Endtroducing

Like Lazarus, this blog arises from its death after over 3 years.

For the Twatmate has a new co-habitant who has requested the credentials to this blog and should hopefully be posting up soon (lots of pictures please!).

For the new person involved's sake, I hope that the years have been kind to the Twat and he has acquired some compassion for his fellow housemate. Else, this may turn into a catalogue of suffering or vengeance. You know, like, whatever.

I cannot reveal anything more about the new writer apart from the fact that she/he is 27.

My one piece of advice when it feels like things are getting out of hand is this:

Take it away Mystery-mate!

Endgame

So I have finally stopped living with the Mad Cat Lady (MCL).

This happened on the 1st of November and our contractual period ended on the 17th of November. I told her I was moving out on this day and wouldn't be responsible for any bills from then onwards. However, it didn't surprise me in the least when she informed me that she wanted to charge me for the cost of having a cleaner in for the 17 days she was living in the place on her own. In addition to this she refused to do any of the moving out chores like cleaning the communal areas, the garden and general maintenance. All of which I had to do on my own. Though to be fair, her useless tosser of a boyfriend did give me a half-arsed hand with the gardening. This assistance consisted of pushing the gardening strimmer across in a random pattern for 5 minutes, running a rake across the garden at random, informing me he had no idea why the lawn mower than used to work before had suddenly stopped working (also coincidentally, MCL informed me she was planning to have a go at the gardening a few days before we were due to move out) and then conveniently fucking off.

Let's talk about MCL's good for nothing boyfriend for a bit.

Their epic love story began 3 and a half years ago. The good for nothing wanker (called Wanker from now on to make things easier to follow) has children from a previous relationship (one of whom was arrested during the tenure of their relationship), a mental ex-wife who calls MCL to give her abuse from time to time (good woman that one) and the rather charming habit of threatening to beat her up occasionally (which I found out rather awkwardly from the person who lived next door on the day I moved my things out. Apparently they'd both rocked up to the Castle Mentalcat pissed out of their gourds and Wanker set upon MCL when it transpired she'd forgotten her keys. When the bloke living opposite our flat asked Wanker to not hit MCL, Wanker promptly tried to beat him up. The brass were called, and after settling their domestic managed to bang the door open and let them in). Now MCL is a punk ass bitch of the first degree. However, that's no excuse to hit a woman. Few things are, like Colin Farrell said in his charming Irish lilt in In Bruges, "there's no excuse for hitting a woman unless she comes atcha with a bottle".

Anyway, this was not something that happened infrequently (the fighting that is, not the domestic violence). MCL and Wanker were constantly fighting and constantly making up and breaking up. It wasn't unusual for me to come home and find MCL pissed and sobbing, smoking in the flat (which is fucking annoying and will be dealt with later in this post) due to a fight with Wanker. At first I tried to speak to her and help her make sense of it all, but after seeing neither she, nor Wanker would change their colours, I gave up and just ignored the problem. The fights did keep escalating, resulting in a period of a week where MCL shagged two people and also got chucked into our flat by a random (she'd been found drunk outside). After fucking the last bloke (who also threw up in the bathroom and did not bother cleaning up) MCL got back with Wanker (and no, she didn't even bother changing her sheets) and they are, without a doubt, still fucking each others' lives up.

Also, during this period, I walked into the kitchen one night to find MCL polishing off the remnants of my Chinese takeaway. When confronted, the silly cunt said she wasn't eating my food. This was odd seeing as she was eating my food from the container in which it'd been delivered. Sadly, the stupid moron seemed to have superhuman capability when it came to ignoring the rules of normal manners.

I arrived in the flat one night and MCL, idiotic, sad, whore that she is, informed me that a few weeks ago she'd drunk the bottle of Pol Roger I'd been saving to celebrate my exam pass, but fear not! She'd replaced it with some shitty Tesco champagne! So all was well, or so she thought. I lost it at this point. The bitch was told to replace it post haste, or else, and to be fair she did do so. The mind boggles at this sheer disregard of social convention thought. If someone had asked me if they could have my champagne, I'd have agreed to them having it, this bitch seemed to think nothing of taking my champagne, not informing me of it and also thinking I'd not notice if she put a crappy bottle of shit in the box to replace it with. How are these people made?

Despite being civil through this whole period after these flagrant transgressions by the Mad Cuntish Lady I cracked and began my disgusting campaign of retaliation. I cannot help, but be proud of the horrible ways in which I exacted my revenge. These included the following:

1. Adulterated her vinegar so the M&S salads she insisted on bringing home were now dressed in a delicate vinaigerette consitsting of one part Taste the Difference Balsamic vinegar and one part of My Taste The Difference Sri Lankan piss.

2. Stealing her tea and coffee at every opportunity.

3. Pissing in her milk at every possible opportunity.

4. Pissing in her food anytime the fancy took me (usually this was because I couldn't be bothered to go to the kitchen.

5. And now, the piece de resistance which deserves to be told in story form.

The bitch constantly stole my butter, this led me to plot a delicious revenge ploy. Seeing as I'd moved out a few weeks before our final move out date I anticipated that she'd now have to buy her own butter. I checked the fridge on the penultimate day, and as anticipated, she'd bought a new box of Lurpak (slightly salted) to replace it. I lost no time in scooping out a good amount of butter from the centre of the box. I saved this butter and then decamped to the toilet with the container of butter (readers with sensitive stomachs or overactive gag reflexes should stop reading now) and proceeded to curl out a lovely shit into the container. I then placed the butter I removed into the container and smoothed it over.

I have no idea what happened after this. I've not heard from her since I  moved out apart from e-mails to the estate agent on which I'm CC'ed.

After trying several time to solve the problem civilly I'd exacted my revenge and it had been terrible. I'd descended to the depths of savagery in doing so. Strangely, I do not feel any remorse about what I did. She was an absolute hellish bitch to live with and I feel exceptionally sorry for whoever it is she winds up living with.

Or maybe the universe will give her the come-uppance she so richly deserves and she will wind up living with someone worse than her! Here's hoping.

Building Bridges

I'm going to outline a few minor things about the new Twatmate who will henceforth be called The Mad Cat Lady (MCL). This is due to her having two cats. Both are annoying. One less than the other and the annoying one is extremely annoying.

Annoying things it has done so far include the following:

- Eating my steak

- Trying to sleep in my bed

- Constantly mewling for food

I do not like things coming between my meat and myself despite being a vegetarian for over 5 years. I believe animal owners need to train their pets to behave. This is less of an issue when pets are kept outdoors, but in a London rabbit hutch with very little space living with someone who's trained their pets to live within a flat a majority of the time is very tiresome. The little fuckers are everywhere and you also have to look after them and tend to them.

I don't dislike animals. Cats I am not particularly enamoured with, but I will tolerate them. I don't blame the cats for the annoyances they inflict on my life, like muddy pawprints, stolen food or waking me up with their mewing at odd hours at night because they are animals and are blameless.

But I really wish MCL had thought this through before acquiring two cats because it seems she's not gotten the landlord's permission.

Oh well, at least it gives me a tailor made excuse if I ever have to leave the place.

Out Of The Frying Pan

I am now resigned to living with twats.

Since I moved out of the Horrible Shagpad of the twatmate I have changed addresses twice. One was to a flat close to Clapham Common, the one after was to somewhere closer to where I used to live.

My new flatmate, is, how do you say it in English? A numpty?

She has two cats. When I first moved in I thought "Awww! Kitties!" Unfortunately the silly cow has gotten into the habit of overfeeding them which means they constantly miaow their heads off asking for food. Seeing as she also has a penchant for fucking off whenever she pleases means it falls to me to feed the bastards. Luckily I am wise to the tricks of pussycats and my iron will prevents me from giving in to their whims. It also means I kick them out as soon as they have fed. A house is for humans to live in, not pets.

She's also managed to get rid of the litter tray so they shit and piss god knows where. They have shat in the house a couple of times but no big deal. Animals do that sometimes.

She is a bit of a piss head. This is not a bad thing. She works in advertising so it is only to be expected.

She has a boyfriend. Said boyfriend she has been with for three and a half years. It's weird to me that they've been together this long and still aren't living together Oh, said boyfriend also has three kids from a previous marriage.

To summarise, she's dirty, has annoying pets and a bizarre relationship I find myself occasionally having to troubleshoot. However, she is nowhere close to being as bad as the Twatmate and I wish her well.

Frankly, this is the downside of living with randoms in London. I've done it for the third time now and despite however carefully you veto them or repeatedly meet them you will never understand how weird other people are until you live with them. It's odd that people like me who will thoroughly research a bicycle lock (taking up to 3 days to do this) will willingly sign up to live with someone for 6 months to a year using a few e-mails, texts and perhaps a casual meeting as a reference.

There's no way around it really. Buy a house or resign yourself to living with weirdos. You win this one London, but not for long!

Parting Shots

So finally the end is here.

It's not been without many annoyances from The Twat lying to the letting agency about me not having paid my rent, making his new flatmate (who also seems to double as his lapdog) withhold my deposit and stiff me 50p in the process, deduct the cost of his letting agency fee for the new contract from my deposit and steal my bicycle pump.

Nevertheless, I am glad to be rid of him. Money is money, I will always make more. Bicycle pumps are bicycle pumps, I can always get another one once I make some more money.

Life in the new flat is shaping up quite well. My new flatmates are not without their faults, but above everything, they are reasonable people. I'd forgotten what it was like to live with people like that.

I heard a funny story from my friend K the other night. She ran into The Twat the other night in some pub in the locale and he told her he'd like to explain what happened as he was sure I'd been bitching about him to all and sundry. She told him she didn't care and walked away from it. The truth is, there is only one person who intersects mine and The Twat's mutual social circles who knows of this blog's existence. This person, I am sure, is quite discreet and will not reveal the existence of this blog to The Twat so it's not as if I've been going around telling anyone who would listen that The Twat is, well, a Twat. Everyone who asks me why I've moved out gets a stock "well, it wasn't working out" or a "creative differences" type answer. There are a couple of people who know the real story, but I'm not running to them crying about how someone took away my rattle so I think I've dealt with this in a fairly adult way. However, I find it interesting that The Twat found it necessary to try and explain things to K. I've heard him describe K in not very flattering terms so why did he feel it necessary to defend himself to her? This however, is left as an exercise for the reader. For I, thankfully - praise be to the 50 million Vedic Gods - do not have to live with him, or in the flat of misery any longer and once this blog post is over I hope to never ever have to think of The Twat again.

So what now for this blog? Should I share it with everyone like I intended to originally? No. I don't think that's necessary. It's been excellent as a form of catharsis and there is no need to attempt to humiliate The Twat with it, or in turn make me look like some sort of petty bastard. So should I take it down?

I don't know.

Maybe?

Maybe I should re-read it first?

More Mildly Annoying Things

On the train back from work today I realised that I've forgotten my bicycle pump at my old place. In addition to it I have left some Vanish, a box of handwashing powder, some clothes hangers and a couple of S-Video cables. The place I moved out of before this got a 40" LCD TV and a seven hundred quid Herman Miller Aeron chair courtesy of me.

Somehow I'm not too bothered by either of them. It is annoying to lose this stuff, but in the grand scheme of things they are just things. I can always get more of them or get them back if I really wanted to. But I don't. It's probably why I find it hilarious that The Twat hasn't brought this up yet. It was funny how he was so concerned with getting his crappy sunglasses returned but is not so forthcoming with my stuff. I wonder what the reaction would be if I were to request my stuff back.

Maybe I'll find out once I get the rest of my deposit back from the new bloke.

Drawing Out To A Close

After several e-mails back and forth the saga is drawing out to a close. The Twat has extracted his pound of flesh by making the new person moving into the flat withold part of the agency fee from my part of the deposit. I offered to split it three ways so it would be fairer but the Twat is insistent that I pay the extra £19 because he is classy like that.

The new guy owes me a sum of over a thousand pounds. Chump change for most people, but an amount that would make a real difference to someone in my situation. He's sent me an e-mail saying he's paid in £500 of what he owes me and will pay me the rest once his deposit from his old flat clears. It's lovely to know that I can help him out in this small way. I should add "housing deposit assistance" to my list of good qualities.

To be fair, it is the estate agents' fault for not ensuring my deposit was fully refunded when the new person moved in. You'd think they'd want to be on safe ground with someone new moving in but hey, expecting estate agents to have intelligence is like expecting an amoeba to recite the times tables. However, it does seem like the Twat has found someone equally inconsiderate to move in with him. Awesome.