Coitus Interruptus
Contrary to the initial impressions conveyed by the aged Mitsubishi Pajero on their drive and the fact that they named their teenage daughter "Charmaine", my old neighbours were as good as gold. Both heavy smokers in their late fifties, he was apparently invalided from work due to him having only two-thirds of a lung left - a fact that we were gleefully informed of by his wife in between her Lambert & Butler fuelled coughing fits. However, they went out of their way to welcome us to the neighbourhood and regularly popped round for cake and gossip, they were real, salt of the earth, rough diamond types you couldn’t help but warm to, as I did when they volunteered to help redecorate my bathroom and refused my offer of payment.

Now even the most perfect of neighbours can irritate at the best of times and sure enough, mine struck gold the very next Sunday morning.
As I opened my eyes to the golden sunlight streaming in through the curtains, I was overcome by the urge to indulge in some sweet lovin’ with the missus who was by now quite keen for a lazy game of Hide-The-Sausage as evidenced by her wandering, warm hands.

Game on.

The thought that we weren’t the only couple in the street doing the no pants dance didn’t really occur to me until it was too late.

*ker-thump!* *ker-thump!* *ker-thump!*

The neighbourly headboard was banging a rhythm against the wall, I tried to blot it out, but what followed next well and truly killed our ardour.

“Gargle… hack-hack, argh…” *Ker-thump* “Argh… Gargle”

Try to imagine the noise a pair of out of shape middle aged folk with only one and a half barely functioning lungs between them might make while attempting to rut like horny teenagers. Disgusting isn’t it?

For those of you not blessed of such imagination it was like listening to someone gargling raw eggs while their coital partner was having their throat cut.

But then they did bake a lovely Victoria sponge.
(Bicycle Repairman "you're also a bit of a wanker", Fri 2 Oct 2009, 14:53, 1 reply)

My neighbour testified against me in court.
I grew up in a council estate in Bedford, so there was a fair share of scroungers, doleys, pikeys, mongs, skets and pushers between whom there were little pockets of normal people trying to get along. My gay best friend and I used to get terrorised by these barely-qualifying-as-underclass cockends. There was what can be roughly described as a girl living three doors from me. She may as well have been living in my airing cupboard for the visibilty her and her lardy family had on the street. Her dad fuxed cars illegally in the street and her brother was a greasy dullard who punched girls he fancied. Nicola Cells herself (name and shamed to expose the guilty) was a blubber-bellied, trout-faced dirty blonde who smelt of chip fat and HATED me. She testified against me in court when a ginger tartlet beat me up with a group of girls in tow and stole my mobile phone, the day before my A2 exams. Yes, they got away with it all.

My mantra at the time was always, "these girls are losing at life. Soon you will be out of here and they will be of no more concern". I was right- I now live in London, have a degree and prospects while she has two children and pregnant with the third (did I mention she is 20?). Quite rightly, you are probably thinking- why still so angry about this?

Well, you see- though she is no more than a diarrhea stain on my memory, I evidently still enrage her. By a terrible stroke of luck, she has been rehoused in another council estate, and is now living next to my best friend, a wonderful single mum who works harder and is more naturally intelligent than anyone I have ever met. She thought of a wonderful plan to get back at me, and has admitted as much.

Having an affair with my best friends partner. Who is the father of her second child. Which makes me want to scream expletives 'till I run out of breath.
(Turn that bloody gramaphone down has incorrect spelling in her username *WINS*, Fri 2 Oct 2009, 14:50, 16 replies)

Screaming into the night
I live in a shared house in a lovely tree-lined street full of families and old dears. One of our housemates used to invite about a dozen friends over, who would proceed to crowd into our tiny front room and drink case after case of Polish beer, create a fug of pot smoke and then break out the coke. I've seen blood all over my kitchen floor and in an unrelated incident, had to defend myself with a Swiss Army knife (am female and evil.) My patience dried up however when I was woken up at 6 am to find three Easten Europeans in my back garden literally having a screaming contest. The icing on the cake? My actual housemate was invariably in bed by 1 or so, leaving my house full of high, drunk strangers. He just moved out! Any rumours of me jacking him up by the neck and promising him I'd call the police the next time he had more than two guests at a time may be slightly true. (he was only little.)
(EllieBellie, Fri 2 Oct 2009, 14:39, Reply)

Who else is in my house?
I've had the same neighbours on one side for at least five years and they lived opposite for 2 years before that. Contact is limited to "hi" if leaving or arriving at the same time. Throughout that time I have lived alone with not many visitors. Last year they sent a Christmas card. To all at number XX...
(jvz, Fri 2 Oct 2009, 14:28, 1 reply)

Acker Bilk
My last house was not exactly shoddily-built, but it was certainly true that it had been thrown up for the lowest possible cost at some point in the seventies. It was semi-detached, and the wall between my house and next door was pretty thin.

My neighbour was a retired builder. I didn't know him well, but he seemed like a nice guy. Unfortunately, because of the thin walls, there wasn't much in the way of sound insulation; I could frequently hear his TV, and when the TV wasn't on, I could hear his music playing. He loved Acker Bilk. Specifically, he loved "Stranger on the Shore", and would demonstrate his love by playing it repeatedly.

What puzzled me was this: I learned that not only was he an ex-builder, but that it was he who'd built the house in which I (and he) lived. In fact, he'd built all eight of the houses on the cul-de-sac. So why hadn’t he done the respectable thing and moved to Mexico to live off the money he’d presumably made from building cheap-as-chips houses? Or, looking at it the other way, why didn’t he ensure that at least the house in which he intended to live was slightly better put-together? Was he living in one of his own less-than-high-quality creations as a form of expiation?
( Enzyme is powered by sunlight, Fri 2 Oct 2009, 14:23, 4 replies)

Who Doesn't Love 2 Live Crew?
My worst neighbor interaction was with a nasty old Eastern European spinster who used to stick her alarm clock in her windowsill that was directly across from my bedroom windowsill. We were separated by a narrow strip of lawn and we were both on the first floor. One morning in June after a particularly awful night of being paged over and over again to fix a database, I was finally able to go lay down at around 6am and her alarm clock goes off full blast to polka music...and she left it on. I got up, got into my car, drove onto the lawn, parked under the windowsill, and blasted, "Can a Nigga Get a Table Dance?". After about 30 seconds maybe, I turned the radio down, she had turned her alarm off, I drove off of the lawn and she...never did that again, although she did yell out her window, "I'm gonna sue you!" But honestly, no one in my family HASN'T had that screamed at them by a neighbor so......
(persnickety I Am The Seaward, Fri 2 Oct 2009, 14:23, 1 reply)

My Neighbour, the Doctor
My missus and I used to live in Brighton Marina Village. It's a horrible place to live, very cramped, and nearly impossible to park anywhere near, and the neighbours were usually rather pretentious snobs.
The chap who lived downstairs, however, was rather friendly and down to earth. He was young, well groomed, and always said hello and was happy to chat. His name was Omid, he was a doctor, and apparently had a good relationship with his local BMW dealer. It seemed like every month he had a new BMW parked next to his immaculate 850i. His cars had the magnetic 'DOCTOR' labels, and the obligatory green bubble light sitting on the front seat.
He would often regal me with tales of wacky patients and how he had been sacked from his previous work because of racial tensions - and how he would often attend messy car accidents up the A23.
My wife and I went on holiday to Spain, and as she likes her gossip, she bought one of those British glossy girl mags - Heat or OK or some such crap. We were enjoying a quiet afternoon, when she exclaimed "OH. MY. GOD."
I went to see what was up, and she pointed out an article featuring our neighbour Omid.

www.express.co.uk/posts/view/18380 (not the same article obviously)

We couldn't believe it. We called her parents back in Brighton to confirm if they had noticed anything. No, they hadn't seen him in a while.
Our neighbour was a conman. But he was a lovely bloke, really.
(w4I4q1O1 was hard at work on, Fri 2 Oct 2009, 14:14, Reply)

I don't really have any neighbours
One of the many benefits of being a senior banker with several large country abodes.

We fucked you good, didn't we?

Just you wait until you see your tax bills rise to keep house prices up to a level you can't afford.

Oooh, that's got to smart.
(SSSSS, Fri 2 Oct 2009, 14:09, 2 replies)

Originally a reply to TheSnarks post but...
I have dog owners living to my right, and cat owners to my left....and between the fucking barking and the cat shit in my garden Im left wondering why in the name of cosmic blue arse burgers I should put up with the noise and smell because other people want to keep bloody animals in their house?
(Obi wanker nobi Its not a bug, its an unexpected feature, Fri 2 Oct 2009, 13:51, 16 replies)

Slightly off topic but neighbours were involved and I've been wanting to tell this for ages.
*pop* and it's a bit of a long one but bring it on it is also 100% true.

Five years ago is going out with a lovely if slightly shy girl we shall call Amy for that is her name. Her parents were very posh types and while they were always polite to me I'm fairly sure they saw right through my facade and genuinely believed I was satan's spawn leading their daughter astray! On a fateful night this opinion could only have been strengthened.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Wavy lines~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

We were on our way to some asstard's party (her friends held a similar opion of me to her parents) and it was fancy dress. Usually these are not my favourite as I have limited creative skills and end up going as 'backwards man'. However Amy was a pattern cutter and had made quite superb complimentary costumes, I was an airline pilot complete with hat and aviators and she was resplendent in a trolley dolly uniform and matching heavy makeup.

Upon our arrival my heart sank even further the venue was even more of a fetid shithole than I had imagined and to add insult to injury we didn't even have the place to ourselves, the venue's yoof football team was drinking in the bar and making advances at anything that moved.

I was however pleasently surprised to find Pete (another of the girlie gang's 'dangerous' boyfriends), while the girls cooed over each other outfits and the DJ spun the lastest chart bollocks we sloped off to the bar to make the evening more interesting as best we knew how.

It started with lagers, then a round of tequilas, then one of us decided this was pacing ourselves too much and we should drink depth charges of said tequila to be more efficient!

This continued, we were arseholed and some dubious fun was had on the dancefloor (I truly beleive I am chanelling the late great MJ when drunk) I nipped off to the toilet to uncoil some of that age old cocktail we were drinking.

***********All Goes Black******************
N.B. All events from this point on are pieced together and corroborated by eye witnesses

After 20 minutes or so the girlfriend gets worried and start looking for me, when I'm nowhere to be found she checks outside and is informed I had wandered down the path to 'find some cunting drugs'.

I never got that far, I was asleep face down in the middle of the road just outside the venue. Amy manages to get me upright enough that she can half drag me back to the venue and bundle me into one the car of an unsuspecting parent of a friend.

Sortly into the journey I recover enough composure to lean my head through into the front and scream'CUUUUUUUUNNNNNNNNNNTTTTTTTT' at said parent for taking me away from the party, this continued despite any protests for the entire 20 minute trip. Upon our arrival at amy's house I decided that rather than let her open the door I was going to force my way in, I made so much noise that her NEIGHBOURS(bear in mind this is a large detached house) phone the police suspecting an extremely incompetant burglar.

After explaining to the police that I was simply a fuckwit and not a theif and with them distracting me enough for her to open the door I marched into the house, proceeded directly to the upstairs bathroom where I deemed my trousers and boxer shorts (but not my shoes) unnecessary and sprayed the perimeter of the room like a dog marking it's territory and to cap it all off I left a beutiful steaming present in the bath.

With my life's mission complete I stumbled into the hallway and passed out sunny side up on the landing. It was at this point that Amy's very posh mother opened her bedroom door to see what the fuss was all about, and she saw exactly what all the fuss is about(even if I do say so myself)dressed beutifully in the top half of a pilots uniform (including the hat)

To her credit she simply covered me with a towel and started to clean the bathroom (it's all in the breeding) and so you might think my story ends but nay as if to add insult to injury, I once again sprang to life and made the dash to Amy's third floor room and my made myself comfortable in her single bed while adding to it my own special blend of urine and feces.

**************************The lights come on************************

I awoke the next morning to find Amy sat at the foot of the bed in a sleeping bag her eyes wide open in what can only be described as a glare. My response to this was to utter the immortal line

'what's up hon'

Despite trying to sneak out before having to see her parents they caught me and to their undying credit they simply asked if I was feeling better.

I kept seeing Amy for nearly 3 years after that and they did grow to love me.

Apologies for length? Her mum didn;t seem to mind.
(gloden, Fri 2 Oct 2009, 13:43, 10 replies)

I hated my neighbours with a passion
I lived in a flat. The previous neighbours were lovely. those below had a cute baby who gurgled and managed a wave now and again. Mrs Old Lady lived upstairs. That was until she died and teenage nurses from hell arrived to move in.

Anyway. they upset the cute baby and rather than gurgle the noise they made drove me and the baby mad. It now learned how to scream.

Enough was enough. After weeks of not turning the music down i moaned to the living abroad landlord. He did fuck all. So we gave our notice and moved out the night before Good Friday...I forgot to mention all the fuse boxes were in our flat.

I like to think that they appreciated having no electricity for four days whilst they were doing their exams and trying to get assignments done.

I do think doing a crap outside their door was going too far though.
(sarcasminasuit, Fri 2 Oct 2009, 13:36, 1 reply)

Caught by the neighbours
Many moons ago when my sister and I still lived at home, it so happened that it was my sister's 18th birthday and my dad's 50th on the same weekend. Their birthday's are 3 days apart. Funny that.

M&D fucked-off for a filthy weekend somewhere. Don't know where, didn't ask. Me and my sister set about plans for her 18th birthday party, despite strict instructions by M&D not to have a party. Come on, WTF did they expect?

Party was planned for the Saturday night. We lived in a mid-terraced house and neighbours were duly warned. Saturday evening arrived and only a handful of people turned-up. Admittedly we hadn't had much notice (parents didn't tell us they were going away until Friday) and hadn't really invited anyone. We lived in quite a small village and knew most people anyway, so we had the stroke of genius to pop down to the village shop, to buy some booze I think, and put a sign up in the window, something like, "Party at no. 2 blah blah Street. All welcome" or a similarly ill-conceived choice of words.

Thinking 30 or 40 people would be a good turn out, 100 or so turned up. Oh fuck. There were bodies everywhere. Parents spirits cabinet was raided, furniture was broken, fights broke out and the police were called. It was fucking awesome.

Next morning, it was like a fucking war zone. I kicked the stragglers out of the house, surveyed the damage and set about fixing stuff. Having little to fuck-all DIY knowledge, it was as much a surprise to me as everyone else that the telephone table got reattached to the wall and the walls got painted. By close of play, we felt confident that we'd got away with it.

And if it wasn't for those pesky neighbours - the nosy cunts - we would have. Before they'd even got out of the car, the neighbours had asked M&D if we were redecorating as they'd seen me with a paint brush and paint. You ain't seen nothing til you've seen a short, Glaswegian woman rage like a banshee on heat. Our feet never touched the ground.

My sister was going through something of a turbulent time with M&D at the time, so she, in between sobs, asked me to take the wrap. Like the stupid, naive twat that I am, I did. Grounded for months, had to repay the cost of all the booze that was stolen, and had my Nana to babysit me thereafter (I was 17) - I shit you not.

Not long after, my sister moved out and I got thrown out. Funny that.
(Tighthead, Fri 2 Oct 2009, 13:24, 6 replies)

Sam
One of the children in my neighbourhood is called Sam. I know this because if I'm in my garden in the evening I often hear his father bawling "SAAAAAAM" over and over at the top of his voice like an adenoidal monotone foghorn until our eponymous hero appears. Inconsiderate cnut.
(Vice Admiral Sir Charles Cockbrush KCB MBE DSO, who is finding it increasingly difficult to log into b3ta.com wants to duck your aunt and kick your puppy, Fri 2 Oct 2009, 13:23, 1 reply)

Keeping Up Appearances.
There's no getting around the fact that I'm middle class and from a middle class family (for which I apologise). My parents' house is in a comfortable suburb, on a road generally populated by doctors, teachers, solicitors, and other members of the Archers-listening demographic; our local MP used to live a few doors down. It's a small-c conservative sort of area - the kind of place where people care about their lawns.

It was a surprise when, not so long ago, a new arrival to the area "improved" his house by adding a fairly naff portico to his front door. But surprise turned to horror when he gave his house a name, and painted that name in six-inch high letters on the portico.

Chuff Hall.

For fuck's sake. I'm not sure what's worse: the awful, awful pun; the vapidity of calling a fairly standard suburban house in a slightly shabby market town "Hall"; or the fact that such crimes against taste, committed by someone I've never knowingly met in a town 40 miles from where I currently reside, have revealed me to be such a prissy little Hyacinth Bucket.
( Enzyme is powered by sunlight, Fri 2 Oct 2009, 13:22, 7 replies)

We used to have a Neighbour from Hell
They were nicknamed "The Rottweiler" even though they never owned a dog. It just seemed to describe them perfectly.
Luckily they lived across the road and to the side a bit from us so we never really had major problems but their next door neighbours (good family friends) got the brunt of it. Here's the list of The Rottweilers' worst behaviour:

1) Ringing their neighbours' doorbell at 8am on a sunday demanding that they move their car so that the Rots' can park in front of their house and wash their car (only done when they knew it was only the mum and her kids in)

2) Cars parked infront of The Rots' house would usualy end up vandalised. Mirrors off, paint scratched etc.

3) When husband tried to ask them not to wake them up so early the Rot dad attacked him and then called the police on neighbour. Didn't work as he was already on parole for road rage and only escaped jail as the dad refused to press charges.

4) Our friendly neighbours, the dad had MS, it was a very hard thing to see, such a lively love-filled man to slowly succumb to this illness. We were very close and it was horrid. Of course the Rots refused to move their 2nd and 3rd cars to allow their disabled neighbour to park infront of his house. Not great when, even parked right outside, it took him 5 minutes to get to his door. (but of course The Rots still harassed anyone parked infront of their house)

5) When the above-mentioned dad finally left this world The Rots refused to move their cars to make room for the hearse. Mum, grandparents, neighbours etc. kept asking and were told to fcuk off. Did you know that lots of layers of pee eventually starts to strip car paint? I do now.

On a lighter note. They day they moved out we had a big party and a lot of the street stood on the street and waved them off with unpleasant gestures.

*Edit, feel free to correct my grammar, I'll edit it to fix it.

*Edit2, Thanks for the seplling corrections.
( Crap Little Monkey Deathstar, so good they built it twice, Fri 2 Oct 2009, 13:14, 4 replies)

when i still lived at home
there was a family next door - well, just a couple, really, but their grown-up children often dropped by.

These bastards would have extremely loud parties in their back garden through most of the summer, going on well into the small hours. For some reason, these parties almost always ended with a huge rammy as their grown-up son (as far as I remember, a pretty huge pot-head) fell out with one or other of his long-suffering parents.

The best one of these I remember is the occasion when son made his mother cry, dad started smacking him up and down the garden, and son then screamed at full volume "you're nothing but a whoremonger, and she's your bloody whore!"

... which I thought was a particularly nice way to talk to one's parents. I'm pretty sure the father wasn't a whoremonger, though I don't have any definitive proof one way or another.

Also, please see this story for other neighbour-related japes.
( b3th Not shit. Not mod., Fri 2 Oct 2009, 13:00, 4 replies)

A few months back....
....me and the wife were invited to a family member's wedding party which was about 50 miles away. The wife was all up for it but I was not; I was fresh out of surgery from a quite comical condition (see my profile QOTW best answers for that one, twas to do with my ass if you can't be fucked to read it). The medication I was on had stopped me from being able to drink and I'd randomly feel like blacking out, and as it happened was currently starting to kick in with me that evening. So the idea of an hour road trip to a wedding do did not sit pretty with me and the missus took the daughter with her in a strop to the party. Well fuck, sorry about being ill 'n' all, I'm so seflish like that :D

So about half an hour after they'd left, I literally stumble to bed at 7.30pm and pass out.

The next morning, I wake up at 8am to find the missus fast asleep beside me. The baby's just woken up so I take her downstairs and go through the normal morning rigmaroll (nappies, clean teeth, brekkie, not all at the same time mind you). Just finishing up the breakfast and the wife comes downstairs.

"Nice party?" says I.
"I don't fucking believe you slept through it" says her.
"What, the party? It was 50 miles away, the music didn't keep me up to be honest."
"No, not that. All the action outside."
"What action?" I glance out the window and can't see anything different.
"As we got back from the wedding, something happened a few doors down from us."
"And?"
"You didn't see the flashing lights?"
"Nope."
"Or the police running through our garden?"
"No?"
"Or the helicopter above us?"
"Um..."
"Or the armed responce with machine guns running in every direction outside with 6 police cars?"
"....errr...uh?"

She got home close to midnight to find that one of our neighbours had just been attacked by a machette weilding mainiac at her front door, who stabbed her twice as she managed to luckily get the door closed before he killed her. A quick frantic phonecall resulted in the largest Police Station in Swansea situated 2 minutes down the road emptying all their coppers onto the house 5 doors down from us. As the assailant was armed, the Armed Responce team turned up and along with any available standard officer started searching through every garden on the road for clues, including ours. 5 minutes later a Police Helicopter was above our row of houses, illuminating all houses and gardens in the area. The missus and me daughter had to sit in their car while they watched all this happen and after 1/2 an hour they were let into our house.

All while I had one of the best sleep sessions I'd had all year. All the concoction of painkillers and antibiotics had caught up with me, and it took a good 13 hour kip to make me feel alive again. As someone else almost lost their life a few doors down. Ouch.

They didn't catch the cunt who'd tried it immediately, but got him a few days later. Apparently her ex-husband owed him something so he took it out on the ex-wife instead. He's been done for attempted murder and has gone down for a few years.

Nice area btw :)
( Jeccius Steam Borderlands 2 junkie, Fri 2 Oct 2009, 12:59, 3 replies)

We're the over-the-top Halloween neighbours!
We decorate the front window with lights and pumpkins, dress up in scary costumes and wait for the trick or treaters to arrive.

When they come I pretend to be scared for a bit, then variously play little tricks on them and demand they tell me a joke or sing a song, then I say 'There aren't any REAL devils here though, are there?' and Mr Quar suddenly appears in a scary devil mask.

When they've stopped screaming I make them close their eyes and put a hand in my 'cauldron' for sweets, without looking, being careful in case the snakes and toads in there bite them...

This is a rough estate - there's never any trouble. One year a little group of youths made a half-arsed attempt at bommy-knocking and were chased up the street by Mr Quar in his mask, shouting 'Come back! You haven't had any sweets!'
Poor little sods nearly crapped themselves.

Just a few weeks to go - can't wait!
(Juan Quar is clinging to her front teeth on, Fri 2 Oct 2009, 12:57, 6 replies)

Time warp
When I was a bloody student the last of our student rents was actually a nice house (the other 2 were so stupendously rough it would be rude to shitholes to call them shitholes)

It was in a quiet cul-de-sac and when we moved in a load of kids were playing football in the street. So me and one of my house mates went out and had a kick about with them. We had loads of fun. This happened fairly regularly

When it was hot in May we had a massive street-wide water fight. Our kitchen & bathroom being used for refills (the mums weren't happy about loads of wet kids running in and out their houses fucking up their carpets) once again we had loads of fun.

Later that year I was studying for my finals and the doorbell rang, I went and answered it. One of the kids form the street was there holding a football

"Can you come out and play?"
awwwww so sweeeet so I said "Sorry my mum wont let me" which was sort of true because I needed to pass my degree or my mum would have been furious ;o)
(sittingduck Attention seeking, bullshitting fuck-knuckle, Fri 2 Oct 2009, 12:54, 6 replies)

Noisy neighbours
My sister and brother-in-law, before having kids, lived in a nice little Victorian two-up, two-down in a little street in Southampton. The new neighbours across the street were having an almighty housewarming piss-up one night, with their fuck-off stereo on at full blast, when my sister and her husband fancied a quiet night in (I don't want to think about why, thanks).

After several hours, apoplectic, he strides across the road in just his dressing gown (bollock-naked underneath) to shout at neighbours to turn-the-fuck-down-your-stereo-you-cunts (or words to that effect).

Turns out the neighbours were rather nice people. He called my sister over to join him, she in her dressing gown also (I'd like to think with a chastity belt on underneath, but 3-kids later, I think not), to join the party. So they welcomed the new neighbours to the street, in their dressing gowns, in a houseful of people.

I got a phone call at silly-o'clock in the morning to collect my sister and brother-in-law from casualty after they'd drunk themselves into a stupor and she'd had her stomach pumped. I'm so proud.
(Tighthead, Fri 2 Oct 2009, 12:54, 2 replies)

Idiot Neighbours and Surprise Parties
This one has been brewing for awhile now so I think its time I let it out. Back in 1990 my neighbour was entirely responsible for ruining my 6th birthday party and for me receiving the bollocking of a lifetime off my mother... so here goes...

It was 2 days before my 6th birthday and I was merrily skipping home from school with my sister. Chatting about this and that we made our way up the drive and saw our mother at the door looking thoroughly pissed off. Dragging me into the house she sat me down on a chair and proceeded to interrogate me. ‘Flim-Flam, have you invited anyone to our house for a birthday party?’ I looked blankly at my mother, mainly because I had no idea what she was going on about. I said no and then she went berserk and burst into tears.

It transpired that one of our neighbours had been having a spring clean and came across an invitation to a birthday party at my house, this invitation was for the previous year when I did in fact have a birthday party. So my neighbour called up my mother asking if the party was still on for the 11th. Now my mother rather than work out the connection between someone cleaning their house, discovering old paperwork and getting their years mixed up, assumed that somehow I had managed to - go out to the shops, buy invitations, write in readable print that I had a birthday coming up and distribute said invitations around to our neighbours without her being aware… I WAS 5 DAMMIT, I COULD BARELY PUT ON MATCHING SOCKS LET ALONE ORCHESTRATE A BIRTHDAY PARTY FOR MYSELF WHILST KEEPING IT A SECRET FROM MY MOTHER! So rather than believe that I hadn’t actually arranged anything my mother grounded me and went out to purchase party supplies!?!

Cue me sitting in my living room on my birthday, with a party I didn’t want, festooned with party paraphernalia, with no guests except for my retarded neighbours kid, no presents and no idea what was happening.

I still bring this up every now and then with my mother she apologises each time blaming her behaviour on being a bit mental at the time. I can sort of understand her behaviour, having three annoying kids all under the age of 10 doing her head in 24 hours a day, but still... I have not entirely forgiven her or my neighbour for that matter. *folds arms and nods*
(Flim-Flam the Magnificent "You is talking loco and I like it!", Fri 2 Oct 2009, 12:52, 5 replies)

Lesbians
I recently moved house, and my Mrs thought it would be fitting to apologise to our neighbours of 7 years for the noise I supposedly caused during that time*. She popped next door and offered her apology, which the neighbouring old lady deemed unneccessary, given the disruption the previous occupiers of my house had caused.

Said couple were 2 gay men, who were infamous in the village for having something of a tempestuous relationship. Many stories of yelling and scrapping in public had been imparted to me by various villagers over the years, so it was no surprise to learn that similar actions had been carried out in view of our neighbours.

Stories of early hours slanging matches and one particular event where one smashed the other's head into a wall were told by the little old lady, before she fell silent. Looking either way to check for eavesdroppers, she leaned towards my Mrs and with a straight face solemnly declared:

"I think they were lesbians, you know"

God bless that pensioner.

* In my defence, the police were called but one time, and that was by me to remove some ne'er-do-wells who gatecrashed a private party.
(titusyouclown, Fri 2 Oct 2009, 12:44, 2 replies)

Only this morning
at 7:30ish I spot a plod car outside my house. Two coppers with gloves on loading several computers (wrapped in plastic bags and tagged) into the back of the car.

Next thing in the car is the bloke who lives next door to the lesbian couple who live next door to the Serbians who live next door to me.

Woo ! Take your bets on this being:

- child porn;
- software piracy;
- fraud.

Whatever, it's the first dawn raid in my street that I've been aware of. Exciting times...
( I_Was_Mordred, Fri 2 Oct 2009, 12:33, 3 replies)

English Cunt
Not all English are cunts, but this cunt was. A shitty set up meant that he had to have access through my back garden to take his wheely bin out, which he done, once a week and left my back gate open, every. fucking. time. This allowed the local shit cannons to wander in and squirt arse chutney upon my patio.

He would also run rough shod over any of my kids toys that happen to be out the back. The plastic axe wasn't so much a problem, but the Evil Knievel i had imported from America for my sons xmas WAS a problem.

Then, then there was the cat episode....after many months of finding tea bags, smashed eggs, fag ends etc on the patio i was confused and annoyed. I was closing th eblinds of an upstairs bedroom when i saw the stupid cunt out his back smoking a tab, i went to the toilet came back and he was gone, but there was a lit fag end on my my patio. CUNT.

I marched down and picked up the offending cancer stump and went to his back door. it is about now i should tell you that he was considerably bigger than me, but he was a cunt, so i didn't care. His wife answered and said that the cunt was in a bath...Quick turnaround. Anyway, i went back and sat on my back doorstep, ready for some sort of confrontation. Minutes later he steams out of his back door, shouting in his stupid fucking english accent about my cat...What are you talking about you fucking cock-watcher??

To cut a long story short, he had been flicking these fag ends into my garden because he believed my cat was shitting in his garden...not any of the other few dozen cats that patrolled the place...So i asked him, as calmly as possible if he thought that in doing so it would stop what the cat, or any cat for that matter from shitting in his gardem. His answer was to shout louder...i told him that arguments could not be won by simply shouting louder than the other person. By the look on his blank face, he simply didn't understand this concept. He retreats back into his house, but leaves the back door open, at this point my wife enters our kitchen and i tell her that the idiot next door will have to go round every person who owns a cat and flick fag ends into their garden.

At this point he BOLTS back out from his house and says i should stop talking to myself, then he sees my wife standing behind me. He looked like the stupid cunt he was and after a few more mumbles, walks back into his house and shuts the door behind him. I claimed the moral victory and no more fag doubts appeared.

Man, i hated the cunt with ALL my being, his whiney accent, complete lack of brains and..........fuck, just everything about the cunt boiled my piss. I hope he is fucking dead.
(Cancer Joy was short lived, Fri 2 Oct 2009, 12:31, 7 replies)

Where I live
there's an old people's home to the front of my flat, and an old people's home to the rear of my flat. There's also a big statue of a metallic chicken on a roundabout, but that's neither here nor there.

Guess where I go pulling on a Friday night?
( Bert Monkeysex is waiting for the mods to delete him, Fri 2 Oct 2009, 12:27, 5 replies)

Getting ready to go out clubbing and be a goffick
I had just had a shower, dried, and started eyelinering.

One of the guys who lives in one of the other bedsits knocked on my door and asked me a question about some boring your shit, I dunno. I'm not sure what my answer was but he seemed perturbed.

And that is about when he started telling his friends about his weird neighbour who sits in his flat wearing eyeliner with a dressing gown and slippers.
(teebie jeebie, Fri 2 Oct 2009, 12:27, Reply)

How could I forget
my neighbours a few doors down who bbq pretty much every day. Rain or shine.

To be honest they seem like pretty decent folk but they play crazy balkan music crazy loud all night long. They have a mic set up as well. This doesn't bother me as they always seem to be having good natured fun (& I don't have to sleep in the back bedroom). Every few weeks they have a band come round & play for hours. Again, it doesn't bother me & I love live music so in truth I kind of enjoy it. Until you realise that the band only know 4 songs. I. Am. Not. Kidding. 4 songs on a live loop for 10 hours. One of them is Hava nagila (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m6RuURE9Y44) & is always played with massively enthusiastic audience participation. I think it's the same house that used to broadcast a pirate reggae station from their garden a few years ago. Different tennents I assume though.
(MyFakeName, Fri 2 Oct 2009, 12:00, Reply)

Tim Scores
Shortly after I moved into my shared house in Camden I heard strange banging and groaning noises coming from next door. Lasted for about ten minutes and then stopped suddenly. Well, Tim’s a sly old dog, I thought, and then I got back to sleep. I always assumed Tim’s cock saw as much action as a johnny machine installed in the Vatican did – namely absolutely fuck all. Tim was a bit of an awkward twat when it came to the ladies.

The next morning over breakfast I say: “Fill yer boots last night, Tim my man? Did she leave this morning at the crack of dawn? Was she called Dawn and did you enjoy having a crack at her crack?” And so on – coffee and me make a fucking annoying combination first thing in the morning.

Tim puts down his spoon, pushes his bowl of cornflakes forward, looks me in the eye and says: “No. I’m epileptic. I was having a fit.”
( SpankyHanky, Fri 2 Oct 2009, 11:48, 2 replies)

Not everyone on a council estate is scum.
Some of my best summer holidays were spent playing cricket with the kids who lived on the same road as two of my cousins. I say played, all I did was cower in terror when the ball came in my direction.

I seem to have been lucky with regards to neighbours. Never had a problem with them.
(ToysForBigBoys would spread her legs for Nick Clegg., Fri 2 Oct 2009, 11:40, Reply)