Ever had neighbours which you think were a bit stand out?
The place were I grew up was quite sensible. One neighbour had a flock of sheep on his front yard. Another one was a drunk who's son was a neo nazi, and one time he was so drunk he asked me if I could carry him 2km on my back since I looked quite strong. Also had a neighbour with a prosthetic arm. I found out 10 years later after he died that that he apparently left me 10 quid on a bank account.
Things went south after I moved north.
While studying I lived at my sisters place for a summer, doing an internship at a company. Was left alone the whole summer, with her neighbours, the landlords. Two identical sisters. Old. Same clothes, same everything. Always drunk. Had tendency to try opening the wrong door at times during evenings (the door to my apartment). One time I found that they'd gotten in and done the dishes for me. When asking them about it they looked unknowning, and later they -after having a drink- they called my mum and cried, scared that they'd scared me or something.
Later on, moving even further north, I lived in an apartment house. One of my neighbours lived in the cellar. Down which he had three rooms, behind three doors in said cellar (Which we all shared). One with a bed and a TV (from what I could spot through a window), another one a bathtub, last one a toilet. Since he regarded the cellar of the house as his he went about "cleaning" it. He used his bucket for food left overs (with them left in there) with a fabric softener when scrubbing the floor. Floor went sticky and smelt pretty awful (think puke). Also had a tendency to drop orange pulp in the washers rubber seal (I have no idea why) as well as paper in the machine itself. And when going out he always put on an orange ski racing helmet. I later heard that he liked to doing stretching on the side of a football pitch when younger girls "happened" to be playing...
My neighbour upstairs had 5 dogs. Some nights it sounded like The exorcist "The dog edition" up from her flat. Like if the dogs were locked into a cupboard or something. Wasn't long till she moved out, to a mental institution.
I lived wall to wall to two older people. They smoked so much that the whole stairwell smelled awful. Borrowing a hammer from them one time made my clothes reek of cigarettes so much I almost felt sick. The man in the house had played guitar in a travelling dance orchestra and when working at a factory he had -in secret- molded a whole boat in plastic during a weekend.
Now days I live a bit more calmly. Only stand out is a man pushing 90 who's openly racist, yells at people from his balcony for using the nearby recycling center, says he lives in a small flat in order to not have to take care of his grand children too often and that he's seen Joséphine Baker sing live wearing her banana skirt thing on some company happening years ago.
As for myself. People tend to think my apartment is empty since I never make any noise.
How about you? Had any interesting neighbours? :)
Also. I think it's for the best if the thread is kept free from any information akin to city names, adresses and such. Just in case.
The one where Bouncer has a dream.
Quote from: JamesC on 17 June, 2018, 06:20:57 PM
The one where Bouncer has a dream.
Quote from: Apestrife on 17 June, 2018, 05:34:48 PM
My neighbour upstairs had 5 dogs. Some nights it sounded like The exorcist "The dog edition" up from her flat. Like if the dogs were locked into a cupboard or something. Wasn't long till she moved out, to a mental institution.
Could'v been from the same episode ;)
My neighbour, who drinks cans of Heineken on his morning walk, lives on a canal barge and is called Al. Yes, of course his name is Can Al. A grumpy old biker who curses everything around him but is incredibly decent and generous and would do anything to help you out when you're stuck, he is essentially Clint Eastwood in Gran Torino. (I have seen him complain bitterly about East Europeans, then a few days later cheerfully help my Lithuanian friends operate the canal locks while chatting away to then breezily.)
I also used to live in the flat above a girl called Mona - she lived there with her partner and indeed was a very, very loud moaner. Not the complaining type of moaning either.
Quote from: JayzusB.Christ on 17 June, 2018, 06:47:01 PM
My neighbour, who drinks cans of Heineken on his morning walk, lives on a canal barge and is called Al. Yes, of course his name is Can Al. A grumpy old biker who curses everything around him but is incredibly decent and generous and would do anything to help you out when you're stuck, he is essentially Clint Eastwood in Gran Torino. (I have seen him complain bitterly about East Europeans, then a few days later cheerfully help my Lithuanian friends operate the canal locks while chatting away to then breezily.)
I also used to live in the flat above a girl called Mona - she lived there with her partner and indeed was a very, very loud moaner. Not the complaining type of moaning either.
Another Neighbours connection. Was her partner Craig MacLauglin who reached no.2 in the UK singles chart with 'Mona'?
My downstairs neighbors are
1 - an ex-Forrin Legionnaire with some form of PTSD that prompts him to scream at his flatmate in a one-way conversation usually sparked off by minor things, which goes on for ages and one time I (carefully and quietly) left the flat as he was scream-talking at the other guy and as I exited the building, I met the other guy coming back from the pub, and
2 - the other guy, who smokes and drinks to cope with his nerves, because something puts him on edge - I guess I'll never find out what that thing might be - but he smokes only the stinkiest of weed, which I assume I have gotten used to over the years as one time my niece visited and was taken slightly ill from the brief exposure she had in the communal hallway.
Recent high points include neighbor #2 having to be carted off by an ambulance, and #1 deciding to have a barbecue in - for some reason - my back yard instead of his own, despite his back yard being an 8 by 4 stretch of concrete with a handy and pleasant bit of shade offered by a neighbor's tree, while my back yard is 3x4 of scrub ground currently 90% occupied by propane tanks. I can see my yard clearly from the kitchen window so I had a great view of #2 walking down the garden path, through his own garden, into mine where he set up the barbecue right beside a large tank full of explosive gas, unfold a chair, put his head in his hands and burst into tears. There's no fire escape in my flat, which I mention because both seem like the type to start a chip pan fire at 4am.
I think I've mentioned this on here before... I lived next door to Patrick Malahide (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Patrick_Malahide) 'til I was three. On the other side of him was a family of clowns. A daddy clown, a mummy clown and a little boy clown, (about a year older than me). The mummy clown was also a dancer and worked with David Bowie. She's in the original video for "John, I'm Only Dancing" as a spider from Mars. The little boy clown is now grown up, still a performer and teaches circus skills to children in Australia. I'm friends with him on facebook.
Apparently, David and Angie Bowie used to visit my neighbours at that address, (which may explain a UFO incident which occurred there), but I only found this out recently when an old friend of their's commented on a photograph on the "Lost Edinburgh" page on facebook. The photograph was of the bloke who ran the Cramond Ferry in the '70s and '80s.
Our back garden at the time was a beach and the ferryman was a friend of my family. He was a Czechoslovakian who had escaped from a German prisoner of war camp and travelled to Scotland with the Polish army. Local legend had it that he would swim around Cramond Island every day, only stopping for a smoke halfway. This wasn't true. He only did that sometimes.
A couple of years later I moved close to an overgrown disused railway line. I remember watching them blow up the old viaduct from my house when it became to dangerous to walk across. Half a mile along the road was the old station house, and inside that lived the "Station Master". Old, wizened, bespectacled and still wearing the hat.
The station house looked extremely rundown and ramshackle from outside, with boards on the windows. If you didn't know better you'd think it was abandoned, but I heard from more than one person that the inside was immaculate. The garden next to the station house was a small orchard and he'd tell us to help ourselves to the apples. It wasn't advisable to eat too many though, because most of them were cooking apples.
A stand-out neighbour?
Spike Milligan.
Well, his mum lived next door to us in Woy Woy, Australia when I was about 4-5 years old (circa 1975). Spike would show up regularly.
Two things he did of note. Firstly, he consoled my Nana when my Grandad got carted off to hospital after having a stroke. Grandad never came home.
Secondly, he taught me how to fire a derringer pistol in our backyard. Yes, I was 4-5 years old. I think my Mum had a quiet word with Spike about that.
Possibly the best thing I've ever heard in my life. I love Spike, I really do. 'He took a good long drink on his beer, then a good long eat on his sandwich.'
...and that's reminded me of the neighbour I had who'd been in a Japanese POW camp and had apparently gone a bit mental as a result. He used to set up booby traps in the surrounding countryside, (which at worst would trip folk up), and we quickly learned not to leave any toys lying around outside, in case you found them the next day nailed to a tree or dangling from a string outside his front door.
He once gave my little brother and myself a genuine parachute each. My brother, (only about five at the time), decided to test his out by climbing onto the roof of our house and jumping off. He was mostly unscathed but decided not to ever attempt it again.
Was his name Pulger?
He was more like Baldrick crossed with Clive Dunn.
Quote from: JayzusB.Christ on 27 June, 2018, 01:34:42 PM
Possibly the best thing I've ever heard in my life. I love Spike, I really do. 'He took a good long drink on his beer, then a good long eat on his sandwich.'
Thanks JBC. He was completely unique, wasn't he? I still love reading his poetry. And 'Badjelly The Witch' still scares me. :)
No idea who Spike Milligan is (gonna google it), but based on what you wrote. Sounds like one hell of a guy. Thanks for sharing :)
Goes to the rest of you as well. Especially for Al at the canal ;)
For several years the flat below us was occupied by a couple of drug addicts. When they moved in they came up to borrow something and noticed we had a VCR - they asked if they could come up and watch their wedding video because "we've never seen it and it's got all the kids on" (four, all in care). After agreeing this we were their best mates and they'd pop up at all hours of day or night to scrounge tinfoil ("we're roasting a chicken") or baking soda ("we're making scones"). We last saw him when the police were called to one of their regular violent domestics and he leaned out of the window shouting "I've done nowt wrong, but I've got a gun and I''ll shoot any copper that tries to come in" - cue two hour siege and, presumably, back to prison. She went downhill hanging out with even skeevier mates - I had to call all 3 emergency services in the same week for her - she asked for an ambulance after discharging herself from hospital but then going into withdrawal, she went out leaving the cooker on a few days later and nearly burnt the flat down, and then one of her lowlife mates broke in started smashing the place up. They were more sad than deplorable and I often wonder what happened to them.
At Uni we rented rooms at a fruit farm about 7 miles outside Dundee owned by a Dutch architect who was a right canute. Our flat was the old servants quarters of the main farmhouse and we had to do (non health & safety compliant) jobs like collecting firewood with a tractor (nearly died doing that one) as part of the tenancy. he got miffed when we declined to get up pre-dawn on a Sunday to beat grouse for his rich mates to shoot, and then left a partially skinned fox outside our back door for weeks. His Scottish farm manager and Polish nanny were lovely however - when the family was out, they'd invite us into the main house to get pissed on his home-brew raspberry wine - they eventually eloped together, but we'd left by then
Oh and I can't beat Spike Milligan (that's a great story), but we did used to live next door but one to Eric Sykes' brother
No stories but loving everyone's work on this thread.
Quote from: Apestrife on 28 June, 2018, 04:23:27 PM
No idea who Spike Milligan is (gonna google it), but based on what you wrote. Sounds like one hell of a guy. Thanks for sharing :)
His war memoir, "Adolf Hitler: My Part in His Downfall", is well worth a read.
Worst neighbours I ever had moved into the flat beside me last year.
Originally, it was a young single mother and her new infant daughter. While I wasn't exactly overjoyed at the prospect of a crying / screaming sprog in the room beside me - as loud noises are one of the major triggers for my chronic anxiety and other issues - I assumed / hoped that it would be a temporary measure until the social services found suitable accomodation for them. I also had a natural human sympathy for their situation and for the first week there were no real problems. But then she went and moved her psychotic teenage boyfriend in with them as well.
(My first encounter with that charmer was about a week after she set up home. The pair of them were having a very loud screaming match on the doorstep. I tried to reason with them to keep quiet, explaining that there were other people living in this house and suggesting that they should go to the nearest park where they could both scream and shout to their hearts content. The response of her boy-friend - who shall henceforth be referred to as Brain-Dead Scumbag or BDS for short - was to turn his anger on me instead, to the extent that he actually challenged me to a fight right there and then.
Now I'm normally a very peaceful, non-violent person by nature, but I can not remember instantly hating somebody at first encounter for a very long time. One look at BDS's mad, evil eyes told me that this vile, low-life creep was brimming with bad attitude and clearly did not give a toss about anyone but himself. It took some effort of will on my part not to take him up on his offer but to add insult to injury, as I walked away and they resumed their row, I clearly heard him shouting: "Fuck that old prick! I'll throw a fuckin' petrol bomb through his fuckin' window!"
I doubt if this moron could even spell the word "petrol".)
So as well as the kid, I now had these two screaming fuck-wits to contend with beside me as well. And scream they surely did! Rarely a day went by without them rowing, shouting, punching and fighting each other, throwing and smashing things around their flat, alternatively kicking or slamming both their door and the house door nearly off their hinges. It could start as early as seven am or as late as mid-night, and last for anything from one to three hours at a time.
In one instance, as the row moved from their flat into the hallway of the house and to the front door, I clearly heard her shout at him: "Ya hit me! Ya punched me in front of me daughter!" He didn't deny it at all and instead tried to deflect the blame onto her mother instead. Go figure!
Anyways, to cut a long and insane story short, after enduring these psychos for over FIVE MONTHS - during which I did not have a single, peaceful nights sleep and was permanently on edge to the point of being suicidal because of the disruption they caused - they were finally moved on by social services to be inflicted upon some other unfortunate neighbourhood in the country. (If it was up to me, I would have had the innocent child taken into care and leave the two of them to rot in a leaky one-man tent, off a round-about under the M50.)
I should note that I was - and still am - on sick-leave from work through anxiety, depression and other issues, and for which I am still waiting to see a psychiatrist to be given a definitive diagnosis over a year later.
(Ya gotta love the Irish Mental Health system. Biggest fucking joke - ever!)