Mention of landladies below made me remember this, so time for a quick re-post before this closes:
Sometime around 1999/2000 I was stuck for money, so moved out of my nice flat in Balham to go and become a lodger while I re-financed. I knew the owner of the house through work, so thought it wouldn't be too bad. And, in fairness, despite very quickly finding out that she was rather desparetely lonely, once I'd set some boundaries, (No, I will not watch soap operas or be having dinner with you every evening. Or any evening actually) it wasn't too painful. Until her batty old Mum set fire to her own kitchen and had to move in with us. Suddenly the place became an asylum, the kitchen became a tip, the washing machine was never empty for me to use, there were clothes everywhere, I could barely cope. Worse. I'd hear strange noises and screams in the night. I'd get woken up at 4am and find all the lights on and the back door open.

I eventually decided that I had sorted out my finances enough to move on when I came home from the pub at closing time one night and found the insane old woman standing at the kitchen sink with her knickers round her ankles washing her old lady bits.

With the sponge we used for dishes.
( scarpe We Stole Bikes, Thu 28 Jul 2011, 9:56, 1 reply)

ewwwwww
did you get a good look at her dangly flaps for the wank bank?
(sittingduck Attention seeking, bullshitting fuck-knuckle, Thu 28 Jul 2011, 11:35, closed)