Approximately a week after we’d moved into our house, about 4 years ago, we realised we had shit neighbours.
We live in a decent-ish area and even though it’s very close to everything in the city it’s remarkably quiet.
Apart from next door.
Two people live there, presumably partners. I don’t really want to make presumptions about them, but I will: they are quite literally the local tramps. Tramps with a house.
Leaving for work this morning at 8am, 3 of them were sat on the step pissed as arseholes still drinking. On their front fucking steps. I’m partial to a late drink myself, but not until 8am and definitely not at someone’s front door.
I can think of better things to be greeted by when I leave the house of a morning, rather than a “are you alright looooooovvve?” by a drunken tramp, holding a can of cider.
This happens at least three or four times a week, if they aren’t on the front steps then we at least hear the 4am arguments or shouts to be let in the house. You see, they only have one key between them and the door bell or door knocker hasn’t been invented yet. So it’s brilliant to be woken by one of them drunkenly screaming at 4am “[insert name] open the fucking door you prick/knob/slag/slut!” They have such melodic voices too…
The house is (for some strange reason) owned by a housing association and how they’ve let them stay in there I’ll never know. We couldn’t be more horizontal if we tried, but even we’ve complained to everyone we could. Our landlord has complained, our landlord has complained on our behalf, most of the street have complained, but for some reason they’re still there.
But this got me thinking today, even though I’ve lived here for 4 years I have absolutely no idea who lives in our street. In addition to the tramps, I know two people to say hello to: the woman who lives a few doors down who works in the sandwich shop, who we refer to as “the woman who works in the sandwich shop” and her husband whose name is “the woman who works in the sandwich shops husband”. It’s a close, tight knit neighbourhood, obviously.
This in in stark contrast to when I still lived in my parents. Admittedly I’d been there 20 odd years, but I knew virtually everyone in the road and most people in the area. The tramps wouldn’t have lasted a week if they lived around there.
Brilliant. As if on cue, “[name] OPEN THE FRONT FUCKING DOOOOOOOOOR!”