Old people and washing machines.

I live in a nice flat, in a nice part of London.

Only occasionally has my nightly slumber been disturbed by gunfire, or mild stabbings.

Things would be perfect.  However, the old people upstairs.

"We've been here 44 years you know?"

Im sorry...is that actually a question, or a statement?  Are you being rhetorical?

"We have seen all sorts come and go over the years.  Old Sheila and Tim, oooh and Peter from number 36", they continue.

Well fuck me, what a revelation.

They continue "So about the washing machine outside your flat"

I'm sorry...this is irrelevant isn't it?

The old man continues, "It's been there for 6 days 3 hours and 19 minutes", he says standing proudly to attention.

"Not that I am bothered, but the wife, well...you tell them Dear"

"Oh yes" says Dear

Well that told me.

"I tell you what you should do", says the old man. "Put it on the corner over there and just leave it, someone will have it".

Really?  Someone will seriously want a broken washing machine?  You silly old bastard, of course they fucking won't.  

Anyhow we are getting rid of it in our own good time.  Anyway, isn't that the letting agents responsibility?  Especially since their definition of fitting a washing machine is leaving it half in half out of our kitchen so I couldn't even get into the kitchen to move the old washing machine out, which in turn meant that I had to move the new one into the bathroom, unistall the old one, get covered in shitty mouldy pipe water, and haul that down the hall and shove it outside, then move the new one out of the bathroom, plumb is back in, then realise I had cocked it up and unplumb it, remove the "transportation bolts", which I think is washing machine slang for "cunting well annoying bolts" and reinstall the whole fucking thing.  Infact I think the bloody dozy old git should get rid of the washing machine himself if it bothers him that much.

Also I have a nasty cough at the moment.  Which is gay.