An old note: Tisdagen den 9:e september 2003

Moving into accommodation with a flatmate who’s ”a little crazy”

Pink trousers perhaps? Strange taste in music? Sounded better than sleeping on a mattress on the floor, so why not, I thought. It wasn’t quite explained that ”a little crazy” meant every morning at 6 he would scream and shout, threatening to kill a girl in his room who (I hope) wasn’t really there. One morning he took a frying pan to the walls of the kitchen in an attempt to kill a wasp. (I initially thought he was murdering one of the other flatmates.) This was all made surreal by the fact that every time I saw him (i.e., when not in my room hiding from him and waiting for things to settle down) he seemed perfectly okay and spoke Aristocratic English with exaggerated politeness. ”Excuse me [he left out the “dear chap” sadly]. Terribly sorry for disturbing you. I appear to have mislaid my key. I wonder would you be kind enough to open the door for me?” This said moments after kicking everything in his room.  Mental health problem?  Conceptual artist?  I never found out.

Some time after this—same apartment

Four people moved into the same room (not a big room and with only one bed). When our landlady discovered this (she had rented the room to one person), she asked them to leave. They didn’t, so one morning at 9, six police officers came. They searched them and their room, and found they had three passports each under different names.

Nearly forgot

The basement—not a particularly hospitable basement—housed an alcoholic.  I think he was allowed to be there, but it was never quite clear. His drunken behaviour seemed comparatively normal.

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