Today was ultimate 'finish packing and clean everything so that we can get our deposits back' day. It has been very tiring. Housemates and I wrote a poem to describe our year. Here t'is.
An Ode to 48. St. George's Street
There once was a townhouse,
In fair Cheltenham.
48 was the number,
Inside was the sham.
You see there were some issues,
With number 48.
From the sliding shower-head,
To ‘Basement-Damp-Gate’.
The basement was grim,
T’was unlivable.
Fliss and Mike were forced out,
Unforgivable!
They tried to leave on terms,
That they felt were fair.
Our landlords had none of it,
They did not care!
They threatened legal action,
On poor Mike and Fliss.
They demanded the rent from them,
Did Carla and Chris.
Somehow this passed,
And all was forgotten.
We carried on regardless,
A little downtrodden.
Our landlord, Chris,
Is a regular guy.
He wears average t-shirts,
To cover his lies.
He’s so fucking standard,
So ‘on our level’.
“Hey guys, how’s it goin’?
Here, have a Revel!”
“If you’ve got any problems,
just drop me a text!”
Well fuck you, lukewarm,
With your shoes from Next.
And your short back-and-sides,
And how hard you tried,
And those times our window was broken,
And you never replied.
Enough of our landlords,
You’re in for a treat!
When you hear of the events,
Of St. George’s Street.
Rough kids run amok,
Just up the road.
And the Mother’s the worst,
A repulsive toad.
This one time they tried,
To break into our place.
They kicked at our door,
And punched Ben in the face.
The police they were useless,
A waste of our time.
No-one was convicted,
For this terrible crime.
Our friend, Handsome Phil,
Was whipped in the face.
By the man who be mental,
So it seemed in this case.
The police they were useless,
A waste of our time.
Again no conviction
For this terrible crime.
At Christmas some fucker,
Stole all of our cheer.
Tom Cruised through the roof,
And made off with our gear.
The police they were useless,
A waste of our time.
Why no conviction,
For this terrible crime?!
“Here lives 1 x nonce,
And 2 x grass.”
On a sign in a window,
A few houses passed.
The police they are useless,
A waste of our time.
So we didn’t report,
This terrible crime.
There was
the time Jamie almost died,
But that was our fault,
So don’t worry about it.
John Paul’s is a barbers,
But that’s just a front.
We have reason to believe,
That they’re drug-dealing cumts.
(we didn’t report that either)
So this is a warning,
To all future dwellers.
We hope for your sake,
You’re resilient, fellers.
And so ends our time,
In Number 48.
If we could go back and change it,
Oh…it’s too late.
Moving tomorrow!! (kind of)
