Flatmate fume
Ex-flatmate Dave is a mucky, inconsiderate pup, and we began to fall out. One of my bones of contention was Dave yelling at me for a variety of flat-related escapades, yet nevertheless helping himself to anything and everything from my bedroom without asking. My A-Z often went missing for weeks on end, something I only discovered when I urgently needed it. Movies and books were constantly 'liberated elsewhere'. As a result I took to locking my door before I left for work. As Dave's freelance and nearly always at home doing not a lot, this barring from his favourite club must've killed him.

Petty? Yes.
But it cut down on arguments as I no longer had a huge reason to yell at him.

When the time came for us to part ways, Dave told me not to leave my door unlocked as the landlord had arranged for viewings that evening, so for the first time in three happy months, I left for work without locking my bedroom door. I returned home that evening after a day's work having my spirit forcibly eroded doing telesales for monkeys, to find flatmate Dave and his girlfriend in the living room.

Watching one of my dvds.

In unspoken, yet obvious 'Get out, we're concentrating' mode.

Incandescent with rage, I composed a text to a third flatmate along the lines of... "Within hours of me unlocking my door, that cunt's helped himself to one of my dvds and is currently watching it in the living room with his fucking bird."

*Send*

He's still taking the moral high ground on that one.
(Boris Webshite, Mon 30 May 2005, 20:20, Reply)