So, as you can perhaps tell from the title of this blog post, I am not best pleased with one of my tenants, no, one of my EX-tenants.
And it’s my own stupid fault. He worked in a local spa I go to, was desperate for somewhere to stay, cue sob story about how awful his flatmate was, and I thought his job was secure…… Suuuuuckerrrrrrrrrr!
So he moved in, three days after he was supposed to and allegedly still waiting for his deposit money back. He immediately proceeds to piss off all the other tenants by playing crappy rave toons until all hours even during the week, clearly off his knickers as he didn’t then bother going to work the next day – easy to call him at work when the number’s on your speed dial for waxing ;-). He chucks his fag ends out of every window, even though there’s no smoking. His various paramours stay and coquettishly bar the door every time I go round. Then the rat dog moves in, which sounded like one of those ridiculous Paris Hilton type things, even though we don’t allow pets. He constantly ‘loses’ his phone.
Two months go by and he pays his rent in dribs and drabs, so time consuming, annoying and stressful given the current economic climate to have to chase constantly. His lovely friend even pays when Scottish G is nowhere to be seen. Yes, yes, I know, my own fault, I should never have let him move in!
And then one day he telephones, around lunch time, and in the wettest voice imaginable says “Ooooo Sian, I’m loucked ooooot, can you come let ma an?” When we got there, I was on the phone in the passenger seat and asked Mr Moregeous if he’d do the honours. So out he got and returned a few short minutes later. The car didn’t move. I looked up from my addictive iPhone and saw Mr M’s face. Staring forward, chin up and with a wry smile creeping up around the edges of his mouth.
“What’s up?” Silence. “What is it??” Mr M looked at me, “Oh, you are so going to wish you just went in there.”
Now I’m intrigued. Attention totally off Twitter. “Ok, you got me, why?”
“Well, I got to the front door and Scottish G’s friend was there with his hand out for the keys. My keys. So I said I’d open the door and walked past him down the corridor, and you know you can’t see the door to his flat from the front, until you get to it? Well, I got to it and put the key out to the door, and there was someone standing in the shadows to my right near the cellar door. I glanced and it was a girl so I just kind of said ‘alright’ not really twigging and thinking she was a friend of M’s. Then I twigged and looked again, and said ‘ G ?’. Full makeup, long poker straight wig and black lacy underwear!!! And d’you know what he said?! ‘Oooo, I bet yoooo guessed I dad thas, dinna ya?’ I couldn’t believe it, he thinks he’s Jennifer Aniston! So I opened the door, and off he minced down the tiled hall, his stilettos clicking on the tiles!”
He was right, I did wish I’d gone in – I get dead bodies, Mr M gets cross-dressers. Mr M looked horrified when I asked “Could you see his willy?”, exclaiming ‘I didn’t look!” in his best manly voice. But the very best was when I texted Rip Rap (dad and caretaker): “Dad, you will not believe what just happen with Scottish G from No 2!”
And the text back from my 70yr old father “You mean the trannie?” The buggar hadn’t even mentioned it – I’m sacking him as caretaker, he can’t even be bothered to gossip! He never even goes to Manchester city centre, how does he know what a trannie is?!
And then I find out he now works behind the bar in a lap dancing club, in full Jennifer regalia, and within a matter of weeks, surprise surprise, he’s no longer the receptionist at the spa. He’s moreorless up to date with his rent by now, as I’d agreed with him and his boss that £500 of his wages got paid direct to me last week, phewf. He agrees to pay the final £115 to take him up to the end Nov last weekend, but of course, doesn’t answer his phone, won’t answer the door, and the law is so pro-tenant and anti-landlord what can you do? (but yeh yeh it’s my own fault for having been too nice in the first place!)
Then the text. ‘Sorry Sian, but I’ve gone back to Scotland and left the flat’. So we went in the flat and the place was a disgrace. What a surprise. I texted him to say thanks so much for the state of the flat and the slap in the face, and amongst other things was told that he didn’t have a hoover (one in the hall), he was paid up (no, actually and no notice as per his contract) and I was sad as all I had was my houses and no friends?! And he’d left me some presents, soooo lovely:
It’s funny isn’t it, that some tenants think because you own (ie have mortgaged) some properties, that you are rolling in it, and don’t struggle like everyone else. If just a few don’t pay the rent i.e. rightly pay for where they live, where you LET them live, and your business collapses, then not only do you lose your livelihood (and believe me there ain’t no profits being made right now), but also all of your tenants could lose the places they have made home. I am proud to be a landlord and I work hard to provide nice homes for people to live in, but people like Scottish G REALLY try my patience!