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ylliasterphoenix · 8 years ago

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Bit of a rant.

I currently live in South Hatfield, which to most is pretty much the middle of butt-fuck nowhere. This is primarily because of the fact that between my last place and here, there really weren’t any other options. Most people would assume living in Hatfield is not such an awful thing to happen to a person, and for the most part, I would agree with those who think that. The rent is good, and the size of the room is far greater than anywhere I’ve lived before.But that’s where the benefits end. This place, outside of my room, is a fucking shithole. I’ll now explain why:

The landlady is a 60+ with Rheumatoid Arthritis, which, fair enough is a moderately debilitating physical deformity, but she uses it as an attention seeking tool, using it to bother me all hours of the day and night with “can you go over the shops” or generic household duties, which is moderately fine, given that i’m not actually the most evil person you’ll ever meet, (or I might be, not sure yet) but here’s the issue. More often than not, likely due to the insane amount of codeine she ingests (whether or not this still has anything to do with the pain is beyond me, I’ll get back to this in a bit), she’s fully capable of using her big fucking hoover (a Dyson Animal, if you need a reference point) to do a shit job of cleaning, and any other tasks. Still on the subject of this abhorrent woman, she has 5 (maybe more) cats, that she definably, objectively is incapable of looking after, which is something that I feel I should contact the RSPCA about. There is one cat litter tray downstairs, by what was the actual front door, and one in her bedroom. That’s right people, she keeps a fucking cat litter tray, where she sleeps, and then wonders why she’s always ill. The cats are always fighting each other, which I have to assume is a territorial thing (fair play), but they also drag dead animals into the house into the myriad areas that cannot be readily noticed by the naked eye. The latest example of this was a dead squirrel, which I genuinely have no clue how long was there, but had begun to maggotize, (or whatever the correct word for that is) meaning I have to assume it was there for at least 4 days, given the state of it when I had to remove it (because no one else in the house was clearly willing to) the cats had obviously been chowing down on it, which likely allows me to assume the cats are all underfed. Okay, so that’s that out of the way, but is that all? Oh, no, not by a long fucking shot. Every now and again, when I get so fucked off at the fact that I’ve literally slept on park benches cleaner than the majority of this house, I’ll take the hoover around the downstairs area, and clean the surfaces in the kitchen, and when I have to do this, I do a good fucking job, literally spending many hours at a time just cleaning while these fuckers sleep. To this point, the next morning, the regular response is that I did a shit job of cleaning (taking into consideration that there is no fucking way the carpet had been cleaned in at least a decade before I moved in, and the carpet is most likely being held together by malted cat hair at this point), this, I ignore. But the job is significant enough that keeping it clean after the point should be a 5 minute job, assuming of course (which I have to) that she should just pick up after herself as she goes along. Before I continue, back to the aforementioned squirrel incident, I had a long argument with this woman about the shit state of her house, and she pretty much told me that “if some “yobbo” wants to complain about the state of her house, he can just fuck off”. The “yobbo” she was referring to was me in this case. Here’s the thing, I genuinely believe, from a psychological standpoint that either one of two things has happened here. Either she’s gotten so used to such a shit state of living that it’s now the norm for her and anything cleaner makes her ill (I’ve heard it can happen), or that she was one of those spoilt fucking kids who because she had a disability, no one ever said no to her, and tiptoed around her disabilities rather than being honest with her. This is the more likely. I don’t give a fuck about her deformity. She IS still capable of functioning, and she proves it on a regular basis. This has such a big section simply because for the last couple days, because she hasn’t had tobacco in her life, she’s been twitching, and vomiting, which has made the house fucking stink of not just the regular musty cat shit and human piss scent, as apparently, it’s considered rude to flush the toilet after you use it here (or some shit like that) but also the smell of vomit as well. Early on in the month, because she wouldn’t stop knocking on my door at 4 a.m., I gave her the remainder of a bag of Amber Leaf I had and wasn’t likely to use, she didn’t say thank you at all, which I didn’t care about, but now she seems to assume I’m some kind of tobacco vendor, and even if I had it, I wouldn’t be giving it to her at this point, because I still don’t believe addiction is a real thing (possibly because I don’t have any, it makes it harder to believe in them), but also, because the woman has likely never given a sincere gratuity in her pitiful existence.

Now for the other real problem, and that is the state of the house, I’ve uploaded a video of what it looked like at some point of recording, trust me, it’s worse now, and it speaks for itself. Since she’s been “ill” for the last couple days, the kitchen has been full of baskets of washing, which DO include her bedding, and DO smell like piss, and when I accidentally stepped in some liquid on the floor in my path to the microwave literally just now, I moved one of these baskets over that, and then, in my second path the microwave, I stepped in another puddle of liquid. I have no doubt this was piss. BUT! Is this the worst thing about this house? No no no no no... No. When I first moved in, the bath tub was full of those little rubber things that I assume disabled people use to grip to the ceramic, which were coated with mold. How long had they been there? Fuck only knows. Within the first day I had removed them using medical grade protective gloves and thrown them away. Recently, she purchased a bath mat, which I regularly remove, as the underside is beginning to accrue the same black disgusting shit all over it. I sanitize the bath with serious shit before I even consider using it. The toilet, for my efforts is actually relatively clean. As with virtually every toilet I’ve ever used, I clean it before and after using it, and occasionally just when I’m on a cleaning binge anyway. More recently, there was what I have to assume as cat shit tracked into the toilet on the base of some bastards shoe (so either the landlady herself or the other tenant), which I did my best to clean out, and then sanitize, but it’s happened again and again, which I have to assume to mean someone is doing it on purpose, most recently, it has been covered with the toilet mat, which is also one of the most unsanitary toilet mats I’ve ever seen, and if it wasn’t currently covering the latest bout of cat shit being tracked in, I would throw it away completely.

Selclene agents have come on a semi-regular basis since I moved here to “clean” the property, and for... about the rest of the day after they’ve come along, the house looks... a bit more like a house. However, none have been more than once. The landlady “claims” that it’s because they’ve become ill and not returned, and then complains about that for about an hour, but through my investigation, it’s because even the people she pays to be here find her to be an intolerable old cunt who doesn’t have any manners, and is literally (and I quote here) a disgusting old hag.

Why am I whinging to you malicious, schadenfreudic bastards on here? Because sometimes, I’m in a really fucking bad mood, and occasionally that will come out in conversation, or will result in some of the situations where I literally just don’t want to see people (which will be covered in another note), this is why. This is what I put up with. It’s not he-died-for-your-sins level of sacrifice, but please understand, that if I’m in a bad mood, or don’t want to go anywhere, it’s because this house is almost literally so unbearable that I’ve genuinely considered returning to being homeless as an alternative. And therefore spend a lot of time... For want of a better term... trying very hard to not inflict how pissed off I am on people who really, really don’t deserve it, but again, we’ll get to that in a later post.

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