Several years in student bedsits
introduced me to the following

- Mr Stirling, who went out every morning at the dot of the offies opening for twelve cans of Tennents Lager. He'd come back, sit in his room and swear to himself all day, pausing only occasionally to piss/shit in a bucket. He'd save it up till it was brimming over, and then take it downstairs to the communal loo to empty it. He got put into an old folks home after his arse literally exploded on the landing one day.
- Mr Todd. Looked like Frankenstein's assistant. Could have been anywhere between 35 and 75. His mother rang him at 6 bloody am daily, on the communal phone outside my flat, and he would shriek to her in an incredibly high pitched voice. Me and my only sane flatmate got custody of his keys one day to let workmen in in his absence. We sneaked a look at his tiny room - every available flat surface was covered in tinfoil.
-Victor. Technically was my neighbour, but I found out more about his oddness when I moved into his old room. Contents of the wardrobe included a ladies' coat and a pibroch. However the clincher was the two MASSIVE murals of New York skyscrapers, which Victor had done by blu-takking over 700 dominoes to the wall. They refused to budge as well.
- And finally Bruce from Zimbabwe. Actually quite attractive, and seemed quite normal until he started knocking on my door at all hours to ask if he could a) get a snog and/or b) watch his porn on my video recorder. Just before I moved out, he got a new girlfriend who looked worryingly like me.

If you're looking for stuff to fill your memoirs, people, I heartily recommend bedsit-land in Glasgow.
(littlenicola, Wed 31 Aug 2005, 16:15, Reply)