London is an expensive place. I don’t know how it became quite so bad, I don’t know if it’s evil capitalism or hypocrite socialism that is responsible for the shitstorm going on with rent prices, but sadly most of the plebs like myself living in London have had to experience flatshare.
I was a fresher in town, straight off the plane from the old land of wine, cheese, and of course romance (aka France), and since I was a school drop-out, and came with no cash, my broke old self was forced to rent a complete dive, based in Clapham.
A true bargain, £380 per calendar month, I had a room on my own and even a living room.
Sure, there was a very poor hot water system and next-to-no heating, but back when I was living with my broke mum I’d experienced the same thing, so it was just like a #throwbackthursday, except, everyday.
The flatmates were fine: quiet, mostly absent, at first it felt like I was living alone in this foxhole.
But beggars can’t be choosers, I was a poor, exploited sales assistant working on a part time contract in a cheap suit shop paid £800 a month (and that was if I sold a shit ton). At the time, I had a very wealthy girlfriend, and fortunately meant that as a result she would allow me to chill on her rooftop flat in Putney during the weekends, with a hot shower and even a gym complex down in the basement.
Really I just had to battle on in the weekdays and enjoy life on the weekend, hence why it worked out for a while. One day my landlord said he would transform the living room into a bedroom and would “find us some top notch flatmates”.
Well guess what, that didn’t work out so well
Our “top notch flatmates” turned out to be a family of three, originally from some mediteranean island, (can’t remember which), the man was working as a mechanic, while the wife claimed benefits and “took care” of their little daughter.
The first time I met either of them, I was cooking some pasta (being broke and all, it’s a guilty pleasure) when I realise the kids was eyeing me up, I waved at her but she soon scarpered. I thought “ O.K, this kid must have a screw loose”.
Then came the mother, her first words being “what’s the wifi password?”… I responded “Hello, how are you? My name is whatever?”. She replied “Hi how are you? What’s the wifi password?”. Perhaps she napped through all of her etiquette lessons, but I certainly did not, so I just gave up the wifi password and thought that well… don’t these guys seem like fun already.
A few days later I met “the man of the house” , the “leader of the pack”, he was just a mechanic working undeclared in a shitty garage in Stockwell or something, and was clearly exploited, he was going to work at 7am and wouldn’t be back until around 11 every single evening.
Fantastic lifestyle in which to bring up a child, the strange little girl did not have it easy at all, Mummy smoking pot all day, Daddy being off the house seven day a week…. I bet you’re loving it love!
I would have keep my cakehole shut and my eyes closed if it weren’t for them misbehaving in society and making this flat an even bigger shithole than it already was. Let’s make a quick bullet point of all the main thing they did:
- they would use my pans, fry some food with far too much oil and never mop it up, but keep it a side to use the oil over and over, again and again.
- She would leave her panties hanging in the bathroom, sometimes with some dubious remains.
- She would shave her big butt and let all the hair hanging down the bathtub without having a mind to give a quick wash with the shower head.
- They would pinch my coffee, sugar and even food.
- They would smoke weed in the house.
- They would bring their friend for dinner all the fucking time and the place soon looked like a Mediterranean-immigrant hive.
- They would never top up the gas.
- They would let their clothes in the washing machine for 3/4 days once it had finished.
Many other crimes had been committed by those disrespectful pricks… but that’s the main one. I had countless arguments with the wife, and the man would always come to bang on my door and give me threat but I was trying to play it soft since we had to live together but our argument became more regular with time, even though I was pissed at life and quite a violent person at the time, I did my hardest to remain diplomatic, I was close to actually being passive.
One morning I was getting a coffee to wake up before work, and since the man was always gone by 7 and the mum would sleep until at least 10am, I went in the kitchen wearing only a pair of shorts and no shirt.
Mid-coffee, the man popped out and saw me, yelling mad at me :
What are you doing? Go get some clothes motherfucker! Respect my wife!, the kitchen is for everyone
I’d told him it was still early, his demands were quite honestly taking the piss at this point, and that he was really testing my diplomatic skills. But, of course, no fucks were given, and he would not leave me alone until I caved, and put a t-shirt on.
I’d had enough of his shit for one morning, so I just ignored him and poured my black coffee.
He yelled for a bit longer until he eventually came close and grabbed my left arm, then life fully stopped for a second, as if my life was a movie and the spectator had just pressed pause to go for a piss.
He was yelling, and shaking me, but I was disconnected my brain was a total mess… Did he say, respect his fucking wife?
But I started to see clearly again, and I thought to myself :
Alright my boy, you are a poor pleb earning pennies, your life is quite frankly shit and you are with a woman who doesn’t really care about you. It doesn’t look like you’ll get out of this shithole anytime soon, and you really ought to have been good at school, maybe you’d be having a better life. But can I let this skinny prick take the piss out of me for so long? Do I care if I get my arse kicked/stabbed when I am sleeping? Do I care for my life so much?
NAEH FUCK THAT
He was still messing with me when I slowly reacher for the aforementioned oily pan. He was shouting so hard that I was the lucky recipient of several drops of spit spewing from his foul-smelling mouth, but I finally grasped the pan handle and…
BANG!
He slowly regained consciousness from the other side of the room when I finished casually mixing some sugar into my coffee.
Stepping over him, I returned to my room to enjoy some stupid Vines on my phone while my brain woke itself up. Leaving the man hanging in between the kitchen door and the corridor. Now let’s be honest with each other, I was terrified, scared as fuck.
I came home that night considering every scenario: Did I hit him too hard and he had internal haemorrhaging? Is he dead? Are the coppers waiting at my door, ready to pick me up? Maybe he threw all my stuff out the window? Even worse, maybe his mates are waiting for me at home, ready to throw down on me ? Surely my landlord will kick me out.
Shame I had not a penny saved… I texted my girlfriend to tell how much I love her and how great she is… and ask if there was any teeny-tiny possibility we could spend a little bit of time together that night.
I went home and grabbed my last 20s to bring her for a pint somewhere, got a bag and packed the necessities to survive. I escaped like a burglar and came back 5 days later, since I’d heard nothing from the metropolitan police, I guessed the son of a bitch was still alive. Shame, because in my state of depression, jail sounded like a means of finding myself again.
I came home, and he shook my hand to say hello, my other fist was clenched ready for a left hook if he tried anything stupid. But he didn’t!
In fact, he offered me some of the food that he was cooking. What probably happened was that he didn’t show off at all about our little morning argument, since his big mouthed wife still spoke (in her usual friendly manner) to me, and did not give me any shit.
He was now a nice guy and I bargained a peace agreement, like a real corsican motherfucker would, and I bet my ancestors were proud.
So this story is pretty fucked up at this point and you probably think you had enough, trust me I wish I did too, but I promise you that it will get far worse and far more twisted, you might think this is fake, well trust me I fucking wish it was!
It took me time to talk about that part since I was deeply ashamed of living in such condition, the only person I told when the event was fresh were my work mates, who could hardly contain themselves when they heard.
Trust me, it’s sounds funny but I am puking in my own mouth thimking about it right now. It had been a week since I have not saw his disgustingly unsexy wife and his poor little lost daughter, they are apparently on holiday, not that I gave a shit.
One evening he knocked on my door, I was naked in my bed (fairly used to the bloody cold at this stage), I threw on some trousers, not even bothering with boxers, I closed the zip and went to my door wondering why the fuck he needed me at 9pm.
He had a box is hand and asked me to keep his stuff for when his wife come back – I was fairly alright with it but I told him I wanted to see what was in the box. He was embarassed but I told him that after living 6 month around him nothing anymore would surprise me…
Guess I was wrong again. So we went in the kitchen, I put the box on the work top, opening the thing while keeping a steady eye on him when I saw some women padded underwear and a brunette wig, I’ve looked at him and I laughed…WTF.
I am gay, I dress like woman
To this day I love that he said it with his loud medditeranean accent, I was astonished, did not know if I had to laugh or to burst crying so shit my life was…
I agreed to keep his stuff and I was emotionally (and actually phisically) broke at this point, I have asked him why the fuck he come to tell me his dirty little secret since I punched him with a pan and insulted him countless times? I mean, there are 2 invisible guys in this flatshare too… Then I looked at him and said:
You know what, I don’t even give a shit… just don’t try me, and I’ll keep your secret.
I Ieft with his box and put it in my closet. An hour later, he came and asked me if he could get his little box, and I gave it to him without throwing up in my own mouth, and closed the door.
I was sitting in my room, livid at the fact that I had nothing better to do than drown my sorrows in a bottle of nasty whisky from Lidl, and counting all the bad thing in my life that made me deserve that. Around midnight he knocked on my door and said whispered my name with a sweet voice. I came out again and he said that he had something to show me, I didn’t really give it a second thought and I went with him.
What’s more, remember that at this point, I was very drunk. It was not my ugly nasty flatmate no more, it was a very latina looking lady, my blood was iced in my veins and I sobered up in a heart spin, there was candle all over the place and towel on the ground, he offered his service with a subtle “you want to try?”…
A proposal to which I firmly declined, I looked at him terrified, he bent to his knee… I could not hit him, I did not even have the bravery left, surprising considering that I am ( well used to be ) a short tempered psycho as many of my mates could actually tell you.
The long and short of it was that I just didn’t have the need to defend myself anymore. I just grabbed his arm and stood him up and I put my hand on his shoulder to finally say these words in the most relaxed and soft voice:
Mate, you’ve got a wife, and a daughter, Seriously what the fuck is wrong with you?
I left his room and slammed the door, went to the kitchen and grabbed the biggest knife went back to my room and put it under my pillow, because if he come to fuck me in my sleep at least I’ll bring the fucker down in hell with me.
I was looking for a new flat that matched my high class salary, struggling when eventually my landlord kicked us out with a 2 weeks notice and I raised up my expecation and found a place within a lovely chinese family, (sounds weird, but they were dope).
I can host predrinks at home, bring as many women as I want home, they found it amusing and laugh all the time.
It is a fucked up story that you may not believe and writing it put me in a low state of mind when I am currently feeling shit and my stomach is all messed up, but no regrets. It will be another fucked up story to tell my kids if I find myself with any some day….
I now have a decent situation and work in a great house in Clapham with my friends and make more money so I am a finally entitled to confort.
[Update 1] : I saw him in Peckham in November : next to burger king, he asked me for a cigarette, his wife dumped him and left with his daughter. still a mechanic in a shitty garage in Lewisham now. He didn’t seems to happy to see me, which is curious considering that throwing back to april 2014 he wanted to suck my god damn cock
[Update 2] : I now went back to France and lives at my mom’s place soon to be shipped off to a Camp as I joined the Marine corps infantry – Bye Bye Comfort once again.
The Pursuit of Sluttiness 