My name is Tim Goodwood, and I was raised to be a people-pleaser, I do not like to offend people, and I always say yes when asked if I want to do things...here is the first part of my story.
I had to go to Leicester of all places, for my Rural Real Estate Agent course; this was arranged because nobody wanted to go to Leicester University and so they moved some compulsory industry courses there.
Leicester is the place where the tube will go when they next give England an enema....it is an unlovely collection of 2-up, 2-down hovels which back onto walled, cobbled yards that connect with dank, and mouldering alleyways full of undernourished and unwashed kids.
These kids are accomplished at spitting, swearing and smoking by the age of nine; one hoped they would be too sickly to breed.
Houses are so cheap that I contemplated buying an entire street rather than renting a room but at least renting meant a quick escape when the time came.
I chose my accommodation for its secure garage and its proximity to the hospital, I felt sure I would need it as I succumbed to some dreadful disease or other. If I was Chinese, I would have worn a facemask all day and all night.
The landlady at my digs, Val, was somewhere between 45 and 60 with greying hair, green eyes and saggy tits. I couldn't understand a word she said at first due to her thick midlands accent. I tried to find a "Midlands to English" dictionary but met with failure at every turn.
She had an 18-year old son (Herman), who was a bit simple, to say the least, and no husband; he had apparently run off with a (male) door to door salesman who sold vacuum cleaners. The food wasn't bad though, as long as you like meat and two veg every day.
My bedroom door had no lock, the toilet seat was split, and the bed creaked every time I masturbated. As the door didn't lock, I took to jerking off in the shower when nobody was around as her little shit of a son thought it was really funny to flush the toilet, so the shower went cold and that sort of spoilt the mood.
Well for the first few weeks he did anyway.
One evening I had just got back from my course and was sharpening my pencils, the bedroom door crashed open.
"Please knock next time" I said this without looking up from my pencils.
"A'hm tut man in this 'ouse and ah give tut orders rahnd 'ere me duck" His Leicester accent strangled his vowels and stamped on his consonants. "Tut" is Midlands for "The", they all talk like that...and they call everyone "Me Duck".
"Excuse me?" I looked up at the odious little child and fixed him with a steely glare.
"Yew 'eard us, I give tut orders and you fookin' obey" He admonished with pre-pubescent arrogance.
The tiny tyrant, well, not so tiny, he was a fat little fucker from all that meat and two veg, handed me a piece of paper and on it was a list of demands, all written (badly) in blue pen.
It read, and I will use his spelling to preserve the accuracy of the moment, like this.
Rools of mye house
1:Yew wil give me sixpence on dimand (sixpence is money in Midlands language)
2: Yew will do as I say
3: Yew will give me chokolat every week
4: Yew wil tidy mye rum (I think he meant room as there was no booze in the house)
5: Yew wil kleen my Ferret cage (people in this part of the country had some weird affinity with Ferrets, which are just poncey Weasels really).
DO AS I SAY OR THEIR WIL BE CONSEKWENSIS!!
On the bottom it had a ragged row of dots and the instruction "Sine Hear"
I read these and posed him a question
"What if I tell you to fuck off and leave me alone?"
"Then I'll tell me Mam you're gay" I regretted not bringing my shotgun with me.
I played for time.
"As with all contracts, I need to read it thoroughly and I will sign it in the morning" I said with a finality that would accept no argument.
"You've got until tomorrow tea time...pisswit".
Pisswit, now there's a first, I had not heard that particular insult before.
"Pisswit....pisswit..." I toyed with the word for a while and then went back to my pencils.
That night I thought it best to be upfront and showed his Mum the note.
"Well me duck" She said, adjusting her glasses "Our kid hasn't been the same since we had that Vacuum Cleaner salesman lodging here, tek no notice me duck".
I wondered if I should quack.
"So what do you want me to do about him?" I wanted her to say "Shoot the little beast, or drown him, it's up to you" and I got close! "Boot him up the arse for all I care, 'ee could use some discipline" was her dismissive reply.
The miscreant showed up the next day and booted my door open again.
"Piss off or I'll slit your throat" I figured we might as well be honest with each other, us both being men of the world.
"Maaaam!" He screamed off down the corridor.