So someone on Twitter was asking for flat-mate horror
stories and I tweeted, ‘I had one who
used to shoot at people out the window –does that count? And the one who moved his entire family into
the living room.’
And he said, 'Go on...' And then I kept remembering others who were worse. Far worse.
And went hurtling back down memory lane again. And figured I needed a list.
My top ten worst
flat-mates.
So, in no particular order, here you have it.
1. The One
Who Shot Things Out The Window. tbf,
it was only an air rifle and he mainly shot rats and rabbits (to eat). Unless he forgot his meds or someone pissed
him off. Also in possession of three
ferrets.
2. The One
Who Took Over the Living Room.
Lovely guy, really lovely, but one day I came back to find his sister
living in the living room. ‘Just for a
bit,’ he said. She was swiftly joined by
his girlfriend, his parents and their cat.
It got mighty crowded in there. And a trifle smelly.
3. The One
Who Tried To Kill Me While I Lay Sleeping in My Bed. Lovely girl.
Just a trifle unhinged. One night
she stormed into my bedroom and laid about my head with a Paul Masson carafe of
wine (empty). Scary as hell. The choice of wine, that is.
 |
| Yes, like this...but with wine in it. |
4. The One
Who Gobbed. Nasty little toe-rag. Used to stand at the top of the stair and
fire gobs at the bike parked in the hallway.
Also cheated on the phone bill.
Young Conservative (an oxymoron, surely?). Worst of all, wore really bad jeans.
5. The One
Who Saw Ghosts. Put the fear of gods
into everyone with her mediumistic powers. I mean, how do you concentrate on
having a crap when you’ve been told the toilet is haunted by a six foot tall male
ghost? It’s…offputting.
 |
| This is a bona fide toilet ghost. |
6. The One
Who Was Too Right-On. Once again,
dead nice just… worthy. House became
full of enormous art installations with titles like ‘The Bleeding Womb’. My high heels were sacrificed on a pyre; I had to hide my make-up bag and was
forced to keep my tampons under lock and key (real women don’t hide their blood away). Became self-conscious because apparently I
hadn’t communed with my vagina enough and preferred sex with (whisper it) men…
7. The One
Who Thought He Could Do Voodoo. Boy,
did I love that guy. And went along with
it all for a fair while – the not sleeping for three nights at a time malarkeys, the
vampire hunts, the astral orienteering. But he got into the wrong sort of
spirits and having someone screaming, ‘I’m cursing you! You’re so goddamn cursed
for curse’s sake!’ at four in the morning gets…tiresome.
8. The One Who
Was Too Political. I mean, I was a
good socialist back then. I even
canvassed in a half-hearted sort of way (though it was pretty boring preaching
to the converted). But when you couldn’t even squeeze through the door of your
own flat because of yet another meeting of the Bermondsey Liberation Front, it got
too much. I retaliated by hauling home bunches
of random South Africans to sleep on the floor and it all got a bit…uncomfortable.
9. The One
Who Hid. On paper the ideal flat-mate – clean, silent, inconspicuous, her portion of the rent and
bills left on the table without fail each week.
But it started doing my head in.
Was she in or out? How did she
manage to get up the stairs without making one single step creak? After a while I couldn’t even remember what
she looked like. I left her a note: ‘Is
this working out?’ She left one back: ‘Probably not’. And left.
10. The One
Who Was Boring. Actually, come to
think of it, he really was the very worst of all. J
‘You know what?’ said Kelly on Twitter. ‘You really ought to live alone.’
‘Couldn’t agree more, ‘ I said.
Anyhow, over to you - worse flat/room/house shares ever?
