden, lie down and pretend to be dead.
This usually consisted of her lying really still on the grass and when being asked by concerned neighbours if she was ok she'd reply

At first people were slightly concerned. Then it just became the usual in our street. she'd usually be met with
"of course you are, now lets go get you a cup of tea"
to which she'd usually get back up again. She developed a lot of new tricks too, phoning the police telling them there was someone
in her house and when they'd arrive would say
"yeah there is... me!".

Phoning the fire brigade saying something was on fire.... she'd turned the fire in her living room on.
Eventually something had to be done, so she was sectioned.

I miss her to be honest, our street was more exciting than a soap when she was at the height of her crazyness.
Whenever i'm home i always expect to see her lying in the front garden pretending to be dead.

(, Wed 7 Oct 2009, 22:16, 1 reply)
who else has this problem?

(, Wed 7 Oct 2009, 21:06, 12 replies)
Whats your I-spy score?
To make things simpler for those of us who are poor story tellers I have collected a series of informative stereotypes and assigned them a points value. Who lives near you?

The tempestuous lovers 10pts.
-Mild mannered and mundane to the outside world, in the privacy of their own home this couple are free to act out their own personal french art-house film with a soundtrack of alternating kinky sex and plate smashing arguments that can be heard for several metric miles.

Mr Just say no 15pts (1pt if you live in Camden)
-This person obviously mistook zammo from grange hill as a role model as a child and now lives in a chemical haze. windows open and dub reggae at all hours. Why leave the house when the police, bailiffs and your criminal mates come to you?

The colonel 20pts.
-Retired most likely ex army, keeps the house and garden immaculate and forms neighborhood watch committees against those who don't. Finds it acceptable to mow the lawn with a ancient and battered Suffolk colt at seven am on a Sunday, but should you have more than three house guests over after nine on a friday expect a visit from the plod about your 'anti-social' noise levels.

How terribly British 1pt.
-They live next door and have done for years. You have no contact other than a formal good morning when you leave for work and one perfunctory card every Christmas.

Captain creepy. 25pts and a chance to be interviewed as part of a crimewatch special

-Its wrong to judge by appearance. Perhaps poor body image and borderline aspergers explains the poor social skills and baggy trench coat. Poor eyesight could just as easily see you in NHS specks and have you leering just to make out peoples face. You would love to know for sure but you fear him for making your rape-senses ring like a bell.

Student Grant 9pts
-We were all young once, but little did we know at the time how our vivacity did naught but piss off anyone older. If you get any peace at night its because they have finally succumbed to fumes from thier illegaly installed boiler, and you should probably call someone.

the brood 5pts
- Half a dozen or so (you aren't quite sure exactly) feral kids, who have taken over the street as their own. No matter, soon their hambeast mother will come out side far enough to scream at them for half an hour. They are then free to go back to what they were doing, probably fighting over that damn shell thingy again.

Tom and Barbra good 50pts (1pt if you live in Chelsea)
-They grow their own herbs, and drive their range rover to the recycling bins in waitrose daily. They will invite you over for dinner parties to show off their organic cooking, and come round to you to organize a petition against plastic bags from the corner shop or to keep phone masts at least eleventy miles away from schools. Just smile and nod without getting involved, the guardian will tell them do something different next week in any case.

The corpse 100pts. (and seven pints of red top)
-free milk and newspapers for a week. Its what they would of wanted.

Whats your score, past and present?
(, Wed 7 Oct 2009, 20:59, 10 replies)
Thankfully, I know the woman...
Last July, we got a house next door to my nan. Don't remember applying for it, but there you go... I knew all the neighbours and the area, because I've been round here almost all of my life. My daughters are the 5th generation of my family to live in this street.


Just after we moved in, I was having a bath - playing submarines, etc. - and could hear some weird, scrapey noise coming from outside. It was about half 11 at night, BTW.

Then, "Innie? INNIE? IIIIINNNNNNNNNIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!" Strange, that. Then I could hear it coming from the front, accompanied by a rather urgent banging of the door.

Out of the bath I jump and head downstairs. Go to the front door - nothing. Decide to make a cuppa and look out of the window to find the next door neighbour (let's call her Pamela) in our yard.

"Innie! Open the door!" "Erm, no... The cats'll escape. And I'm just wearing a towel." "No, right, what it is, right, is that I brought some bleach home from work (the local pool), and I was just cleaning my yard, right, and the bleach fell off my wall. So I had to get my chair, right, and climb over and this is my chair! And my Bleach! Can I come in?"

At this point, she's waving the chair and the industrial strength chlorine around, so I politely declined the offer of company.

The missus was in my nan's the next day and was regaled with the story of how "I was in the toilet last night, about half 11. I could hear something outside, so I looked out of the window. Why was Pamela in your yard with no pants on?"

Length - Probably longer than mine.
(, Wed 7 Oct 2009, 20:25, 2 replies)
Kurt Kobain
used to rent the flat opposite mine. It was terrifying. He had this ugly as sin pitbull that used to follow him around everywhere. Whenever I’d see the two of them out in the communal corridor this mental, foaming at the mouth, outrageously aggressive bitch would try and bite my face off or hump me to death, or sometimes both at the same time.

Oh, and he had a pet dog too...
(, Wed 7 Oct 2009, 17:14, 7 replies)

This question is now closed.

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