Odd things your neighbours do?
Discussion
Justayellowbadge said:
JohnSW20 said:
There is a bloke who walks around Raynes Park, South West London holding very elaborate signs calling for world peace, stop Global Warming etc. The only other time you see him is helping his 100+ year mum walk around on a walking frame. See him all the time and would love to know his story but I'm afraid to ask!!!
They hold a vigil/protest outside the Alexandra pub in Wimbledon. Their church being just behind it. Often see them heading home down Worple.Zebrano said:
Justayellowbadge said:
JohnSW20 said:
There is a bloke who walks around Raynes Park, South West London holding very elaborate signs calling for world peace, stop Global Warming etc. The only other time you see him is helping his 100+ year mum walk around on a walking frame. See him all the time and would love to know his story but I'm afraid to ask!!!
They hold a vigil/protest outside the Alexandra pub in Wimbledon. Their church being just behind it. Often see them heading home down Worple.HTP99 said:
mybrainhurts said:
Used to have a family of Plymouth Bretheren in the house that backs onto mine. These are good ol' Christian zealots, who shun mobile phones, computers, smoking and drinking, among other things, as the work of the devil. Their women dress in long skirts and stout shoes, don't cut their hair, wear head-top scarves and have husbands who look as miserable as sin.
I was allowed into their garden to cut their trees back, but not on Sundays. Sundays were reserved for Christian sing-songs, windows and doors open, with a maniac hammering the piano into submission.
It's times like that I wish I had a TVR.
They've gone now, I think I smoked them out...
I've sold a couple of cars to Plymouth Bretheren, I had to remove the radio and CD player before they would take it, one of the cars was a 52 plate Espace and the radio unit is a special Espace only system which is situated in the back of the car, due to the value of the unit; around £1k, I suggested perhaps I should just disconnect it and when they came to sell the car the new owner could just reconnect it, it wouldn't do and it had to be removed and I could do what I wanted with it, unfortunately this was before I knew about ebay so I threw it in the back of the sales cupboard and forgot about it. I was allowed into their garden to cut their trees back, but not on Sundays. Sundays were reserved for Christian sing-songs, windows and doors open, with a maniac hammering the piano into submission.
It's times like that I wish I had a TVR.
They've gone now, I think I smoked them out...
It's a very odd and extreme way of living but each to their own I guess.
Don't mention the car's ECU.
I did, but I think I got away with it...
HTP99 said:
mybrainhurts said:
Used to have a family of Plymouth Bretheren in the house that backs onto mine. These are good ol' Christian zealots, who shun mobile phones, computers, smoking and drinking, among other things, as the work of the devil. Their women dress in long skirts and stout shoes, don't cut their hair, wear head-top scarves and have husbands who look as miserable as sin.
I was allowed into their garden to cut their trees back, but not on Sundays. Sundays were reserved for Christian sing-songs, windows and doors open, with a maniac hammering the piano into submission.
It's times like that I wish I had a TVR.
They've gone now, I think I smoked them out...
I've sold a couple of cars to Plymouth Bretheren, I had to remove the radio and CD player before they would take it, one of the cars was a 52 plate Espace and the radio unit is a special Espace only system which is situated in the back of the car, due to the value of the unit; around £1k, I suggested perhaps I should just disconnect it and when they came to sell the car the new owner could just reconnect it, it wouldn't do and it had to be removed and I could do what I wanted with it, unfortunately this was before I knew about ebay so I threw it in the back of the sales cupboard and forgot about it. I was allowed into their garden to cut their trees back, but not on Sundays. Sundays were reserved for Christian sing-songs, windows and doors open, with a maniac hammering the piano into submission.
It's times like that I wish I had a TVR.
They've gone now, I think I smoked them out...
It's a very odd and extreme way of living but each to their own I guess.
As for odd neighbours, we are fortunate that ours are ok and don't do anything particularly odd.
HTP99 said:
I've sold a couple of cars to Plymouth Bretheren, I had to remove the radio and CD player before they would take it, one of the cars was a 52 plate Espace and the radio unit is a special Espace only system which is situated in the back of the car, due to the value of the unit; around £1k, I suggested perhaps I should just disconnect it and when they came to sell the car the new owner could just reconnect it, it wouldn't do and it had to be removed and I could do what I wanted with it, unfortunately this was before I knew about ebay so I threw it in the back of the sales cupboard and forgot about it.
It's a very odd and extreme way of living but each to their own I guess.
As for odd neighbours, we are fortunate that ours are ok and don't do anything particularly odd.
I temped at a company run by Plymouth Brethren for a while, that was interesting. All very smart and plainly dressed, in an office full of typewriters. One of my jobs was to cover up the label on a particular line of shoes they sold which had a woman in trousers on it. They had to take my timesheet to the company next door so they could fax it. This was apparently OK, as was the very advanced photocopier they had.It's a very odd and extreme way of living but each to their own I guess.
As for odd neighbours, we are fortunate that ours are ok and don't do anything particularly odd.
Car wise I don't know if they had taken any electronics out but one of them drove a French registered Twingo (they were French) which I imagine is the most basic car you could buy. One time when I was there the car's battery overcharged and filled the entire place with the smell of rotten eggs. I did suggest that in future they just drive with the headlights on and it might stop it happening but they clearly had little grasp of electrics.
As far as odd neighbours, I have been in my place a week, I have heard a few arguments which is pleasant, apparently yelling 'you are a f
king bh' repeatedly in the car park is necessary. I was woken at about 4am by what sounded like a woman possessed. I can hardly complain though as I might have kept her awake in a similar manner the week before.
I used to buy materials from a busness run by a family of Plymouth Bretheren.
On the wall behind the counter was a sign saying...
Drinking, smoking, swearing, blasphemy, and the use of radio telephones are forbidden on these premises.
I was waiting to be served one day with another bloke. He spied the sign and winked at me. When the PB chap came to serve, he said you go first, mate, then he lit up a fag, pulled out his phone and called his pal in the van outside, shouting for Christ's sake, Dave, I'm fking parched. Bring that can of lager in here before I fking collapse in this heat...
Much swooning ensued....
On the wall behind the counter was a sign saying...
Drinking, smoking, swearing, blasphemy, and the use of radio telephones are forbidden on these premises.
I was waiting to be served one day with another bloke. He spied the sign and winked at me. When the PB chap came to serve, he said you go first, mate, then he lit up a fag, pulled out his phone and called his pal in the van outside, shouting for Christ's sake, Dave, I'm f
king parched. Bring that can of lager in here before I fking collapse in this heat...Much swooning ensued....
I have an... odd... neighbour.
Mid 40s or so, doesn't appear to work, house always reeks of pot. Has a late model Honda Civic.
He doesn't have a driveway so parks on the street. If someone parks in his spot he parks over the pedestrian crossing behind it. Or did until he got a ticket. Now he just yells when his spot is taken and moves his car to somewhere else. And runs back to it and gets his spot as soon as they move.
We have a small place with no grass in the backyard, just a courtyard. He has quite a large house. He used to mow the nature strip out the front of our place. So, after he did it the second time and I saw him, I gave him some decent beer as a thankyou and explained we don't have a lawnmower because we don't have any lawn.
And now he has stopped mowing the nature strip. He has actually got a piece of string to see where "his" nature strip ends and ours begins. Mows up to that every single saturday.
Have friends 2 doors up who have quite a large yard so they have a lawnmower. They did our front area for us a few weekends back because they were doing it anyway. Our crazy neighbour ran out with a dustpan and brush and swept up any grass clippings that went on to the footpath outside his place.
Just really odd, possessive behaviour.
He also pisses on our fence.
Mid 40s or so, doesn't appear to work, house always reeks of pot. Has a late model Honda Civic.
He doesn't have a driveway so parks on the street. If someone parks in his spot he parks over the pedestrian crossing behind it. Or did until he got a ticket. Now he just yells when his spot is taken and moves his car to somewhere else. And runs back to it and gets his spot as soon as they move.
We have a small place with no grass in the backyard, just a courtyard. He has quite a large house. He used to mow the nature strip out the front of our place. So, after he did it the second time and I saw him, I gave him some decent beer as a thankyou and explained we don't have a lawnmower because we don't have any lawn.
And now he has stopped mowing the nature strip. He has actually got a piece of string to see where "his" nature strip ends and ours begins. Mows up to that every single saturday.
Have friends 2 doors up who have quite a large yard so they have a lawnmower. They did our front area for us a few weekends back because they were doing it anyway. Our crazy neighbour ran out with a dustpan and brush and swept up any grass clippings that went on to the footpath outside his place.
Just really odd, possessive behaviour.
He also pisses on our fence.
Blown2CV said:
i once heard all BMW dealerships are owned by Plymouth Brethren. Not sure how accurate this is, probably zero percent.
You might be thinking of Graham Dacre who founded/ran Lind Group until he sold it for £100m+ in 2006/8. Don't think he was involved with the Plymouth Bretheren but is a Pentacostal Minister and supposed member of a number of "odd" churches.
I'd forgotten about "notepad"
20 years ago when I was still in junior school, on our street was a football pitch area purpose built for locals like me to play on. Notepad was about 60 at the time and lived next to it and didn't like anyone stepping foot on it
He'd come out and ask what your business was, we'd reply football
He'd get his little book out with 'reports' written on the front and write stuff down, asking for names which we did supply. Once he'd exhausted the name thing, he started taking notes of the models of bikes etc
He told us he had a direct line to the cops and would come out holding part of an old cb radio, lead going into his pocket
We Never really bothered him other than being there and the cops would come and go but basically just humoured him and ignored us kids
Fast forward 20 years I visit the area and see the old goat in his window with binoculars! Must be getting on for 80
I see he has now installed a burglar alarm, which is about 7ft high and consists of a nice cream tub with a jam jar lid stuck to it, with little stickers stuck on it to spell alarm
I guess he is just lonely, which is truly terrible
20 years ago when I was still in junior school, on our street was a football pitch area purpose built for locals like me to play on. Notepad was about 60 at the time and lived next to it and didn't like anyone stepping foot on it
He'd come out and ask what your business was, we'd reply football
He'd get his little book out with 'reports' written on the front and write stuff down, asking for names which we did supply. Once he'd exhausted the name thing, he started taking notes of the models of bikes etc
He told us he had a direct line to the cops and would come out holding part of an old cb radio, lead going into his pocket
We Never really bothered him other than being there and the cops would come and go but basically just humoured him and ignored us kids
Fast forward 20 years I visit the area and see the old goat in his window with binoculars! Must be getting on for 80
I see he has now installed a burglar alarm, which is about 7ft high and consists of a nice cream tub with a jam jar lid stuck to it, with little stickers stuck on it to spell alarm
I guess he is just lonely, which is truly terrible
In the 80s I bought a big shabby old house with a large overgown garden. Buying it absorbed most of the money. My neighbour was a very amiable and helpful chap.
"I can't bear to see you cutting the hedge with shears," he said one day and lent me a huge petrol driven hedgetrimmer. "You have to be a bit careful, the throttle cable snapped and I've set it to fast so the blades are moving all the time. If you're on the steps and you feel yourself going, just throw it."
That was the hedge at the front which, I hoped, was recoverable. The hedge at the back had "got away" years before and we shared it for firewood. "I can't bear to see you cutting that up by hand. Borrow my chainsaw." The throttle worked on this and the arrangment was fine until one Saturday I saw him in the back garden with a great cut in the leg of his trousers badly sewn together. "What happened there?" I asked. "Oh, I was cutting up some hedge into logs, stepped back, stood on a log, it rolled backwards and as I tried to catch my balance I brought the chainsaw down on to my leg. Cut my trousers and missed my leg. Really lucky."
His luck ran out one afternoon with the "permanently on" hedgetrimmer. His wife said he ran inside pouring blood, shouting for her and their two sons to find the finger he'd cut off. The finger was found in the hedge among the clippings and popped into a bag of frozen peas and he drove - she could drive and I'm not sure why she didn't drive on this occasion - to the surgery where he was one of the GPs to get one of his colleagues to sew it back on. That's right, he was one of the local doctors. The reattachment was unsuccessful, sadly.
Two or three years later, when the sons were in their late teens, he vanished. One day he was there, next day he'd gone. The Police and Interpol looked out for him but couldn't find him. He turned up months later on a golf course in Spain.
"I can't bear to see you cutting the hedge with shears," he said one day and lent me a huge petrol driven hedgetrimmer. "You have to be a bit careful, the throttle cable snapped and I've set it to fast so the blades are moving all the time. If you're on the steps and you feel yourself going, just throw it."
That was the hedge at the front which, I hoped, was recoverable. The hedge at the back had "got away" years before and we shared it for firewood. "I can't bear to see you cutting that up by hand. Borrow my chainsaw." The throttle worked on this and the arrangment was fine until one Saturday I saw him in the back garden with a great cut in the leg of his trousers badly sewn together. "What happened there?" I asked. "Oh, I was cutting up some hedge into logs, stepped back, stood on a log, it rolled backwards and as I tried to catch my balance I brought the chainsaw down on to my leg. Cut my trousers and missed my leg. Really lucky."
His luck ran out one afternoon with the "permanently on" hedgetrimmer. His wife said he ran inside pouring blood, shouting for her and their two sons to find the finger he'd cut off. The finger was found in the hedge among the clippings and popped into a bag of frozen peas and he drove - she could drive and I'm not sure why she didn't drive on this occasion - to the surgery where he was one of the GPs to get one of his colleagues to sew it back on. That's right, he was one of the local doctors. The reattachment was unsuccessful, sadly.
Two or three years later, when the sons were in their late teens, he vanished. One day he was there, next day he'd gone. The Police and Interpol looked out for him but couldn't find him. He turned up months later on a golf course in Spain.
Not my neighbours, but pertinent to this... Did an electrical condition report for a ground floor flat 3 weeks ago in willisden, tenants had been out a few weeks and either them or the landlady had presumably emptied the contents of the fridge/freezer into the wheely bin, which is in the front garden with the upstairs flats' bin and which you have to walk past to get to the front doors. The word "stink" doesn't do this justice; several weeks rotting in this heat, the bin was covered in flies and you had to hold your breath to walk past as it was properly vomit inducing, a festival portaloo would "hum a little" by comparison.
Today I'm back and the bin is still rank, lost it's edge *slightly*, still loads of flies and the inset porch where the doors to the two flats are has taken on the rotten smell, it's permeated.
Weird thing is the upstairs neighbours walk past this bin every day, presumably move *their* bins out for collection every week, yet have endured this gag inducing stink for the last 6 weeks rather than deal with it and put someone elses bin out. Bin collectors are too much lazy jobsworths to step 2 feet onto the path to collect it so no-one else is going to do it.
Today I'm back and the bin is still rank, lost it's edge *slightly*, still loads of flies and the inset porch where the doors to the two flats are has taken on the rotten smell, it's permeated.
Weird thing is the upstairs neighbours walk past this bin every day, presumably move *their* bins out for collection every week, yet have endured this gag inducing stink for the last 6 weeks rather than deal with it and put someone elses bin out. Bin collectors are too much lazy jobsworths to step 2 feet onto the path to collect it so no-one else is going to do it.
Not a neighbour, but somebody's neighbour...
Eccentric old fella lived in an end of terrace cottage, just outside the village and the 30 limit.
He used to get wound up as cars passed his front door at 50-60mph, so he made his own very rude road signs and stuck them on the dry stone wall approaching the cottages, telling drivers to slow down, in no uncertain terms.
The villagers took pity on him and had a professional sign made up, thusly..
Just before a general election, he propped an old house door against his end wall, facing the road, so you couldn't miss it, and painted a big message on it, reading...
MPs ARE LIKE NAPPIES
THEY NEED CHANGING FOR THE SAME REASON
I think I could get on with him as a neighbour...
Eccentric old fella lived in an end of terrace cottage, just outside the village and the 30 limit.
He used to get wound up as cars passed his front door at 50-60mph, so he made his own very rude road signs and stuck them on the dry stone wall approaching the cottages, telling drivers to slow down, in no uncertain terms.
The villagers took pity on him and had a professional sign made up, thusly..
Just before a general election, he propped an old house door against his end wall, facing the road, so you couldn't miss it, and painted a big message on it, reading...
MPs ARE LIKE NAPPIES
THEY NEED CHANGING FOR THE SAME REASON
I think I could get on with him as a neighbour...
DickyC said:
In the 80s I bought a big shabby old house with a large overgown garden. Buying it absorbed most of the money. My neighbour was a very amiable and helpful chap.
"I can't bear to see you cutting the hedge with shears," he said one day and lent me a huge petrol driven hedgetrimmer. "You have to be a bit careful, the throttle cable snapped and I've set it to fast so the blades are moving all the time. If you're on the steps and you feel yourself going, just throw it."
That was the hedge at the front which, I hoped, was recoverable. The hedge at the back had "got away" years before and we shared it for firewood. "I can't bear to see you cutting that up by hand. Borrow my chainsaw." The throttle worked on this and the arrangment was fine until one Saturday I saw him in the back garden with a great cut in the leg of his trousers badly sewn together. "What happened there?" I asked. "Oh, I was cutting up some hedge into logs, stepped back, stood on a log, it rolled backwards and as I tried to catch my balance I brought the chainsaw down on to my leg. Cut my trousers and missed my leg. Really lucky."
His luck ran out one afternoon with the "permanently on" hedgetrimmer. His wife said he ran inside pouring blood, shouting for her and their two sons to find the finger he'd cut off. The finger was found in the hedge among the clippings and popped into a bag of frozen peas and he drove - she could drive and I'm not sure why she didn't drive on this occasion - to the surgery where he was one of the GPs to get one of his colleagues to sew it back on. That's right, he was one of the local doctors. The reattachment was unsuccessful, sadly.
Two or three years later, when the sons were in their late teens, he vanished. One day he was there, next day he'd gone. The Police and Interpol looked out for him but couldn't find him. He turned up months later on a golf course in Spain.
Do we have to pay you to hear the rest of this story or what? What happened next?"I can't bear to see you cutting the hedge with shears," he said one day and lent me a huge petrol driven hedgetrimmer. "You have to be a bit careful, the throttle cable snapped and I've set it to fast so the blades are moving all the time. If you're on the steps and you feel yourself going, just throw it."
That was the hedge at the front which, I hoped, was recoverable. The hedge at the back had "got away" years before and we shared it for firewood. "I can't bear to see you cutting that up by hand. Borrow my chainsaw." The throttle worked on this and the arrangment was fine until one Saturday I saw him in the back garden with a great cut in the leg of his trousers badly sewn together. "What happened there?" I asked. "Oh, I was cutting up some hedge into logs, stepped back, stood on a log, it rolled backwards and as I tried to catch my balance I brought the chainsaw down on to my leg. Cut my trousers and missed my leg. Really lucky."
His luck ran out one afternoon with the "permanently on" hedgetrimmer. His wife said he ran inside pouring blood, shouting for her and their two sons to find the finger he'd cut off. The finger was found in the hedge among the clippings and popped into a bag of frozen peas and he drove - she could drive and I'm not sure why she didn't drive on this occasion - to the surgery where he was one of the GPs to get one of his colleagues to sew it back on. That's right, he was one of the local doctors. The reattachment was unsuccessful, sadly.
Two or three years later, when the sons were in their late teens, he vanished. One day he was there, next day he'd gone. The Police and Interpol looked out for him but couldn't find him. He turned up months later on a golf course in Spain.
Oakey said:
DickyC said:
In the 80s I bought a big shabby old house with a large overgown garden. Buying it absorbed most of the money. My neighbour was a very amiable and helpful chap.
"I can't bear to see you cutting the hedge with shears," he said one day and lent me a huge petrol driven hedgetrimmer. "You have to be a bit careful, the throttle cable snapped and I've set it to fast so the blades are moving all the time. If you're on the steps and you feel yourself going, just throw it."
That was the hedge at the front which, I hoped, was recoverable. The hedge at the back had "got away" years before and we shared it for firewood. "I can't bear to see you cutting that up by hand. Borrow my chainsaw." The throttle worked on this and the arrangment was fine until one Saturday I saw him in the back garden with a great cut in the leg of his trousers badly sewn together. "What happened there?" I asked. "Oh, I was cutting up some hedge into logs, stepped back, stood on a log, it rolled backwards and as I tried to catch my balance I brought the chainsaw down on to my leg. Cut my trousers and missed my leg. Really lucky."
His luck ran out one afternoon with the "permanently on" hedgetrimmer. His wife said he ran inside pouring blood, shouting for her and their two sons to find the finger he'd cut off. The finger was found in the hedge among the clippings and popped into a bag of frozen peas and he drove - she could drive and I'm not sure why she didn't drive on this occasion - to the surgery where he was one of the GPs to get one of his colleagues to sew it back on. That's right, he was one of the local doctors. The reattachment was unsuccessful, sadly.
Two or three years later, when the sons were in their late teens, he vanished. One day he was there, next day he'd gone. The Police and Interpol looked out for him but couldn't find him. He turned up months later on a golf course in Spain.
Do we have to pay you to hear the rest of this story or what? What happened next?"I can't bear to see you cutting the hedge with shears," he said one day and lent me a huge petrol driven hedgetrimmer. "You have to be a bit careful, the throttle cable snapped and I've set it to fast so the blades are moving all the time. If you're on the steps and you feel yourself going, just throw it."
That was the hedge at the front which, I hoped, was recoverable. The hedge at the back had "got away" years before and we shared it for firewood. "I can't bear to see you cutting that up by hand. Borrow my chainsaw." The throttle worked on this and the arrangment was fine until one Saturday I saw him in the back garden with a great cut in the leg of his trousers badly sewn together. "What happened there?" I asked. "Oh, I was cutting up some hedge into logs, stepped back, stood on a log, it rolled backwards and as I tried to catch my balance I brought the chainsaw down on to my leg. Cut my trousers and missed my leg. Really lucky."
His luck ran out one afternoon with the "permanently on" hedgetrimmer. His wife said he ran inside pouring blood, shouting for her and their two sons to find the finger he'd cut off. The finger was found in the hedge among the clippings and popped into a bag of frozen peas and he drove - she could drive and I'm not sure why she didn't drive on this occasion - to the surgery where he was one of the GPs to get one of his colleagues to sew it back on. That's right, he was one of the local doctors. The reattachment was unsuccessful, sadly.
Two or three years later, when the sons were in their late teens, he vanished. One day he was there, next day he'd gone. The Police and Interpol looked out for him but couldn't find him. He turned up months later on a golf course in Spain.
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