Suicidal Smack Rat

The time has come again for yours truly to look for a new house, for the ELEVENTH time in nine years *sigh*. PG and I are hitching up the wagon for one final time to go our separate ways, branching out once more into the world of ‘the house share’.

It’s been a whirlwind living together, from the early days on Gordon Avenue where we were sharing with a lovely Nigerian guy who ended up praying for our souls before moving out to be replaced by a drug dealing wife beating Nigerian who was sketchy as fuck. Whilst all the Nigerian swapping was going on there was also the hulked up guy with the tattoos who acted all macho but screeched like a girl whenever his girlfriend spanked him in bed. Which happened a LOT.

From there we headed to Mayfield Road where PG and I were joined by the girlie screecher and the wonderful Computer Geek, oh and a canoe in the living room. (grrrr). Our time in the Mayfield ghetto saw the girlie screecher piss off to Canada leaving behind a trail of debts and a jilted girlfriend who was more than happy to divulge his bedroom secrets –pegging anyone? Then came the months of doom, starting with a racial assault that saw me end up in the witness box, via having my numberplates stolen and then being burgled nine days later which saw us flee to Atherley Manor.

The only problems with being at Atherley Manor was finding a dead mouse in half a pint of Ribena and the fact that we never wanted to leave….. However dead rodents, sexual deviants and a Nigerian man praying for my soul cannot top the tale of the worst yet most amusing thing that has ever happened to me whilst house sharing in Southampton.

Picture the scene, it’s midday, I’m off work and still in my nightie (It was a day off it’s allowed!) when there is a knock at the door. I open it to find a scraggy blonde in her underwear stood on my doorstep hopping from foot to foot with a carrier bag at her feet. ‘Mumble, Mumble, Mumble, SPIDERS’ went she as she started trying to climb up the walls. ‘Oh aye’ thought I, ‘we’ve got a right one here’ and with that I used my body to block the path into the house, using the door as a shield. Oh alright, I had the world’s hairiest legs and didn’t want my neighbours to see…..

So there she was, this scraggy blonde leaping about my door begging me to get ‘THE SPIDERS’ off her, high as a fricking kite and going blue from the cold. What I should have done was shut the door and called the Police, what I did do was plunge my hand into the carrier bag at her feet to pull out a pair of jeans to convince her at least to put some damned clothes on. As I bent down to have a look at the contents of the bag she rushed past me into my hallway and started doing her semi naked dance moves whilst trying to remove imaginary spiders. FUCK. I resumed trying to get her to put some clothes on, thinking it was probably easier to deal with a smack head with clothes on. Having not learnt my lesson from earlier, I started making a big production out of getting the ‘spiders’ off her clothes, turned my back for a split second and the canny little witch flew up the stairs and locked herself in my upstairs loo.

Still in my nightie which was actually more of an inappopriately short and see through negligee I ran into the street to find someone to help, thankfully there was a Police van parked up the road (such a charming neighbourhood) and so I descended on the poor officer shrieking about ‘a smack rat in my toilet’….. he instantly got on the radio for backup and then made me go into the house and quickly talk him through what had happened. Didn’t ask me to put any clothes on though the dirty fecker! Before I knew it the house was crawling with Police, a sniffer dog and another riot van rocked up as well as an ambulance. Having described what the smack rat looked like I was told by a rather amused officer that the junkie in question had been in custody overnight and was set free approximately twenty minutes before she mounted an assault on my house.

Cue the po-po giving up on trying to convince her to leave her post and deciding to break the door down, her response was to wrench the bloody towel rail off the wall and start smacking the police with it whilst trying simultaneously to throw herself out of the upstairs window all whilst shrieking obscenities about more imaginary spiders…. For a skinny little slip of a woman she put up a mighty good fight, eventually being restrained by four burly (and hot) officers and carried out of my house face down with hands and feet bound. As the original officer headed out of the house he stopped to give me the bollocking of my young life about shoving my hand into her carrier bag….. which was full of used uncapped needles, a lucky escape I think you’ll agree!

Then, as soon as it had started it was over – she was bundled into the back of the ambulance and taken away leaving me to clear up and explain the situation to my miserable Scottish bastard of a landlord, oh and I also had to disinfect anything she’d touched as one of the paramedics took great delight in telling me ‘she’s got SCABIES’.


3 thoughts on “Suicidal Smack Rat

  1. Bloody hell. What a story. I hope your next place will be a zone of uninterrupted tranquility after all this. And perhaps just…never open the door? xxx

  2. Ha Ha ha! I thought I'd had some dodgy flatmates over the years, but having read that post I realise that poor personal hygiene and general slutty behaviour pale in comparison to Nigerian wife beaters/drug dealers. One girl I lived with was such a slattern, we nicknamed her 'Skanky Crack Whore' (her room looked like a crack den). Thankfully, I never came face to face with an actual crack addict. I think I'd have shit myself.

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