Had to sell my house.
My first house was a mid terrace 2 up 2 down in Hertfordshire and it was lovely.

On one side we had a deaf old lady and on the other a slightly odd middle aged couple. We were all good neighbours - never too much noise and we all got along pretty peacefully.

After we had been there about a year the middle aged couple announced they were off and would be renting the house out.

About a week after they left the tenants moved in. I came home from work that Friday and as I was about to open the front door, my wife appeared at the neighbours door to say that she had been invited round for a house warming drink and to come in as "they're really nice".

My "Looney Radar" went into overdrive the moment I met them. He was short and weighed about 9 stone wringing wet, she was 6 foot and hadn't weighed less than 20 stone for a long time. I was offered a glass of warm Martini - nice - and a seat on the floor as they didn't have any chairs. I would guess they were about 50, very well spoken and skint. This was the only time we ever spoke in a civil manner.

It quickly became apparent that they were alcoholics and that she beat him up. Bear in mind that this was a terraced house and you could hear a lot from next door, including her throwing him down the stairs accompanied by frenzied screaming and swearing.

I think we lasted about a fortnight before our first call to the police which became a regular (at least once a week) occurrence.

One Sunday she knocked on our front door (pissed) asking if she could borrow a pound. I was so stunned that I rather meekly handed it over (idiot!). Later that day I found out that just before she knocked on our door she and her rat faced cunt of a husband had just been thrown out of the local church for being drunk and trying to take money from the collection plate!!

Another time the neighbour on their other side saw her in town "wearing a dress just like mine". When she got home she found that it was her dress and that it had been nicked off her washing line.

The list of problems we had with them would fill a book but ultimately there was little that we could do back then (1989) apart from sell the house - which is what we did after the worst 12 months of my life. 12 months of interrupted sleep; endless calls to the police; visits from the council; abusive confrontations in the street; explaining to the bailiffs that "yes, they are in". It was a fucking nightmare.

The day we moved out was such a relief I could have wept, in fact my wife did.

To the people who bought our house I would like to say I'm sorry and that I hope they were evicted before too long.
( Blackdogmanguitar is out with Fat Larry's Jazz Band on, Fri 2 Oct 2009, 10:50, Reply)