Finally we ended up leaving the house when the almost constant battles with the estate agents ( let’s call them Asshole Estates ) and the landlords had sapped our morale to an all time low. The landlords complained we never paid our rent on time and we complained that they always ignored our requests for a less barbaric way of living. We then found out that Asshole had been holding onto our rent for sometimes up to a month before paying the landlords and then blaming it on us. The Asshole Estates also hadn’t been passing on most of our messages about the latest developments in the house. They were the greasiest , most penny pinching people you imagine. One of my fondest memories of Asshole Estates is when I received a call from one of them to discuss our ever leaking washing machine. We talked for about five minutes about what could possibly be done before I told him that I was in New York and wouldn’t be back for a week. The realisation that he’d been making a international mobile call must have hit him hard for all I heard was a surprised “Oh my GOD!” before the phone was dropped as if it had suddenly become white hot.
Just before we left our landlord brought round some prospective new tenants , they obviously weren’t courageous types like us and looked visibly worried at their surroundings. Noticing this he looked at them shook his head and solemnly said “ I know , I know , they’ve wrecked the place.”
