nothing much to report about my own neighbours
we moved house about five times when i was younger so there have been a few. my current neighbours is an on-off pal.

the first was a cat thieving witch. not content with 14 of her own, she lured our little tabby kitten away with titbits. i suppose a quiet abode with other furry companions is better than three rowdy toddler girls but we never saw him again. i never went in but apparently her house reeked of piss and catpoo.

this kitten also pooed on our other neighbour because he squeezed too hard. excellent.

last set of neighbours moved out. good riddance! apparently, the mother couldnt work because she had her hands full home schooling her eleven-year-old son with learning difficulties. this child was never inside but always in the back garden. and couldnt read. luckily he had maths to fall back on, proven by his constantly trying to con my then seven-year-old brother into handing over his pocket money. the highlight was when i was woken at about ten in the morning by a 'THWACK, THWACK' noise, lent out of my window and saw the boy with a massive axe, laying into a tree in the garden. when i leant out and asked him what he was doing? a chore.

the mother then had a baby girl and couldnt 'homeschool' this boy anymore so he was packed off to school. miraculously, the 'learning difficulties' disappeared in the space of about a couple of months and he could read.
(ladyintheradiator, Tue 6 Oct 2009, 20:13, 2 replies)

Busted!
A couple of months back, I was out with mrs sarcasmo and some old friends, who we'd not seen in a long time.

We end up in a local pub, a good night was had, and after many many refreshing beverages later we decide to make our way back to the house to see what else could be drank...

It's late in the night, and not much is stirring in the area. The only noise to be heard, is our chatter as we walk along. We make our way into our estate, where there's a row of about 8 houses one side of the road.

A friend and I are chatting away, and are a few feet ahead of the rest of the gang.

Then the silence breaks.. all we can hear is .."GO ON YE BOY YE!"

It turns out that one of our neighbours, (a lad in his mid 20's-early 30s).. had taken the decision to sneak into the sitting room and fire up the auld naughty 10 minute freeview.

The last thing he expected in the midst of his vinegar strokes was to have a number of pissed people walking past his house :D

Interestingly enough, ever since that night, he's always had the curtains pulled when it starts to get dark.
(sarcasmo needs more sleep, Tue 6 Oct 2009, 20:04, Reply)

binoculars
when round my boyfriend's the other day, i found a pair of binoculars by the window...

should we be concerned?
(ladyintheradiator, Tue 6 Oct 2009, 19:57, 8 replies)

Middle class
My neighbours are nice.Middle class, granted, but mostly nice with it and nowhere near as smug as you'd expect.
He's something or another in the City and it must be well paid since she spends all her time, sunbathing, gossiping or buying crap.
Their parties are mostly polite, they keep their garden in order and unlike certain other neighbours I've had, don't get leathered and try to strangle each other of a Saturday night.
The one thing I'd change is this: At some point somebody told the pair of them that they were witty and ever since they've been endlessly rattling off the most mindfuckingly lame puns this side of a Carry on film. Seriously, humour has moved on a bit since the 70s,
you know.
Still, the missus seems incapable of spending more than 48hours without getting her tits out so much can be forgiven.
(Big D, Tue 6 Oct 2009, 19:35, 2 replies)

I live right on the beach in Dorset
and just about everyone else down here is 70 years old plus. The week after we moved in we had a visit from the local neighbourhood watch organisers to say hello. All was going well until they warned me that 'coon youths' had been seen lurking in the area. Shocked by their attitude I asked when this had happened, they answered and I quickly worked out what was going through their minds. I then called for my 13 year old son and his best friend, who was visiting, to come and say hello. Clearly one of the neighbours recognised my son's friend so I said "were these the youths you saw? because *son's friend* here is actually half-kiwi, as you can see my son, though tall is really very white indeed and they happen to both be pretty much top of their classes at *name of well respected school nearby*, I think we should leave it at that don't you" - and closed the door on them. They have pretty much kept away :)
(Chopper3, Tue 6 Oct 2009, 19:27, Reply)

Conversation I have had with at least 5 different people since I moved into my flat
So you live opposite another block of flats
Yup
Where are your binoculars
I don't have any
But.... but... you live opposite a bunch of flats
...and?
How do you spy on the without binoculars?


What the flumps is wrong with my friends?
(teebie jeebie, Tue 6 Oct 2009, 16:24, 6 replies)

Plumber.
Our neighbour is a plumber, and a good friend of the owner of the property. Having sold my house nearly 2 years ago, we've been in a number of rented places ever since. Most have been fine.

One morning about five weeks ago, I got out of bed, dragged myself to the shower as I am prone to do. Only this time, no water came out. I figured I'd use the other bathroom and went downstairs. That's when I saw a big streak of dirty water across the dining room ceiling dripping onto pretty much everything electrical in there - and there was a lot of electrical things in there (as can be seen in the pics on the Techno-DIY QoTW).

I phoned the letting agency, who - to their credit - sent a plumber round pretty quickly. The next door neighbour plumber.

Anyway, in the mean time, I've pulled the bath out, removed tiles etc... to have a look and see if I can find out where it's leaking from. When the plumber arrives he has a quick look, can't find anything and just adds sealant to pretty much every pipe he can find - which to be fair did actually fix the leak.

Then, the snidey crap-bag phones the landlord of the house and tells him "that bathroom was so filthy I wouldn't set foot in it again".

...which of course prompted a phone call to the agency. Who, in turn phone me, and arrange a visit the next day.

The lady turns up, has a look - has a very suprised look on her face, as the place is spotless (my misses is on the verge of having OCD when it comes to cleaning).

She tells me that "well, the landlord said, 'if they can't keep the place clean then they can f*** off!". Bloody charming.

So, having only been there for about 10 minutes I seem to have made an enemy of my neighbour - or rather he did of me. What on earth did he expect to see - the.bathroom.was.leaking.fucking.dirty.water.everywhere! Of course it was dirty.

I suppose he can't be that much of a plumber, as the plumbers I know are used to being arm-deep in other people's shite.
(dchurch bah, Tue 6 Oct 2009, 15:51, Reply)

Two reposts from me
House #1 (from the shit QOTW)
www.b3ta.com/questions/shitstories2/post135981

House #2 (from the crime QOTW)
www.b3ta.com/questions/witness/post122427

Hopefully these days are behind me, I have just moved into a palatial mansion where I've met all the neighbours and everyone is absolutely lovely so far.
( emvee cruor deo cruoris, Tue 6 Oct 2009, 14:58, 2 replies)

Nobby, my Neighbour
Many years ago (Cue obligatory wobbly line like substance) when first I was drawn to the heaving metropolis that is Cardiff I lived in a shared house on Fitzhamon Embankment (For those of you that know the geography of the Riverside district).

Let me tell you, gentle readers, living there was an utter experience. Beyond the discovery of murder victims in the neighboring back-garden, the drug factory next door and the stream of other crimes committed within 100ft of my 'home' it also attracted a stream of the strangest and most surreal people I've ever had the experience of meeting.

First and foremost amongst these was a chap I knew as "Nobby". I think everyone knows a Nobby, you know.

Nobby was strongly anti-drugs and anti-drink. He was also a skinhead who wore nothing but camo's and was utterly hooked on snorting cans of butane lighter fuel. See, thats neither drugs or drink as far as Nobby was concerned, so he was a pillar of society and utterly doing nothing stupid, oh no.

Still, he was *generally* a nice chap. Apart from the time he nearly stabbed me with a kitchen knife when his girlfriend decided to drag me into the middle of one HELL of a domestic. But that's a tale for another day...

For now, I wish only to recount the strange events of a particular day in the summer of 1991. (wavey lines inside wavey lines now, you'd best hang on to something solid...)

It was truly scorching and the city lay in a sultry, abused heap dumped on slowly melting tarmac. The traffic moved sluggishly past and even the seagull and pigeons couldn't be cunted to squawk, shag or fight. Everything, animal or vegetable, was either lying gasping in the heat of the midday or jumping into the Taff in an effort to escape. (Tantamount to suicide...the Taff could be *walked* across on colder days!) The city stank of sweat and hops, and in the distance a saxophonist played slightly off-key blues.

Nobby and I sat in the window of the garret room at the top of the house; he snorting from a fresh can and me taking the occasional pull from a bottle of JD and a reefer alternately.

Now, below us, on the ground floor lived a frech fella whose name eludes me for the moment... ...let's call him Mr. Frog... who was a very strange fella indeed. He rarely emerged during the day and when he did he almost never spoke to anyone. He worked, we heard, as a chef, but given the strange stench of mouldering food that hung around him we were not keen to try his cuisine. That day, and for the weekend preceeding, neither Nobby or I had seen Mr. Frog at all, but that didn't strike us as unusual....

Our attention, slightly lagged, was drawn to a police car cruising sloooooowly down the embankment. We could imagine it wheezing and sweating in the heat, and the two police-person occupants looked uncomfortable indeed. Uncomfortable and bored.

Whilst their comfort was unlikely to improve as a result of what happened next, they were certainly no longer to be bored, for into this scene of parched laziness exploded a howling banshee. Below us, out of our own shared front door burst Mr. Frog. Naked, save for stained and ill-fitting Y-fronts. Screaming, bestial and primtive. Foaming at the lips, he flung himself straight at the police car.

Now, that in and of itself would've been enough of a suprise for the dutiful officers, but their dismay could only have been multiplied by the rather large breeze block that Mr. Frog had thoughtfully chosen to bring with him. Only to bring it crashing down through the windscreen before collapsing over the bonnet himself.

All was still. The heat of the day continued to build. Nothing moved, nothing stirred.

Then there was pandemonium as the police exited the vehicle and attempted to apprehend the strangely slippery and suprisingly fast Mr. Frog as he legged it down the street.

Nobby turned to me, took another pull on his can and said "Y'know, Effin, I think I do too much of this shit."
(EffinDoubt is breaking glass on, Tue 6 Oct 2009, 14:55, 11 replies)

Not me - a colleague.
I have a colleague who complains about her neighbours: they're lesbian, one's a vicar, and they sing and play the tambourine with gusto.

I wish I could sympathise - but the idea of a lesbian kum-ba-ya circle is, frankly, too funny.
( Enzyme is powered by sunlight, Tue 6 Oct 2009, 14:53, Reply)

I live next door to a kiddie fiddler
Precocious little bastard is through to the strings semi-final of Young Musician of the Year.
(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, Tue 6 Oct 2009, 14:52, 2 replies)

Dirty Harry & Dirty Harriet
I think my parents were trying to tell me something... It was a traumatic time, it felt like someone had jammed their hand in my mouth, reached down my throat, worked their way through my body cavity, and were tugging on my ball tubes, playing my testicles like a set of meracas.

I was going home.

The first year of uni had flashed passed in a drunken haze of Morrisons own-brand vodka, various seedy, smokey Manchester bars, and tits. And now here I was, on a train heading for Northampton station and the deary middle-England beyond I’d attempted all my life to escape. I’d never really had a great relationship with my parents. They were ok, but family stuff from years back meant things were, well, a little difficult. I was dreading losing my new-found fredom for a whole summer. But I had fuck all money and the rent was great, the rent was free. Then a thought occured to me. I recall my parents saying they’d moved house round February time – they hadn’t passed on their new address... I HAD NO FUCKING IDEA WHERE I LIVED ANYMORE!!!

Thankfully when I got to the station my old man, looking like some tripped-out veteran from Woodstock, turned up to meet me. This was way before mobile phones. Thankfully he hadn’t forgotten I was due back on the 4:40 train from Manc-land. We gathered up all my worldy possessions – a couple of bin bags stuffed full of various crap, and loaded it in the Talbot Horizon. Then we set off. Heading in a weird direction, going to my parents new house, my new home for the summer until I could escape back up to Manchester to start my second year of arsing about and learning how to be a grown-up. My dad drove me to the quaint little village of Harpole (quaint except for the regular dummy divebombings delivered by the Warthog fighter jets from the local American airbase – they’d fly so low you could almost see what the pilots had eaten for breakfast). Then we pulled into the driveway of a nice little semi. My mum met us at the door and said she’d show me my room. This was all very weird. And it got even weirder.

My mum led me through the house and into the garden, down a path to the end of the garden and: “There you are, Spanky. Home for a couple of months ‘til you go back up North.”

I couldn’t quite believe it: “Erm. Mum. Its a shed.”

My mum shook her head: “No, Spanky – its a summer house.”

“No, mum. Its a shed. Its a shed with curtains but its very much definately a shed. You want me to live in a shed?”

My mum explained that they didn’t need an extra bedroom anymore which is why they’d moved here. And, after a fair bit of negotiation, she finally admitted the tiny wooden structure at the end of her garden with the felt roof was very sheddy in appearance and useage... There was a reason for that:

IT’S BECAUSE IT WAS A FUCKING SHED, THAT’S FUCKING WHY !!!

Anyway, fuck it – it had a bed in it. The spiders were mostly small and the lawnmower didn’t take up too much room – so I moved into my wonderful shed and settled in. I had to get a job quick to save up some cash for when I went back to uni in September. I’m not a buddhist – I can’t live on fresh air and good feelings.

Over the next few days I secured a job (sweeping up blood in an abattoir), I didn’t start ‘til Monday so I had a nice long weekend to relax and unwind. And relax and unwind I did. With my old schoolmates, in our old local. And it was when I came home absolutely shitfaced after a particularly long relaxation and unwinding session that I experienced the neighbours for the first time up close. And my god they were fucking scary – made the good citizens in that Wickerman film seem like decent, normal, well-adjusted members of society. I’d seen a fair bit of curtain twitching going on leading up to this; fair enough – its not everyday you look out your window, peer into your neighbours neighbours garden and see a hairy unwashed youth scratching his balls, fag in mouth, sitting on the step of a garden shed he’d apparently commondeered as a nice little studio apartment. Only wearing his boxers. Hacking up phlegm and pissing in the bushes. I can sort of see why they were a little concerned. I imagine they thought a particualrly nasty transient confidence trixter had duped the new couple who’d moved in next door back in February...

Anyway, I’m staggering back, pissed out of my mind, nursing the full pint of Guiness I’d brought back with me from the pub (quite a feat – my old local was in Northampton town centre, Harpole was about eight miles away after a very bumpy and twisty bus journey). So, I’m quaffing my pint and I get to the front door. Shit, no fucking keys. Lost, left with a mate, given away to some stranger on the bus while saying: “OoooOOOOoooooHHHhhhh, shiney, shiney, shiney!!!” – who fucking knew. It was late, I didn’t want to wake my parents. So –

I went round the back into the little lane and attempted to clamber over the wall. I stopped. Thought it best to actually finish my pint first, then I gave the it another go. Took me a little while to scramble up the fucker, it was a pretty tall wall. I’d managed to clamp my arms round the top, was using a handy dustbin for a leg up, and then –

I managed to get completely fucking stuck. My t-shirt had somehow snagged over my head, I was blind-drunk with the added bonus of being blind. Fuck... Well, I’ll just dangle here for a bit... Gather my thoughts... See what happens... And then something DID happen, very definately and it was FUCKING PAINFUL ! - THH-WWW-AAA-CCC-KKK !!! ARRRGGGGHHHHHH !!! Something’s just bitten my arse!!! My arse is under attack !!! There’s a wild animal and its trying to fuck me or eat me, or fuck me then eat me !!! Oooohhhh, BOLL-OOO-CCC-KKKK-SSSS !!!

Then I heard the voice: “You just wait there, sonny,” if Clint Eastwood was about ninety and English, this is how he’d sound. I was being attacked anally by Dirty Harry. “My wife’s called the police and they’ll be here soon.”

“I fucking live here!!!” THHH-WWW-AAA-CCC-KKK !!! “Owww!!! Stop fucking hitting me!!!” THHH-WWW-AAA-CCC-KKK !!! “Help me down, for fucks sake you demented old cunt !!!” THHH-WWW-AAA-CCC-KKK !!!

Pause... Silence... Then then menacing old voice: “You gonna do as your told, sonny?”

Being a real manly type man, I considered my options then whimpered, “Yessir...”

And there I remained for a good ten minutes or so until the rozzers turned up. “Well what’s this? Halloween come early this year, har har har!” Turns out the two PC’s had knocked on my parents front door – they were out. Shit! Yes! They were going over to Coventry to visit some of their old hippy mates, to commune with nature, talk about the sixtiees, probably fuck each other ragged while listening to the Mammas & the Pappas.

And to make matters worse... my weird dangling postion meant my jeans had managed to work themselves down my bum crack. I was holding them up at the front in an attempt to hide my hairy balls from the law and the old folks from next door.

“You want us to cut you down, gorgeous?” said the other copper. I said that would be lovely, and they managed to get onto the wall and cut me loose. I came to the ground with a crash, whimpering on the floor like a great big drunken, ashamed daddy long legs with his arse out. The coppers asked me for proof of who I was – I had no proof. They asked me for the address of the property I was attempting to gain entry to – I had no fucking clue (still can’t remember my own flat number and postcode for where I live now, and I’ve been there for two years; this sort of thing isn’t my strong point). They asked me if I could get in contact with my ‘parents’, I said no, I didn’t know where they were, considered saying I had my suspicions they were at a swingers party, but thought this wouldn’t buy me any advantage.

Then I had a brainwave! I turned to the couple from next door, Dirty Harry had now been joined by his wife, Dirty Harriet: “You’ve seen me! I’ve seen you looking out your window at me! You know I’ve been living here for a week or so!” I pleaded.

Then the old fuckers, almost in tandem, replied: “We’ve never seen this young man before in our lives...”

“Yes you have!!!” The lying wrinkled-up cumbuckets!!! I’d locked eyes with them through their twitching windows on at least half a dozen occasions. “You fuckers!” Remember – I was drunk, very, very, VERY drunk. On a sliding scale of 1 to 10 I was the entire England rugby team after a win who’d just stopped off at Costcutters to be told: “Help yourselves, boys – everythings been spiked with antifreeze and barbituates too! Knock yerselves out!” Then I said something that I suppose I shouldn’t have, something the coppers picked up on immediately:

“You do know me!!! I live in the SHED!!!”

And with that I was arrested and carted off to the cells for the night.

Fucking uncomfortable, your small village police cell.

And my parents were fucking livid, I mean LIVID when I turned up the next day and told them what had happened. “Yes, we know,” said my mum. “We spoke to Mr and Mrs Smith next door – they thought it was a good idea to teach you a lesson." I was enraged. But my mum cut me dead: “We tended to agree with them.”

Fucking parents...

Fucking neighbours...
( SpankyHanky, Tue 6 Oct 2009, 14:33, 21 replies)

stalker..not me
A couple of years ago I had a short-term house share on the go. I worked in Bournemouth and lived there during the week, coming home on fridays. No complaints.

Nice street. Quiet neighbours. Anyways, as part of the "lets make friends with the neighbours" campaign i nodded hello (no need to go to far) to next door. They nod back.

Then no nodding.
One day i see their 7 year old playing in the front garden as I am going in.
"hello" says I
"do you live there?" says the little one
"well, yes, i do"
"my mum and dad have a picture of you on our fridge door"

I was then filled with dread that i look like some kiddie fiddler that the local school has warned parents to be wary of and warn their kids about.
(sarcasminasuit, Tue 6 Oct 2009, 13:58, 3 replies)

Sorry, no laughs here...
I lived next door to the same girl for many years, we'd grown up together and got along great, she was kind of my childhood girlfriend.

But somewhere down the line we kind of drifted apart, we were still neighbours, but things just weren't the same.

Then one day, completely out of the blue, I get a call from my friend Sally; somehow she has gotten word that my childhood sweetheart was leaving.

I continued to watch out the window and eventually a vehicle pulled up, a limo to be precise. As I watched her leave I couldn't help feeling that after 24 years I should have taken the chance to tell her how I feel.

I'll always miss you Alice


Bindun?
(porkinator is a Rock n Roll nerd!, Tue 6 Oct 2009, 12:59, 4 replies)

Sort of neighbours
Approximately 15 years ago I had my first experience of living in a shared house & moved in to a house in Basingstoke (I know…). Amongst the other residents was D, who had recently turned 18 and was married to J who was mid 40’s. D was 7 months pregnant by J when I moved in. I was the only one of 5 residents who was working & wasn’t there much so wasn’t fazed by sharing the house with a sproglet.

I was more bothered by the Shagathons which would conclude with D screaming at the top of her voice “it won’t go away” as she had (presumably) extremely powerful & long lasting orgasms. However, the worst was still to come. J had to go in to hospital to have a defective valve in his heart replaced. Big nasty operation. In hospital for several weeks etc. During which time D embarked on an affair with J’s brother. Nice. This affair continued after J had recovered from his surgery & came to a conclusion when J came back from the pub one day to find D and his brother knocking boots. I arrived home from work during WW3, packed up my bags & fucked off. I have no idea what happened subsequently but was just be out of the place & such classy people.
( lkjshaglkasjdhglkhjz lkcvl; g;aodh;owih, Tue 6 Oct 2009, 12:46, Reply)

I used
to when i was a kid, flash my next door neigbour's daughter who was in the same year as me. I also used to flash people in primary school.
( schizophrenic_sheep, Tue 6 Oct 2009, 12:39, 5 replies)

Cheap house for rent-Sheep herding experience preffered
Way way back in the mists of time a much younger Mon was due to be homeless and looking for somewhere quick. I thought that I had lucked out as after a couple of dreary one room shitholes I was shown a lovely northern facing property in the middle of nowhere. Seriously the place was within my budget and all I had to do was put up with the solitary sheep that grazed in the field.

After a quick look around the landlady (A lovely woman who had made a shitload of money in the entertainment industry) explained that there was one snag with the property and that was the grassland around the property also belonged to her and she would regularly loan out the plot to musicians/ actors to perform live concerts/ open air ramblings, etc, etc. The house itself was classed as security premises and also a small distance away from the area that theacts would use. I would be warned in advance of the upcoming shows and would be paid to lock up the sheep in a specially designed sheep pen in the back garden. I loved the place and an idea of seeing a few free live shows really appealed to me. I signed up a 12 month agreement and moved in the next day.

The novelty of a live concert wore off pretty quick. Mainly because I thought it would be something like Glastonbury but it turned out to be a bunch of shitty unknown groups that could not play any instruments, or some spoddy convention about an obscure film/ author that attracted a small following of unwashed wierdo’s. The sheep was a little fucker to catch too. Any time I was scheduled to put it in its pen the wooly little sod would turn into a demon and leave me exhausted and covered in a fine coating of mud and sheep shit.

The most memorable moment happened one rainy Saturday in April. The stupid tart of a landlady had accidentally double booked the area with two acts and rather than cancel one of the acts she decided to let them share the space and asked me to sacrifice my weekend by staying in the house watching that both camps did not cause any trouble. I was sat looking at the two camps being set up at opposite ends of the field and wondered why I was spending a weekend doing such a stupid task. On the east side of the site was for a fan convention of the TV show of Batman starring Adam West (With guest appearance of Cesar Romero and some other bloke that played King Tut) the other side was a specialist circus that had decided to ban using all animals and do nothing but use comedy acts that can also perform acrobatic moves. I tried to sneak over to the convention but was sent back (Ticket only and as half the visitors were dressed as Cesar Romero’s character I stuck out like a sore thumb). I decided to avoid the circus as I always find it odd for a grown person to paint their face and entertain kids (Wrestlers and French football fans are exceptions to this rule).

I trudged back up the driveway to spend my weekend watching the grass grow when the landlady rung to let me know that she had booked a live concert for a famous Scottish rock folk group to turn up in three months time and one of the band members was going to call down and see the plot in about 10 minutes, she was hoping to meet him there but was delayed at the office so could I meet him and stall for time until she turned up.

Gnashing my teeth I put my wellies on, headed out back, checked on the sheep and then headed out to the bottom of the road to meet the bloke, a guy called Gerry Rafferty (who turned out to be a decent bloke).

So this is the place eh? Said Mr Rafferty

Yup says a rather wet and pissed off Mon

Whats it like living here asked Gerry

Pfft…..Clowns to the left of me, jokers to the right …here I am stuck in the middle with Ewe.

(I would say that I am sorry for this awful pun but I enjoy it)
(mon bison powered by magnets, Tue 6 Oct 2009, 12:37, 8 replies)

Sticker- cat
My ex- boyfriend once found a box of blank, flourescent orange, round stickers in a box on the road near his flat. Soon him and his flatmates had sticker- i- fied every stationary object both in the flat and in the surrounding area (when we first started going out he proudly asked me to look out the window of his bedroom and spot the stickers on various lamposts/ fences/ trees nearby). So they decided to challenge themselves by aiming to stick atleast one sticker to the neighbour's cat whenever it wandered in- which was fairly frequently, possibly due to the presence of Dave the Mouse, who was referred to as a fifth flatmate, as in: 'Dave really hasn't been pulling his weight around the house lately' or 'Have you seen Dave recently?' 'Yeah, I saw him in the recycling bin last night inside a beer bottle. Getting blotto'. But anyway, I digress. After stickering the cat for a solid month or so, they were hanging around in the garden one afternoon, having just watched the once again flourescently polka- dotted cat run back over the fence when they hear a thoroughly confused: 'What the hell? Someone's put a sticker on you!'.

It makes me laugh imagining 1. the confusion of the neighbour over the mysterious new accessories on his cat and 2. how this was the first time he'd noticed!
(Mr._F is not actually a man- this username is a lie!, Tue 6 Oct 2009, 12:03, Reply)

Russian gun loony
I lived in a top floor flat, next door to a chap who can be best described as "barking mad".

Sergei was convinced he had a mission in life, and this mission was to kill as many people as possible, "but only when war come, da?"

The British Army wouldn't have him, on account of his Russian-ness, and he hadn't been to Russia since some dodgy business about shirking on his national service.

So, I arrived home from work one August morning in 1991, feeling rather smug with myself. I had, on my night shift, broken the news of the Soviet coup against Gorbachev, and my piss-poor quality recording of his ouster was all over TV and radio.

Sergei had heard it too. Sergei was very, VERY excited. I could tell this was the case because of the banging and crashing coming from next door as I tried to get some sleep, punctuated by exclamations in Russian, some of which I knew from when I looked up all the swears in a dictionary.

Then the doorbell rang. It was Sergei, wearing combat gear, carrying an extremely heavy holdall which may or may not have contained spiky weapons of DEATH, his hair shaved to a mohican Travis Bickle-style.

"Is me! Sergei!" he bellowed. "I go now and fight in war against bastard Communists!"

"Yeah. You do that."

"I go fight now in Moscow. I KILL Commie for you, yes?"

Then he turned, fell down the stairs ("Ha! I go now! I alright!"), the contents of his holdall clanking as he went.

I doubt if he even made it to Heathrow, but I never saw him again.
( Scaryduck LIKES EGG, Tue 6 Oct 2009, 12:01, 1 reply)

I have a downstairs neighbour with the most barky vile uncontrolled staffy in the world.
I like dogs but this one has obviously never been trained.
I've tried to be nice to the guy a few times but he literally holds the dog so she can bark and snarl at you and sneers at you while doing so.
I regularly get woken up by the dog frightening and fighting with other dog walkers outside my windows early in the morning.

We've had confrontations when I've come in talking on my phone to the flats corridoor and he's come out going mental at me because his dogs woken him up cos she can hear someone in the flats (we're talking 8pm here not like 3am)

Therefore I devised a fun game called doggy roulette. As you enter the building some time after midnight you whistle gently at the main door then you have to get up to the flat, into it and have locked the door by the time he comes thumping up the stairs to find out who it was made his dog go mental. Stupid chav prick.
( Nostrebor can't be everything all the time., Tue 6 Oct 2009, 11:50, 3 replies)

“You cheeky bastard!
I’m a Trojan XXXL elephant-cock man! Takes a team of fifty wenches to wrestle one of those nodders over my throbbing man gristle! It’s like a living Eiffel Tower made out of hot pork pie meat, my cock! Need a rubber wind sock sewen shut at one end – not a standard nippled latex bell end balaclava.... You saying I’ve got a small willy..?”

My American neighbour looked a little perplexed: “No... you don’t understand. I said 'have you ever considered moving to a condominimum'...”
( SpankyHanky, Tue 6 Oct 2009, 11:39, Reply)

I live in a timewarp...
well, it may as well be one. You see, Our neighbours are BLOODY LOVELY.

Mrs Trout plus spawns and I live in a very old street that's probably existed for 600 years at least. We have neighbourhood parties, and an active barter system involving eggs, jam, firewood and PC repairs (that's me). All the kids in the street run in and out of the each other's houses like it's a commune.

The old lady across the street was born in the house she lives in and remembers when our house used to be a school! I luuurve it!

Also, we always get a cheery wave each day from the man who saw Mrs Trout in the nip one morning when walking his dog. The funny thing is, we even wave back!

So don't despair good B3tans, there are lovely neighbours around.
(The Pesky Trout, Tue 6 Oct 2009, 11:10, 3 replies)

Cupid of 16 Albion Street
When I was at university one of my housemates developed a severe crush on our next door neighbour. But my mate was shy, painfully so. He badgered me to go and knock next door and lay the foundations: “My mate really likes you,” your typical teenage-angst sort of stuff. He even gave me a rose to pass on. Fuck me, I was too old for this...

Anyway, I did it. Just to get a quiet life. “John likes you,” I said, handing over the rose.

“John likes me?” Sounding a little confused.

“Yeah, John really, really, really likes you – you know, the little fella I live with. Short. Blonde. Got a posh accent. Did I say he was short? Almost a dwarf, actually... Well, he likes you.”

And then I turn on my heel and fuck off home.

“Did you do it?” my mate John asked when I returned.

“Yeah, I did it,” I said. “Felt like a fucking moron, but there you go – you officially owe me a pint.”

John did a little dance of joy, clapping his hands in glee.

Later, as my housemates and I were heading out the door in search of a place that sold fizzy hops n barley falling down water, we heard the front door to our neighbour fling open violently: “What the fuck do you think I want a fucking rose from you for? What is your fucking problem?” My mate John cowered behind me. “Fucking leave me alone you sick, sick, sick cunt! If I see you so much as look in my direction I’ll fucking punch you out!” SLAM!!!

“Err, Spanky,” said John. “When I said next door I meant the cute girl on my engineering course who lives at number fourteen... Not the psycho ex Manchester middleweight boxing champ with the glass eye who lives at number eighteen...”
( SpankyHanky, Tue 6 Oct 2009, 11:08, 1 reply)

Pretty Epic but it is all true!
I once lived on an ordinary little street in Surrey where the lawns were well kept and the neighbourhood was a little well to do. Or at least it was until a few years ago. My neighbours V and P were a very uppity couple, he was a director of some company while she was a stay at home housewife to look after their only child a tubby little tantrum throwing bugger that had no respect for anything. I am not going to bitch about the usual toddler trouble we had at first but then it all went tits up as a relative of my neighbours died in a car accident and as P was the closest relative they were dumped with the kid, also another little troublesome sod.

As they grew up the two kids seemed to go different ways P’s son picked up a few hangers on and would go around terrorising the neighbourhood while the other one H would drift around aimlessly looking like he was up to something shifty looking thinner and thinner each time I saw him…..My guess is he was on drugs but he was quite polite when he spoke to you.

The neighbours house started to look a little unkempt and various vermin must have infested the place as all the local night time wildlife was always spotted nearby hunting for food.

Anywhoo my guess one of the kids did something seriously wrong as the whole family left pretty sharpish one morning and didn’t return for a few days. When they did come back H was not with them and had been sent to some form of reform school.

H was back every summer and when he did come back trouble would also follow, whether it be him and P’s son fighting, something being blown up or shady looking blokes turning up dressed quite scuffily. One night I looked out to see H carrying the fat waste of space son home, my guess is that they had started fighting and I was quite surprised as H was a weedy little bugger when compared to the tubby son.

I realised it would be better to move on after last summer. I was enjoying a quiet night in when all of a sudden I noticed some movement outside. Fearing for damage on my beloved car I moved over to the window and saw a bunch of fully grown blokes on next doors lawn. They were dressed in robes firing weapons (I don’t know if it was a handgun or a flare gun for god’s sake it was dark and I am a bloke in middle management from Surrey) my guess is that they were also throwing fireworks at each other (There were all sorts of colours going off) . I must have been lacking in sleep as I was sure I saw a number of people who looked like H, not similar I actually mean that they all looked the sodding same.

Anywhoo after the ruckus (When I was sure everyone had gone) I called the police, went outside, cleaned up the charred remains of the burnt owl corpse on my lawn and called my local estate agent to get the place sold off.

I live in Barnsley now and the area may be a little rowdy at times but it was nothing compared to the things that happened in Privet Drive.

Apologies for lack of Quidditch.
(mon bison powered by magnets, Tue 6 Oct 2009, 10:52, 12 replies)

Never say yes to anything!
An opportunity, as my work put it (I work for an international college), for a year’s rent free accommodation as residential warden in one of their residences. At that point in time I had recently split from my ex, didn’t really want to live with my mother anymore I had been looking at places to live, but I thought better of it and no I don’t want to live in the residence with students. So, weeks pass still procrastinating about finding somewhere to live, when yet another email arrives reminding folks of a years rent free accommodation. So, it got me to thinking I am currently man-less, I could save a shit load of money. Why the f**k not! So, I compose an email asking what would be expected of a residential warden etc. etc.

When the response comes it is no more than light cleaning duties. I thinks to myself, grand I can do that – for a year of no rent and bills.

Most of the students are great, good fun to live with, good humoured and interesting. So, where is the problem? In general but not always they are same age as me (mid-twenties) or slightly younger, but crucially have just from a life where their parents do everything for them. There was one man; I was indulging in my favourite activity sitting in garden drinking coffee and smoking cigarettes, when he comes rushing out of the house in a hissing spitting rage and hollered – Freepens come and help me! My first reaction was, what’s happened has he slashed his hand open, set the kitchen a light – no, he couldn’t work out how to cook super noodles.

Another, this was a fully grown man (quite a few years older than my self may I add), woke me up at 4 in the morning in a panic because he had left his mobile phone in a taxi. What I failed to recognise was the important fact that it has all his numbers in it and he needed to send a text!

There is also a young woman, who loves, loves, loves to cremate food and set the smoke detector off at all times of the day and night – on one memorable occation at 6 o’clock on a Saturday morning. I had been out the night before got plenty drunk to tell the truth I really didn’t want to be woken at 6 in the morning. Alarm sounds what’s happened? Jump out of bed still in the clothes from previous night panda eyed staggering mad woman check, check, check, it’s ok no fire. Go reset the alarm – then retire to the garden with coffee & cigarette just in case it goes off again. May I add there was no apology from this young woman for waking the entire house (in reality it is just a very big house pretending to be a student residence), causing them to panic etc. etc. Then in her usual considerate fashion, comes out to the garden carrying some food saver (Tupperware) boxes and asks me if I think she has enough lunch as she is going on a College trip. I replied I think you take another apple just in case, but how the words off and f**k never passed my lips I will never know.

There is a another woman who refuses to leave the house, even refuses to go to college, if it is raining and complains continually about the fact that I (not she) does not own a car, because if I owned a car I could drive her places then pick her up later ‘which would be sooo cool’ – her words not mine. I could go on all day cataloguing the selfish inconsiderate juvenile behaviour of fully grown adults, but they should be excused as they are students.
(Free pens 100, 101, 102 is still counting on, Tue 6 Oct 2009, 10:34, 1 reply)

My Best Mate
Has technically been my neighbour for years, living only a street away (but houses in sight of each other).

Once when we were at school we were playing with a penny floater (for anyone not familiar its a cheap 99p football that when kicked flies literally anywhere but where you aimed it with the fury of 20 hurricanes, then fizzles out after about 6ft) in his back garden during our dinner hour. It was pretty icy but we didnt care until the ball went on top of his garage.

Mate is sent up to get it, balancing the icy bin on the icy path and climbing up onto the icy, slippery roof. Ball is returned to ground level and the trouble begins! friend slips on the roof and falls onto his arse. Then rolls off the roof, into the bin.



Funniest. Thing. Ive. Ever. Seen.

Needless to say our hysterical laughing fit did not aid him in getting out of said bin, much to his venomous fury......i still cry laughing when i think about it, he finds it mildly funny now and it happened roughly 1998
(Monkeystrumpet monkey. Monkey, MONKEY!!!, Tue 6 Oct 2009, 10:30, 4 replies)

Bishop Street
It may have turned to shit in the end, but 55 Bishop Street was the best flat I ever lived in, mainly because it was cheap, there was no paperwork (mondo dodgy setup, all cash, no bank accounts), it was huge and, best of all, had hardwood floors, which was handy whenever people spilt drinks at the frequent parties we threw.

Christmas '06 was easily the best night we had there, heaps of people etc. Boxing Day we had another little get together, during which the new next door neighbours came over for a visit. They were all tradesmen of one kind or another and so were very generous with their beers and weed. Ideologically we all seemed very similar and were sure we would get on famously. We might've too if Sam, one of my flatmates, hadn't got stinky drunk on absinthe and took it upon himself to continually jump the fence between our properties and make his way into their house one night. They kept telling him to fuck off but Sam kept persisting, as is his way.

The next day Sam felt remorseful (he had also stolen a guitar tuner and a few other random things), so he left an apology note on their doorstep along with the stuff he'd taken and a 15 pack of beer. We all thought that this was a fine peace offering, guaranteed to lead to Sam being forgiven for his sins.

Like bugger. From that point on the neighbours made a point of tellnig us that, if Sam ever pulled that shit again, he'd be "dead". The relationship soured after that and we didn't have much to do with them after that, because we all thought that they were being far too sensitive.

Still, they were better than the skinhead fuckwits on the other side. Not only did they have noisy cars, a habit of throwing empties over the fence and a beast of a dog that was always getting mistreated (I saw it get the boot on a few occasions, very uncool but you expect that from skinheads), but they also cut branches off their trees and threw them into our yard and, worst of all, stole a weed plant we had growing in the backyard. We had no proof, but we know it was them because they had a clear view of our backyard when they sat on their roof (which they did often) and we had barely told a soul about said plant.

Then again, if they're the worst neighbours I get in my lifetime, I shouldn't moan. My current neighbours don't do anything worse than playing crappy house music on the odd day.
(ElGranto, Tue 6 Oct 2009, 2:04, Reply)

The Carters and the Johnsons
I'm changing their names, blah blah. First of all- phony hypocritical religious people, think they're better than everybody.
Huge copycats- neighbour gets a trampoline, so do they. Neighbour builds a playground for the kids, so do they, only better. My parents get a mixed breed dog, two days later they present a purebred, and ask that we keep our "mongrel" away from him. Not to mention their snobby daughter K once invited me to swim in the pool and turned me down at their front door, but let my friend in. K also has huge birthday parties that go all night and involve lots of beer cans dumped over our fence in the morning. My mom just throws them back over. Needless to say, not our favourite people.

The Johnsons are actually nice people, but we've had problems with their teenager. Her name also begins with a K, so I'll have to give her a fake name. Let's call her Kelly. Story one- Kelly throws huge party while parents are away. Bad timing- my brother, sister in law and infant daughter are currently sleeping in the pop up trailer in our driveway for a night. Neighbour (not us) calls the police, who drive by and break it up. After they leave, the kids still there assume it was us who called the police (for some reason) and spend several minutes hurling rocks at the trailer. One rock was a big chunk of cement they dug out of the end of our driveway. Police were called again, this time by us. If the cement had gone through the fabric instead of bouncing off, my niece could have been seriously hurt, not to mention her parents. Kelly was on cleaning duty in the morning, apparently in big trouble.

Story 2, a friend of Kelly's was backing out of the driveway and hit my brother's car, parked by the side of the road (perfectly legally).
Kelly came right up to the front door, and when my mom answered, started yelling at her for parking on the road. My mother thought she was the one that hit the car at first. My mom told her she didn't appreciate being talked to like that and the car was parked legally. My mom also called Mrs. Johnson who was horrified that Kelly had done that and implied that Kelly would be in big trouble. There hasn't been anything happen for months though, maybe Kelly has shapened up?
(mariam67, Tue 6 Oct 2009, 1:02, 2 replies)

Kevin
A while ago I lived in a top floor flat for five years. During that time I had three sets of neighbours living in the flat below. The first two were very nice people. Then Kevin moved in with his girlfriend.

I won't call Kevin chavscum as that would be insulting to decent, hardworking chavscum everywhere. Suffice it to say he had "KEV" tattooed on his hand, presumably in case someone asked him a difficult question like "What is your name?" Shortly after Kevin moved in, I was enjoying a quiet evening at home listening to music. There was a bang on the floor and Kevin appeared at the door and asked me to turn it down. Fair enough of course - Wagner isn't to everyone's taste and I had no idea that it was audible as none of the previous neighbours had mentioned it. I made a point of playing music much more quietly.

Not long after that, I was woken at 7.30 on a Saturday morning by a sound like you would hear from someone having his testicles removed with a blunt and rusty knife. I soon realised that this was Kevin's idea of singing. It went on for an hour, and I was subjected to the same atrocity against music pretty well every weekend, early in the morning. For variety he would burp for an hour and one Bank Holiday I heard him singing THE SAME FUCKING SONG for three hours on end, with the accompaniment of what I assume was a karaoke machine.

I decided that if he was going to be that annoying, so would I. So I put on a CD at a reasonable listening volume and sure enough, the first orchestral tutti was accompanied by banging from below. I went down and tried to point out that if he he expected me to be considerate, he should be too. His reply was that he thought he was quite a good singer. When I disagreed, he came up with the line "You don't like our music, we don't like yours."

You can't argue with someone like that but anyway I believe revenge is best served drunk. Every time I got home from the pub I would piss on the doorhandles of his van, and after he'd particularly annoyed me I removed the van's aerial. His vocal effort the next morning, resonant with rage, was probably the best performance he ever gave.
(eesnahk, Mon 5 Oct 2009, 19:39, 3 replies)

New age neighbours
My current neighbours generally are ok, mostly of the new age type.
Nice quiet little street where we have shared BBQs
But because of thin walls I do get to hear some chanting and drumming type stuff on a fairly regular basis.
Ive also now got the point where I find it amusing that one guy comes home so drunk he bounces off the front door several times before falling in.
Not so amused at the vomiting noises in the morning though.
However one early morning around 1am I was shocked to hear a blood curdling scream from next door, and again and again.
The guy comes out and i ask whats going on.
Oh dont worry its someone having a baby.
Not the lady of the house but someone they just met who had nowhere else to go.
Ok then, but the screaming got worse and worse, and very strange, sometimes howling like a wolf.
3am I gave up all idea of going to bed and sat in the garden, one by one lights all over the street are going on and people are coming out.
Every now and then they guy would come out and give a progress report.
all the while this scream over and over again
By 4am my nerves are tattered, Im saying , that doesnt sound right, she shouldnt be screaming like that for so long, and ask if a midwife is there.
No, we have a Doula ( en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Doula) and she ( not the doula) is screaming like that because we are transferring the pain into healing sound, or something new age like that.
Okaaaay then :|
Then its, oh she is having a breach birth and knew this all along. FFS.
I strongly suggest they call an ambulance and if they dont i will.
5am ambulance arrives and peace reigns again.

Baby safely delivered the following morning.

To get a small idea of the sounds we were hearing non stop for over 4 hours, have a listen to these.
Need volume up as I was on the opposite side of the road and a wee bit shaky by then.

tinypic.com/player.php?v=2n68cnk&s=4

tinypic.com/player.php?v=iw8bnk&s=4
(insomniac-surfer oh go on then, just this once, Mon 5 Oct 2009, 19:28, 6 replies)