Like most young people who lived in London (in my case between 64-68); I moved a lot. Sometimes I would only stay in a new flat for a matter of weeks.
When I left school I worked in The City and my first bed-sit was in Bayswater; I think I was there for 6 months. Then for some bizarre reason I moved to Paddington Street, where I shared a tiny flat with an old school friend.
For those of you who know London, Paddington Street is not in Paddington; it's in Marylebone W1. On the other side of Oxford Street from Mayfair. Smart-ville, cosy-land, rich folk. But our small flat was a SLUM; ess ell you emm. Maybe it was the only true slum in fashionable W1.
There were huge bracket-mushrooms growing on the stairwell walls, the 'facilities' were Dickensian (sorry Dickens), and everywhere was damp.
The house was owned by an unwholesome so-called antique restorer, who had his workshop on the ground floor. He was a nasty, ugly, little man who spent his evenings either in cheap Soho strip joints, or even cheaper Kings Cross brothels.
One evening I returned home to find my flat mate and the owner rolling about on the floor in a full-on fist fight. I watched for a while wondering quite what to do, then picked the owner up by his collar and gave him a hefty single blow to the chin. This stopped the fight instantly (and almost broke my fist).
We were, of course, ordered to be out of the house by 9am the following morning, which we were quite happy about; other than having nowhere to go or put our stuff.
Most of our things we surreptitiously stored in the empty basement of a Launderette next door. This was later bricked up by the owner; I imagine all our stuff is still there to this day!
It's amazing what one puts up with when you're young. Did you have any similar rental experiences?
God is still having a laugh at my expense - I really don't know why this sort of thing always seems to happen to me. I am not going to claim for loss of earnings by spending three days in Bristol C...
15 hours ago