My landlord is selling the house I live in, and obviously has to get surveyors and bearded blokes with self-propelling pencils who know lots about bricks to come and look at the house. Not a problem, I left my bedroom door unlocked and made sure I hadn't left any money, expensive computer equipment or Class A drugs lying around and off I went to work. My room's fairly tidy so I've no reason to not let people in there for whatever reason. I've even had girls in there.
So anyway, the next day I got home and was chatting to my housemate (let's call him "Bob"), who mentioned the previous day had been somewhat interesting. It transpires that the landlord had come around with the various blokes and a mate of his to look around the house. They disappeared upstairs to look at housemate number 3's room, and called for "Bob" to come up and have a look.
The guys had gone in to housemate number 3's room and discovered it to be slightly untidy. Slightly untidy in the same way a city dump might be described as slightly untidy. They discovered the following:
- 8 months worth of empty beer cans
- Hundreds of empty cigarette packets
- Carrier bags full (as in completely full and plural) of cigarette butts
- Carrier bags full of vomit
- Carrier bags full of shit
- All the missing plates, bowls, cuttlery, glasses, mugs etc. which have gone missing over the last few months
Also, the mattress for the bed was half on the bed, half off, torn, ripped, burnt with cigarettes.... You can't even see the carpet.
You may think I'm exaggerating in the name of artistic license but I can assure you I'm not. Seriously, you can't make this up. I live with Sidcup's own Mr Treebus.
I'm off to be sick in a plastic carrier bag....
No comments:
Post a Comment