Scary, scary people
In my first year of uni I lived with some utter weirdoes. First of all, two weeks into term they all decided to stop talking to me, which didn't bother me too much as they were a bunch of chavs who 'loved each other' from the moment they met and by the first day of freshers' week had decided to live together next year and the year after. And so they never spoke to anyone who wasn't living in the house with them the next year.

The gorilla-lookalike who lived above me had a testosterone overdose and would try to murder anyone who knocked the door. One night the same drunk French people who'd dared to spray shaving foam at the house walked past and he put his American football kit on, ready to go out and beat seven kinds of crap out of them.

Roughly halfway through the year he moved his delightful girlfriend in to live with him. This girl dressed like a neon bag lady, and looked either as if she was on acid or high on the magical green stuff. Before she moved in she used to stand outside my window at about 7.30 Every Single Morning bleating "Maaaaaaatt! Maaaaaaatt!" up at his window. Over Easter she stayed in the house, and used every pot and pan to cook with, and everyone's plates and bowls and knives and forks and spoons. Which were all piled on the kitchen table when we came back, and covered in the furry kind of mould.

Not to mention that they used to shag loudly and vocally all night. So much so that when my own boyfriend came over he could hear it from the opposite side of the block, and insisted that what they were doing wasn't natural.

The second guy never did any work for his degree - he either sat around in the kitchen looking sulky or played Grand Feft until 4am, and he broke about half of the things in the kitchen - the ice tray, the toaster, the kettle, three plates, a bowl, the ignition on the oven, two cheese graters and a chair. And the microwave always used to smell of burnt rubber after he'd used it. He never washed his dishes up and if nagged (by the two domestic goddess girls) would whine like a spoilt rich kid (which is what he was) and stamp off upstairs to watch his collection of 'people getting killed' films.

And finally, when I moved out I was the last one in the house, and as I was leaving I noticed they'd left a layer of grease on the ceiling thick enough to write your name in. And the sad part was that they had.
( Maladicta, Fri 26 Aug 2005, 17:59, Reply)

dutch army-men with nothing to do
We lived for an anti-squatting agency in a building on an abandoned millitary compound; very nice old buildings, mostly monuments. The entrance gate was maintained and the former guards employed so none of it would be vandalised. We were told we should try to get along with them; because, after all, they were going to be our "neighbours". These two middle-aged army-men would start their working day at 0600 by landing their fat arse on a chair in the boot next to the gate and glaring mistrustfully in our direction. At 0800 we'd wanted to go to our work and drive up in the direction of the gate. They'd open it (electronically). We'd come closer. They'd close it. We'd back up. They'd open it. And close it. And open it. And (*&*&^& it. This ritual was repeated at 1800 when we wanted back in. At 2230 they'd walk about our corridors with a flashlight to see if we weren't up to any misschief. People (acquaintances, friends, mum) not in their files were taken back for questioning (something down the likes of 'did you have sexual intercourse with this woman'). At 2300 their work day ended. They kept a tab on our use of water and electricity. They said we overheated the place. They walked in at 0700, found us "frollocking in our underwear", deducted that we did that because we were just so bleedin hot and turned of the heating. In December. We tried to explain that in order to get dressed in clean clothes every morning, first you have GOT to take some of, but they said we were just trying to talk our energywasting ass out of it with this fancy schmancy personal hygiene propaganda. My friend and I became verbally hostile. The next morning (such a coincidence) there was an unexpected millitary exercise which included our kitchen, small amounts of dynamite, twenty armed and gasmasked men, four aggressive german shepherds and -of course- a small horse.
After that things only escalated.
(muis, Fri 26 Aug 2005, 17:41, Reply)

I know there are a couple of Kentish Townies on here...
...so I wonder if anyone lives close enough to me to get this...

It's the summer holidays. Kids are out in the streets, shouting and playing. Except for one mongtastically spacktarded runt of a scrote who has discovered that he can yodel, after a fashion. So all day and all night he runs around the Leighton Road/Brecknock Road area yodelling at the top of his lungs. Since I'm working from home right now, that's the noise I hear all day. Honestly, I know I'm a grown man and he's only a runty little kid, but if I catch him and he's on his own I'm going to kick seven bells of living shit out of him. It's been weeks now and that noise is starting to make me insane.
( emvee cruor deo cruoris, Fri 26 Aug 2005, 17:37, Reply)

My neighbours have an outdoor wind-chime.
It's slightly annoying when I want to get to sleep.
( Lightguy hail satan, Fri 26 Aug 2005, 17:22, Reply)

another one by me...
I lived right next to this toffy nosed twat on an old lane. my dad was fixing the place up and this old git, lets call him mr whippy, comes over and complains about the noise of an angle grinder. my dad said "yes, ok" and carried on with his grinding. 2 hours later when my dad was loading up his transit van, he comes over again. this time my dad says
"youre the only one who has complained"
"so does that make it ok"
"oh fuck off you stupid cunt. go and shoot some birds or something"
"oh my GAWD! there is absolutely no need for that"
"yes there fuckin is. now piss off my land"
*mr whippy goes*

2 weeks later when mr whippy is having a garden fire, my dad goes over an complains as a joke.

"excuse me, please could you put this fire out as it is blowing over my land"
"i have to have this fire"
*dad gets fire extinguisher out of transit*
"do ya fuck"
*dad sprays him and back garden with CO2*

he never complained again

length, length, length, girth, length
(beast on toast has xpango=> http://www.xpango.com?ref=90520974, Fri 26 Aug 2005, 17:10, Reply)

Mini Stalin
I had a neighbour who was a friendly, fairly pleasant but intense former Special Forces soldier who used to give me his proposals for better forms of government to proof read.
It boiled down to doing away with elections and putting "reliable professionals" in charge.... Or 'Dictatorship' as it used to be known. I was too scared to tell him I thought it was a load of reactionary old bollocks. He'd have got on well with TB.
(36poison, Fri 26 Aug 2005, 17:04, Reply)

Does the smelly bloke I sit near in the office count?
If so my neighbour
Nice guy, is a smelly dead fish head cunt breath fucksock.
He gets the award for smelling like the deceased, Im sure if I jumped on his stomach he would excrete MUNG.

People wonder why Im sprayin Deodorant everyday!

Dirty fucker...
(Dodgyb, Fri 26 Aug 2005, 16:55, Reply)

reet petite
delightful northern terraced house in Cleethorpes. New neighbours move in, we are then woken up at 4:45 every morning by the intro to the Frankie Goes to Hollywood song Two Tribes... or whichever one starts with the air raid siren. This would then be followed by 2 hours of Reet Petite and their youngest banging his head against the wall in perfect timing to the song. In itself annoying, but not helped by the fact that the person in the house on the other side was old and had served in the war adn would proceed to piss himself everytime he heard the Frankie Goes to Hollywood air raid sirens
(mooliciaociao, Fri 26 Aug 2005, 16:48, Reply)

Oh, I was a bad lad.
When I was about 13, I had a friend who lived in a small, reasonably isolated commuter village, let's call it Southwater. One day, there was a bit of trouble at his house. Basically, his mum had just come out of the shower and changed, happened to look in the right direction out her window at the right moment, and saw one of the neighbours spying on her with a pair of binoculars.

Her son, not the most balanced or sensible of 13-year olds (which is coincidentally why I liked him so much) vowed revenge upon the peeping tom, and having nothing better to do that summer I was his willing accomplice.

We terrorised them for about two months. We broke their windows, set their boat on fire, daubed 'PERV' in white paint on their driveway. I should mention this guy was married with two young children. God knows what he told his wife.

Our reign of terror was halted when they hired a 24-hour-a-day security guard. A few months later they moved away. Our ultimate trophy was a For Sale sign that we stole off the lawn despite the massive security presence.

The moral of the story is: see what teenagers do before they discover weed? I suggest compulsory skinning up lessons in primary school.
(CerberaSpeedTwelve, Fri 26 Aug 2005, 16:44, Reply)

Upstairs Downstairs
I've got crazy neighbours above and below.

Above: an alcoholic, sexually frustrated former athlete whose always having screaming rows with her daughter (who i've never seen, only heard). My mate Mike now lodges with her, he's a brave man...altho he has stolen a tank or two in his time so i'm not sure who the real mentalist is.

Below: eccentric, mental, emotionally detached artist who sometimes uses his penis instead of a brush who is very good at designing banners.

Its an strange mix, but we all get on ok :)

Worried about length? Then skip to the end...
(Zutroy started without you, Fri 26 Aug 2005, 16:35, Reply)

Kitchen Olympics

During my first year at Napier University, Edinburgh I stayed with 3 guys in a flat in the expensive Morningside area of town, funnily enough behind J.K. Rowlings house. After a night of beer and buying stuff of those infomercials - (why did we need a bathroom steam cleaner?) we decided to engage in some fun. We came up with Kitchen olympics, which had such events as discuss (throwing frozen pizza) and the discuss (throwing frozen steak). Now our other two flatmates were ponces, one would rather sit in and code his website rather then go out drink beer and annoy women and the other was a millionaires son who had pretty much everything in his room so he never had to come out (he was a wanker any-way). Anyways after throwing there food out of the window onto the road for accuracy we decided to go for distance with the steaks, imagine my delight when my steak flew through the night and then explode through someone's back window. As is was about 2 in the morning we scarpered pretty quickly back to the nightclub / shithole we had just come from.

No apologies for length but apologies for window.
(Jock McTavish, Fri 26 Aug 2005, 16:10, Reply)

Psycho next door
Imagine finding out your neighbour used to be called 'Art the Crucifier' - so-called becuase he used to work for an underworld mafia-type and used to nail people to the wall if his boss saw fit.

I was always very nice to him.
(Jonny Briggs' dog Razzle, Fri 26 Aug 2005, 16:02, Reply)

Neigbours from Hell
This was a while ago, but these people still own the house next door but they rent it out. I'm praying they stay in Sri Lanka or Finland or Japan or wherever the hell they moved to. Why? here:

These people had parties EVERY FUCKING NIGHT. They weren't potluck get-togethers, either. Drugs, beer, LOTS of underage kids, and the cops there EVERY FUCKING NIGHT to break it up. They left beer cans up and down the street, and cigarette butts in every yard. They used the neigbours' hedges as lavatories, killing several prize flowerbeds. They'd jump the wall into MY yard and use MY putting green. You guessed it, I'd call the cops and they'd be next door, AGAIN. I lived in the safest house in town, I swear. The cops were always next door.

One time they were playing mariachi music so loud I had to scream to be heard *inside my house.* When my mother came home, she said she could hear the neigbour's music from the major street leading into my neigbourhood--and that's a mile away. :/

When I first bought this house, I had a lot of work done on it. It was standard stuff, new flooring, painting, and the like. The neighbour's KFH (kids from Hell) broke in and vandalised the house. Nothing serious, they broke a couple built-in lamps, broke the thermostats, and spray painted the walls with gang graffiti in the kitchen and the laundry room. We think one of the workmen left a door unlocked because there was no forced entry. That having been said, the damage didn't exceed my house insurance's deductible, so I just filed a police report and I heard from the cops that these kids had pulled this kind of stunt before. I had the work crew repair the work, and made sure I spent a couple hours in the house every night so it looked like people were living there even though I was just moving stuff over at the time. Then I changed the locks to be certain.

Speaking of the kids, the mailman used to fuck up the mail and I'd get written truancy notices for those kids 24/7. So that's another reason the cops were constantly there, I guess.

As a final note, they let their ancient beagle out to run around the neigbourhood at all hours. Now, I resent cleaning up dog crap from my yard, for any reason. I'm allergic to dogs, that's why I don't have one. But this dog was obviously old and arthritic and deserved a better home than what she had.

Thank God they're gone. The only problem I've ever had with the renters is when one of them jumped the wall into my yard and stole a brand new rake. I know it was them because at the time, the house on my other side was empty, and I live on a lake so if the people behind me want to get to my yard they've got to swim across.
(darkmage, Fri 26 Aug 2005, 16:00, Reply)

Poor Sparrows...
I was quite young and was watching TISWAS at my grans one Saturday morning when I kept hearing a strange noise coming from the front garden every now and again. Put down my usual Tiswas fare of Salt and Vinegar crisps and bottle of Cresta, stood on the foot stool and looked out of the window where I saw a selection of small garden birds lying on the floor.

Having a nap I thought in my childish ignorance. Noticing a sparrow land on the garden fence I watched to see if it would join it's comrades....it did, very quickly, aided by the mad middle aged so & so next door who was shooting the things and then using them as bait when he went off hunting in the woods nearby. Not a nice man....

Oh and he once threw his wife out of their upstairs bedroom window whilst we were having Sunday lunch.
(murray_mint, Fri 26 Aug 2005, 15:56, Reply)

fucking elderly.
I live right close to Pinehurst, a huge golf resort. Therefore, everyone is old and snotty. Neighbors all hate each other here. There was once an old couple who complained to the village council because their neighbor's children's swingset was too close to their fence. There's an 8pm noise curfew due to countless calls to police about kids playing basketball too late or listening to the radio. If you paint your house the wrong color, the council will hear about it from your neighbors.
Thankfully, the particular spot where I live isn't under the jurisdiction of the village, though my neighbors are still shit. My neighbors on the left side are Dallas and Louise, an old couple with an immaculate front yard and garden. They have complained to us for picking pecans from a tree that's rooted in their yard but hangs over ours. They've complained that we don't keep the fence between our houses tidy and painted red like theirs. They have shot at my cats when they cross into their yard. They've threatened to call the police on me for crossing a corner of their yard to get to a different house.
Through the trees behind my house live the mexicans. Their house is small, square and yellow. Their yard is full of holes and shovels. Every Saturday night, promptly at 6pm, I hear loud, nonsensical yelling from over there. Every Sunday night, their children come out with skateboards and loud pop music. Sometimes they also wrestle and scream at each other.
Yes, I love where I live.
No apologies, because size doesn't matter.
( trintrin has jam for blood, Fri 26 Aug 2005, 15:41, Reply)

I live next door to a genuine, bona fide, Tibetan monk.
In robes. I tell delivery men to "leave my packages with the Dalai Lama next door." For that, I am happy.
( timothycrippins, Fri 26 Aug 2005, 15:37, Reply)

my neighbour...
... is a bitch.

on my 16th birthday i had an all day barbecue. my garden is very small and my fence is only a few feet high, so, inevitably, a ball got kicked over and a frisbee flew over.

she refused to give them back. so my drunken friends decided to FILL her garden. they threw a chair over, a lot of burnt food, a bicycle and a lot of their clothes.

then when they went round to ask for them back, the boy who was first in line got grabbed by the scruff of the neck, dragged through to the back garden, and she threw HIM over the fence into my garden.

aplogies for length.
( Woking Girl, Fri 26 Aug 2005, 15:27, Reply)

wombling misery
The only thing my neighbour has *ever* said to me or my housemate was 'TWATS!'

I imagine it's because he looks the spit of uncle bulgaria.
(felixthehat oh this is new, Fri 26 Aug 2005, 15:10, Reply)

She's dead now
Next door to my old house was this woman in her mid-fifties, though she looked a lot older. She used to drink a lot and come to my front door to borrow things (money and paracetamols) and use my washing machine (she used it once then offered me a chicken in compensation). She stank but I felt sorry for her and generally gave in.

She would also stand on my doorstep for hours talking and ignore all my polite reminders of the time, etc. Or that I had no money and that last time I lent her money I had none left for lunch. Occasionally, I would have to tell her to fuck off very loudly before she would go away.

One day she turned up upset so I let her in (MISTAKE!) and we talked. During the conversation she suddenly said she was dying and that she'd had a heart attack. Now, my father died of heart disease a year or so before this, so I didn't believe her. She was a thief and a liar generally so why should I believe her?

She'd just told me that her son's girlfriend was due to give birth soon and so she attempted to give me a bag of knitting to get me to finish it. She knew I was gay and so assumed I could knit. I mean, we all can, it's genetic, like shopping. Then she said "love the baby for me". Eh? I had never even met her son. I'm sure he'd be chuffed to have some overweight poof cooing over his firstborn.

Anyhow, after a heated exchange, during which time she demanded that I tell her I cared for her, I threw her out. Sobbing.

She died a week later of a heart attack. She made my life a misery for ages but I think I've just described myself as the bad neighbour.
(BearWithLittleBrain, Fri 26 Aug 2005, 14:56, Reply)

Hooray for binge drinking!
The neighbours across the road had a heart-warming family tradition of getting absolutely shit-faced every Sunday afternoon; moving into a huge row in the evening; and then a nice big fight in the street by night-time.

Every Sunday.

One week we had 20+ people armed with bottles, bricks & lumps of wood; squaring off across the street. Another time I arrived home late from the mountains, in the middle of a rumble. One of them decided to invite me to join in too, but fortunately I was able to show him the ice axe I would be bringing to the party.

Happy days!
(simon shitting mason, Fri 26 Aug 2005, 14:48, Reply)

Scary
My next door neighbour was a complete mental.
He used to shoot passers by with his air rifle - he also tied a rope to the lamppost across the main road in Hull and raised it everytime a motor bike came by in order to knock them off. We were so scared of him we felt obliged to buy speed off him, when none of us really used it.
(noggin, Fri 26 Aug 2005, 14:47, Reply)

Aren't benefits great.
I live in a nice middle class street in Cov. Everyone in the street are either nice families, elderly, or single and middle aged. Except one of our neighbours. They obviously bought the house decades ago when property was cheap and now refuse to leave. They are one step up from Gypsies. They don't work because "he's got health problems". They live on benefits. To be fair they keep their house and gardens in good nick but do so with disturbing regularity. But they do provide me with hours of amusment because of their insane nature.

Basically they're the type that wait in their front room for us to either come out of our house or return from where ever we've been and then ambush us about any slight noise that may have been made during the course of the week.
They do the same before and after school so they can catch any children that dare to put a foot on their front lawn or loiter outside their house tieing their shoelaces.

The man of the house once tried to have a go at me for building my step daughters new bed over one weekend. He collared me on my way out to work on the monday morning and said he could hear me banging at the weekend. He also complained that he could hear the children playing. I'm never at my best in the morning and I'd had enough of him by this stage (I'd only lived there 6 months but my partner had lived there for 5 years and had had to put up with their crap) so I let him have it with both barrels. We haven't heard from them since. But we can see them watching

Apparently the people that lived there before us (a Middle aged couple) took lots of crap off them aswell. The nutters got the police out so many times for them daring to have the TV on at night that the police told the nutters that if they ever phoned them again that they'd do them for wasting police time.
( Evil Bastardo, Fri 26 Aug 2005, 14:40, Reply)

Scary doesn't even begin to cover it
For three years I lived in a student flat. I decided to leave after the scary live-in lesbian landlady somehow got pregnant, but that's another story. I ended up living on my own in a rented tenement studio flat. My flat was on the top floor, the other floors being inhabited by lovely old persons. The other two residents on my floor however were rather scary.

Number one was a single guy, mid-thirties, who dealt the occasional bit of spliff. I thought he was a pretty sound guy until one day when I was off work sick. There was a knock on my door at about 11am and he asked me if I had a CD player he could borrow. Being the sensible person I sometimes am I gave him my rubbishy spare one. He couldn't thank me enough and asked me if I'd like to partake of some of his spliff. I answered that I most definitely would and went into his flat with him. Upon entering his front room I was confronted with a couple of very underage girls (I'd reckon about 14 years old), semi-naked and smoking weed. He'd apparently picked them up in a nightclub and brought them back for a party. I swiftly made my excuses and left.

Number two was the really scary one. A new television aerial was being fitted and the engineer needed access to my flat while I was at work, so the day before I'd arranged for neighbour number two (who seemed pretty decent and normal) to let them in using my spare keys. He'd told me to pop round at about 6pm after work to get my keys back and have a couple of beers. I got in at 6.10pm and knocked on his door. He shouted for me to 'just come in', so I did. There he was, a fat balding late-30's guy, naked on the sofa. I didn't know where to look. He told me that he'd just had a bath and that "you know, sometimes I just can't be arsed puttin' me clothes back on". Seeing how uncomfy I was with it he went through to the bedroom and pulled on a dressing gown. I then got his life story over a couple of beers - his wife ran out on him, he was up in court next week on GBH charges (that's 'charges' - plural), and that his work laid him off after he drove his van through the showroom window. He then put on the CD player to listen to crap German rock very loudly to 'piss off the old codgers downstairs'. After a lot of beers he asked me (in a very intimidating way) to take some nude photos of him to send to his ex-wife. Erm, no, I don't think so.
He didn't speak to me for about two months after that, and started opening any of my mail that was delivered (by the inept postie) to his flat instead of mine - occasionally replying to the mail. I only found out when my bank phoned me about a credit card application I'd never made. (Luckily my credit rating was already fucked, so there was no chance of me qualifying for a credit card). Just before I decided to move house he decided to start speaking to me again, and tried to get into my pants. Now I may be a big overweight queer, but even I have standards. Needless to say I didn't mention where I was moving to.
(bedsitmartyr : Doctor of Bottles, Fri 26 Aug 2005, 14:30, Reply)

ugh 2 - I made it worse...
Same Hackney flat... A middle-aged rastafarian guy lived next door on the other side, and on one particular occasion he decided to put some reggae on at 2am, at high volume. When it was evident that he was going to keep playing records all night/morning, I knocked on his door and VERY politely asked if he wouldn't mind turning it down because I had to get up for work in a few hours and needed some more sleep. The first thing he said was "You're racist! You white men always trying to keep the black man down! F*ck off before I cut you up." I just tried to play it all down and said, "Hey, come on, I'm not being racist... I just can't sleep because you've got it on really loud." He sort of nodded and shut his door - didn't slam it - and for a moment I genuinely thought he was going to turn it down. At first there was no change in volume, but at the precise moment my head hit the pillow, sure enough he turned it UP EVEN LOUDER.
(codenamebonkee, Fri 26 Aug 2005, 14:05, Reply)

Scary? Odd? Mental? Yes!!!! [long]
I live at the end of a road, with mental neighbores.

I won't tell you about the wife swapping that goes on between all the houses, or the street fights, druggies or knife weilding brats with chav clothing and cars that appear to be nothing more than mobile beat boxes.. oh no, I'll tell you about the nice ones that live in houses attached to mine..

On one side, there's a couple who fight regularly (every night), he shout, she shouts, they throw and smash stuff against the interveining wall, then they start crying, go into their back garden for a ciggy, start shouting again, get told to shut the feck up by the Police(they are nextdoor but one), so they go inside and start having sex.. she's a screamer!!! Porky's Lassie has nothing on this girl! All of this happens between midnight, when they get back from the pub, and somewhere around 4am.. I'm usually more tired than them the next day! (lack of sleep you understand)

On the other side there is a family with three kids, they regulalry have orgies (not the kids) which means that I regulary have to fight for a parking space outside my garage (if I park in it I can't get out until they've done the money shots, sobered up, mopped up and left) and then there's used condoms thrown into my garden, loud music (cheesey pr0n flick stuff), screaming, laughing, moaning etc.. worse still, the bastards never invite me!!!

Photo's available on request.
(eight, Fri 26 Aug 2005, 14:05, Reply)

And another ......
Mum borrows a ladder from a bloke across the road.

They have a ladder. We does not.

They now no longer talk to us because the wife of this bloke became sure that Mum was having an affair with her husband ..... and a ladder apparently.
(Tim K, Fri 26 Aug 2005, 14:00, Reply)

none
I'm afraid I live in a nice and safe toytown place where we just have odd people rather than scary people. More like to be injured by a sausage (aided by a trampoline!) or be slightly bemused by Hegman than actually scared.
( moogy boobles, Fri 26 Aug 2005, 13:59, Reply)

Stalker ......
Across the road from my parents lives one of those blokes that can never get his life quite right ...... all his mates get a divorce so he does, large sideburns and medallions worked in the 70's so why not now etc. etc.

I'm working in my local pub one summer when he comes in and accuses me of backing a car into his and then driving off (something that happened a few months earlier).

Everyday he comes into the pub and asks me what I'm going to do about his car. Everyday I tell him I know nothing about it and to piss off.

Months of these accuations. On and on they go until finally I decide to ask around.

Turns out my sister had a party and one of her shite mates did the deed but never had the bottle to own up.

He still to this day asks me about his car (I must see him once a year if that).

At no one point in time have I been able to make him understand that

a) I don't have a driving liscense. Nor do I have the ability to drive a car.

b) The reason that he never managed to catch up with me straight after the event was because I was in fact in Newcastle doing a degree at the time.

He still asks. He has gone through 3 cars since the event. He still asks about his car.

I have loads of witnesses to testify to the fact that I was not at home within one month either side of the event.

He still asks.

The lad that did it eventually owned up years later to his face because his own father made him.

He still asks me about the car.

Going home this weekend.

He will ask.
(Tim K, Fri 26 Aug 2005, 13:58, Reply)

Not sure who was worse..
.. us or her. We would play loud music at ungodly hours and due to large a intake of devil's dandruff couldn't possibly have cared less about anyone else.
She, on the other hand, was a alchy psycho. One day she would come round with cake the next day she'd barge in, call everyone "cunts" and try to flash her bits.
She had a fella, who turned up at the door looking for psycho, sporting a gaping wound in his neck which was bleeding "I need to find psycho - we've had a row and I need to tell her that I love her." We suggested he went back to hospital before he bled to death.
Another day she turned up and said "I think there's something wrong with psycho lover..." My boyfriend went round with a stethascope that had conveniently recently been nicked from flat owners GP and discovered the nature of the problem. 40 years of hard drinking had taken its toll on psycho lover's liver and he was dead.
Something wrong with him indeed.
We kept the music down after that, but unfortunately, her love for playing Elvis at 7am and singing along like a wailing banshee on her balcony did not.
(smack rabbit, Fri 26 Aug 2005, 13:55, Reply)

Thieving git upstairs
Back in my student days in a ground floor flat in Tollcross, Edinburgh I had a neighbour upstairs called Alec. A few slices short of a loaf, several teeth missing and recently out from a stretch for assaulting a police officer (in his defence the guy was plainclothes so he didn't know!).

Anyway, one day I arrive home to have my flatmate tell me that out video had been nicked. Nothing else taken and the tapes on top of it had been neatly piled on the floor, nothing else disturbed at all, very odd considering the computer and musical intruments we had. We were about to call the cops when who should knock at our door but Alec...

We explained the situation and, in a flash, Alec was out the back garden demonstrating how easy it is to break through our living room window with a credit card. On completing this task in record time he suddenly looked worried and said, "Have you called the cops yet?", to which we answered in the negative. "Just as well", says he, "I've gone and covered this window in my fingerprints.", and proceeds to wipe the frame and glass with a cloth he magically produced from his pocket. Swine. So blatant, though we never had proof (the cops said they were 99% sure he did it but they too had no proof).

To back us up, witness these later exploits: arrives at the door with a huge box full of CDs saying he'll pick them up in a couple of days; arrives with his brother-in-law late at night, proceeds to put on masks and says he might have to come back soon (shat ourselves); when we moved out and our friends moved in their N64 went missing and Alec was spotted that week selling N64 games in Niddrie.

Oh yeah, he was married to a hooker he used to frequent and his kids (3 girls, 7-12 yrs) swore and smoked more than anyone I've known, doubtless pushing prams by now.

Apologies for the reek of scum rather than length.
(pumpkinbug, Fri 26 Aug 2005, 13:41, Reply)