CCTV Installed, But There’s Trouble

The week started well with the French accountant duly moved in.  It was a bit complicated trying to explain the digital switchover to him and the availability of a link up to the satellite dish but he listened politely until he said “Is not a problem, I ‘ave ze laptop”.    The next issue came when we were going through the AST and I apologised for not being able to insert the accents on his surname of Désiré (Deziray) so it had come out Desire which, after last week’s post, I felt this was becoming a recurring theme!  ”Zat is not my name, it is my middle name” he said “My last name is Durand”.  It pays not to rush through a Tenant Information Form.

CCTV has been installed in the other house and there’s been a few feathers ruffled.  The main issue seems to be that the boys thought I’d have the system linked to my home computer and would spend a girls’ night in watching them walking up and down the hallways in their pants.  They’ve been assured that there are easier and more pleasurable ways to search the internet for men in pants and the footage is only stored on the recorder locked in the cellar.  However, capturing one of them trying to get in the house after a night out then falling asleep on the stairs may just be worth a post on YouTube……

Huddled in the cellar,  the engineer was showing me how to operate the monitor and recorder.  Tom had obviously forgotten the role of the cameras and heard us talking  - the cameras duly picked him up sitting down with his ear to the stair tread trying to listen to our conversation.  A very, very funny moment.

Call came in today from one of the rooms saying that the recorder has been beeping all night so I waited till darkness fell and went to investigate.  Turns out that, when it’s pitch black, the camera’s infra-red lights kick in and make a continuous and annoyingly loud beep.   We’ve rigged up a light to stay on all night and I’ll get in touch with the engineer, even though he said he’d “Never, ever heard of such a thing”.  Well, in that case, he can sit in the dark cellar after hours with strange men theorising the problem and experience the issue for himself.

George, my bedsit tenant is £400 in arrears after Housing Benefit allegedly “messed up the claim” or you can translate it as “I lost my job, didn’t have any money for six weeks and, when it came in, I took the decision that paying you is last on my To Do list”.  I’ve given him a credit limit and told him that as soon as the arrears go over it, I’ll regretfully issue a Section 21 notice.  This gives him time to sort out any issues with Housing Benefit or elect to throw some cash my way to keep him under the threshold.  After all, I’ve got a misbehaving CCTV system to pay for.

HMO Landlady Places an Ad and Receives a Proposition!

Spent the week painting the two available rooms to let and laying carpet – four years’ worth of spilt coffee, food and Heaven Knows What but at least it made painting easier, I didn’t have to put down dust sheets and managed to spill most of the paint on the old carpet.

Placing the ads in the local paper I noticed that, when I started doing HMOs I’d get around 1 person in 10 who was working, didn’t sound pissed or desperate and understood the concept of a deposit.  Now, the ads attract 9 out of 10 normal, coherent sounding people who I’d have no hesitation in meeting and was lucky enough to receive around 15 enquiries this week.  First to view was Pierre, a French accountant from Paris, who looked absolutely terrified at having found himself in a small seaside town in England following a job offer.

I had high hopes for the next applicant: James sounded lovely on the phone, said all the right things and we agreed to meet yesterday morning.  On showing the room he kept asking questions about me so I thought “Good, he’s interviewing his landlady so it shows he has some integrity and wants to know what kind of set up we have here”.  He’d looked at 14 rooms all of varying states of decay and cleanliness and was showing positive signs about this one.  He told me he was 25 years old, a trainee architect in London, so it was good the house was near the station and had just broken up with his girlfriend and was fed up of living in a hotel.  Wow!  A hotel!  Most of mine get fed up of living on a friend’s sofa or park bench.

We agreed he’d go off and have a think about it and let me know his decision by lunchtime.  Gut instinct screamed “Yes!  He’s polite, sensible, working and we can get along just fine – hope he takes it.”  An hour later the following text messaging ensued:

James: “Hi.  Just look last place, your house is definately the best. Can only see 1 problem!”

Me: “Call me and I’ll address the problem – is it the parking permit?”

James: “Possible problem could be finding your landlady very attractive. x”

Me: “James, I am far too old and stroppy for you.  Do you want the room or just to flirt?”

James: “They say age is justa number dont they?  What if I said just to flirt?”

Me: “I am flattered but think flirting is unwise.  This doesn’t affect the offer of the room but, if you take it, it’s strictly business!”

James: “Ok well no harm in a cheeky flirt.  You are very attractive sorry if I offended you”

Me: “No offence taken but do you want the room?”

No response so I moved on to Wayne, a coach driver, who has been renting a room for two and a half years in a well known DSS hostel for £125/week.  He said it was getting a bit noisy and he couldn’t get a good night’s sleep which was affecting his driving.  We agreed £95/week for the room plus £150 deposit but he had no idea what Deposit Protection meant.  His landlord was holding £350 and he hadn’t received any kind of paperwork.

A Twist In The Tale

This morning I got another text from James “If room still available or any others please consider me. Had enough of hotel life now. Ha. James”

Me: “Hi James.  I’m really sorry but someone came to look at the room last night and agreed to take it.  I will text you my friend’s number and she nice bedsits.  One may be available (she’s got a partner!)

James: “OK thank you. I dont make a habit of telling women their attractive you know.  If you ever fancy a cuppa you have my number”

Later, I met my friend in the school playground and she put the question to me “That bloke you sent me.  On a scale of a bit of dandruff to full on leprosy, how flaky do you think he was?”   “I thought he seemed decent – good job, story seemed to stack up, gut instinct said he was a safe bet” I replied.  ”Me too!” she said “Until I checked his references – he told you he was an architect but told me he was a personal trainer, the number of his ex landlord wasn’t recognised and the gym he said he works for have never heard of him!!”

OK, so hitting on me wasn’t quite on the scale of Pascal, the ex French Foreign Legion/Special Forces commander who said “If I wasn’t ‘omeless, I’d marry you” or Pete who lay naked in bed, threw back his duvet and invited me to “Come and get the rent”, but for a brief moment it made this 42 year old believe she still “had it”!!

The Polish Couple Who Moved Upmarket

And so it’s goodbye to Robert and Eva after 4 happy years as Eva’s baby is due next month.  Having moved from an HMO room to a two bed flat in a posher part of town they seem swamped by the space.  Robert called me today to ask if I could help him with the boiler as there was no hot water.  Passed by on my way to school pick-up to find them proudly perched on their little sofa in the hugest living room I’ve seen – I think they forgot they were going to have to furnish the flat but at least the 42″ telly filled a corner.  Unfortunately, I couldn’t help with the boiler so he put me onto the inventory, AST and informing the utility companies of their move as well as asking what to do about the rattling sash windows which wouldn’t open but still managed to let the wind whistle through the flat.

Finding The New Landlord

Apparently he’d tried calling his new landlord to no avail and was told by the letting agent that they couldn’t help or advise which is why he called me.  He couldn’t understand why BT were asking £27/month for a broadband and telephone package when I charged each tenant £5/month.  I tried to explain that my maths wasn’t that great, I set the rate four years’ ago and couldn’t work out how to squeeze a few extra quid out of everyone so left it – they hadn’t realised how much they were going to have to pay out after being used to an all inclusive rate.

Why didn’t the landlord leave a house file explaining how everything worked and where the stopcock was or  even an email address if he doesn’t want to answer his phone?  Why did the letting agent just give them the meter readings but not tell them which utility company supplied the gas and electric?!  So we set about with the admin and I talked him through the bits, told him what to look out for and left them trying to contact the landlord to get the boiler sorted.  I even had to explain the concept of contents insurance.

Before all this I’d spent the day refurbishing their room.  I don’t do much painting these days as I give the work to Tom to give him something to get out of bed for.  However, I’m fed up of giving him a bit of cash, him getting pissed then me getting calls of complaints from the other tenants when they’ve had to step over him at 6pm on a Saturday night.  This time, I decided to pay myself the money and buy a new pair of shoes.

As I cleaned and painted my thoughts wandered back to the time Robert, Eva and I spent together in this landlord/tenant relationship.  My, how we laughed over the years after:

1. Finding the near dead body of Jeremy following his dabble with a hard drug cocktail.  We both looked at his naked body turning blue, wondering who should give him the kiss of life or if it was too late and theorising how he came to be in the recovery position, oh, and perhaps the paramedics should be called.

2. Hiding in his room whilst Mo, a Kuwaiti drug dealer, moved boxes and boxes of viagra to a waiting car then came back and tried to kick down the door whilst shouting obscenities

3. Working out why Freda, the South African care worker, put a note under their door calling Eva a “beach”.  Turns out, it was supposed to read “b**ch”

4. He spent three years complaining his sink in his room wasn’t draining properly and, finally, I asked the plumber to investigate only to find that he wasn’t being pedantic and the whole sink and waste pipework through the house had to be replaced.

Yes, it’s been a happy partnership and I’ll miss them.  I’ve placed the room ad in the paper and this time have specified “quiet, mature working people” – wonder who I’ll get?

Getting Rid of Shower Grime and Pesky Pigeons!

A friend of mine very kindly spent the morning helping me with an HMO fire alarm as I’m ashamed to admit that I go into a panic involving anything technological AND that makes an incredibly loud noise.  For some reason the alarm responded to her gentle touch but ignored my banging at the keys but we think we’ve now got it sussed.

On the way back she offered to show me her newly refurbished bedsits so I could look at her shower rooms.  I can’t seem to keep the showers sparkly and white as the body fat (the orange stuff that comes off the skin) gets into the grout and grime lodges itself in the corners.  Her solution was to put in aquaboard which looks fantastic, easy to clean, no risk of broken tiles if the tenants get frisky in the cubicle and, most importantly, the orange stuff can’t stick.  

Pesky Pigeons

Just as we were leaving a tenant emerged bleary eyed from his room (midday) and said in a thick foreign accent “What you gonna do about these pigeons?”.  ”Er, what pigeons?” replied my friend.  ”The ones that wake me up at 6am every morning.  They make so much noise and wake me up so I can’t go back to sleep.  You need to fix roof.”

“The roof’s been fixed – that’s what all the scaffolding was for”

“Well, it hasn’t solved the problem of the pigeons”

“What would you like me to do?”

“I don’t know but they’re disturbing my sleep and it’s your job as landlord to sort it”

“OK, but I’ve fixed the roof and can’t control the pigeons, so what do you want me to do?”

“I want you to tell them to be quiet.  I hear them walking about”

At this point, I wouldn’t have blamed her for becoming exasperated at the futility of the conversation which could have gone on all day, so she bowed gracefully out and we both left sniggering.  She said “What does he want me to do, knit the pigeons effing slippers?!”

This is the problem with some tenants: they think the landlord has a duty to do just about EVERYTHING.  I’ve known tenants call me to say the lights aren’t working only to find that the bulb needed changing, there’s wee on the toilet floor, there’s no internet signal (because some bright spark switched off the router at the plug!) .  Going back to birds, though, I once had a call from a new tenant in the bedsit which is at the top of the HMO to say that a seagull was waking him up every morning at 5am.  It turned out that the previous occupant had been feeding a seagull which had learnt to rap on the window with his beak whilst standing on the ledge and waited for him to open it for his daily helping of seeds.  This was tolerable until the seagull went and got his mates and there’d be a whole flock of them waiting to be fed and having a tantrum if they were ignored.  Apparently, you’re not allowed to kill seagulls.

Tenant Update

In the meantime, here’s an update:  Tom was beaten up on Friday night “for no apparent reason”.  He picked the only place in the town with no CCTV, swears he was sober and four complete strangers pounced on him – he doesn’t look great and it’ll put his job hunting back for a few weeks. We’ve advised him not to go out in daylight in case he scares old ladies.   The mystery of the copious amount of baby clothes has been solved – Eva is pregnant and due later in the month.  Luckily she and her boyfriend have found a flat as they’ve decided that it’s not a great idea to bring a newborn baby into an HMO even though she’s cutting it fine.  Congratulations to them but I’ll be sad to see them go after four years of regular rent.

Easter Break In: An Update

Ok, so those of you who read my last post Easter Break In will know that an HMO room suffered a burglary where only cash was stolen (all other valuables left intact, including four bottles of champagne which proves it wasn’t me as I would have nicked the champagne first).  After discussions with the victim and the other tenants, who are quick to deny culpability, the badge of suspicion was laid on Andrew.  I’ve since found out that he’s not only a self confessed gambling addict, but is also on Pub Watch (this means he’s been banned from every pub in town for punching someone) and is on probation doing community service for holding up a bookies (not sure what with though).

I’ve been mulling over a solution to this problem as:

a)  There’s no evidence it was him

b)  The tenants are known by everyone in town that they repeatedly forget to lock the back door

c)  I actually like the guy, he’s paid his rent bang on time every week and is adamant he’s innocent.

Watching My Move

In the meantime, I’ve got five other tenants watching what I’m going to do about it – one of which is never there and only uses the room to store his stuff following his bankruptcy, another who is at work all day, a Romanian ex-border guard working for a hotel, Tom the alcoholic when he’s got cash – salt of the earth when sober and the victim – a guy who is Andrew’s manager and recommended him for a room in the first place.  They’ve all been quick to lay the blame and “threaten to punch the first f****r” to put a foot wrong but shy away from any confrontation when I try to bring them all together to find a solution considering their suspicions are based on little more than reputation.  And, to be honest, I have no idea who it was either.

The trouble is, as landlady, I have to be seen as impartial, fair, law abiding and on every tenant’s side.  These tenants, either through their own making or circumstances into which they are born, carry their vulnerabilities around with them until being defensive becomes a means of communication and, before I’ve even opened my mouth, assume what I’m going to say or interpret what I am saying as a personal attack on them.

The Solution

I had decided to tell Andrew that I wouldn’t let his contract turn into a periodic at the end of his fixed term in July.  Whilst the Section 21 would be a no fault notice, I felt that everyone was gunning for him, tensions were high and it would be better for all concerned if he found alternative accommodation.  In fact, I have a room coming available that would suit him perfectly then, at least if anything else happened in the house, he couldn’t be blamed for it.

Before I’d even started the car engine the “Big Boss” was on the phone to me pleading, yes, pleading for me to let him stay in a call that lasted 28 minutes.  This was weird because I’d heard that even he thought Andrew had committed the crime and was waiting for him to mess up again and he wanted to know why was I “chucking him out?”.  I let him rant for a bit before explaining that I felt I was playing fair and then threw back to him – What would he do in my position?  Wait for the inevitable showing of fists (note: showing NOT using), arguing and then everyone phoning me at midnight in the mistaken belief that I’m the police and can break up five grown men (two of whom are bound to be pissed)?

I left it with him that moving to another house may calm everyone down and allow Andrew to lead his life without preconceptions from fellow tenants; he suggested that I install CCTV cameras and security grilles.  No to the grilles but last year I had been thinking about CCTV in the communal areas even though I really, really don’t want to see tenants in their pants going to the bathroom.

Whilst I check out CCTV costs, anyone got any other ideas?  Or the number for the United Nations?!

Easter Break In

Happy Easter to all and I hope you’ve had a good break.  I spent the holiday in Sweden without children and had the unique experience of sampling Elk meatballs, Swedish Easter pop then falling asleep in a posh garden shed by the lake in -5˚C with no toilet.  By happy chance, I’d managed to lose my mobile just before leaving the UK and reckoned that my HMO world could survive without me for three days and thank goodness I did leave it behind………….

Burglary – An Inside Job?

On my return one of my tenants, Jason, had used his initiative and found my home number which is posted on the communal notice boards after I failed to respond to any of his numerous texts and calls at 1am on Saturday morning.  He’d been pounding the streets all day selling key rings on behalf of a creative businessman in the guise of a charity (which I won’t go into as I’m sure it’s legitimate if questionably moral).   As manager of the “gang” he’d taken £1300 worth of takings back to his room and then gone out for the evening, got back in the early hours of Saturday to find his door had been smashed in, the cash taken but Playstation, laptop, etc. left well alone.  Neither the front nor back doors had been forced so it became a foregone conclusion that it had been an inside job.

Now, my lot tend to act before they think and throw their weight around, accusing the person who looks the most scared or not there to defend themselves.  As it was the long Easter weekend most of the other tenants were either visiting their families or working extra hours but Jason and the police managed to track down and establish everyone’s whereabouts apart from Greg in the bedsit.  By the time I returned on Monday morning, Jason had gathered fictional evidence, tried and sentenced Greg for the pure reason that he had disappeared for four days (as it turned out he was visiting his children and got lucky with an ex), reported his suspicions to the “Big Boss” who phoned me to ask for Greg’s personal information which I refused to give.

Meeting the Local Gangster

The problem when you’re dealing with people when they’re emotional and suspicious is that they’re just not thinking straight and nothing you say will appease them.  Later that morning I visited the house myself to check out the damage and try to get a measure of the situation.  Before I knew it, Andrew had opened the front door and three men burst up the stairs toward the bedsit stopping when they saw me, started smoothing their hair and pretended they’d popped in to check out the landing carpet.  I asked what they were doing and they said they “just wanted a word” with Greg and to “ask him a few questions”.  I pointed out that subtlety wasn’t their strong point and suggested we continue the discussion in the kitchen (mainly for my safety as the communal lights kept going out).  The Boss (short stature, hard eyes, well dressed) wanted details of everyone in the house and how he “was going to get his money back” whilst his associates/flunkies shifted from one foot to the other, snarling and refusing to take their hoods off.

Intimidated?  Me?

To be honest, I was a bit worried /annoyed and explained that if they wanted to “interview” all the tenants they could do so OUTSIDE the house and  I considered it very rude that they barged in with no evidence to talk to people they’d never met.  These were my tenants, my house and my bloody rules and if anyone is going to throw their weight around, it’s me.  Eventually, the Boss said “I ain’t wasting my time here, we’re off.  It’s not about the money, it’s the principle and I want someone to pay”.  I kind of understand where he’s coming from but also pointed out that the only person in the house who knew that money was there is a self confessed gambling addict (who also works for him), could be placed at the scene of the crime and was probably also stupid enough not to have either (a) broken down the other room doors so Jason’s room wasn’t singled out, (b) forced entry via the front door to look like an outside job or (c) open the house front door to the Boss and allow him and his boys to run amok unaccompanied.

What Now?

So, here I am with a house full of unhappy tenants, ready to throw a punch at anyone who dares to accuse any one of them.  Jason has narrowed the culprit down now to Andrew but there’s no hard evidence and I’m left with not just a room door to mend but also tenant trust – not easy when the likely perpetrator is still in situ.

If you feel sorry for them, think about this poor fella!

On a lighter note:  whilst getting ready for the new term I found my son swinging his lunchbox around the kitchen and talking to it.  A few minutes later, he appeared in tears saying that the zip had broken and he needed to open it quickly.  Cursing cheap products, I went to chuck it in the bin and realised that there was something inside so cut the lid off only to find a very scared, sick looking guinea pig!  We turned the lunchbox upside down, cut out a door and called it “home”.

Is My HMO Cursed?!

This is a ridiculous question, I know, but came to light after a phone call from Lewis.  Lewis left one of my rooms earlier this year after falling in love and moving in with his new girlfriend, but unfortunately owed me around £300 in rent arrears.  Not one to stand in the way of a true romance I told him, if he wanted a landlord reference, he’d need to pay off his arrears first as our town is small and I’m reluctant to lie to a fellow HMO landlord.  We wished each other well and he left looking like the cat that got the cream.

Not 3 months later and he’s on the phone.  To be fair, he did pay £50 off his arrears just after he left then called to explain that his mum had a number of suicide attempts, his sisters were out of control, his dad’s alcoholism wasn’t helping and his girlfriend had dumped him – could I give him a room or a reference?  Sorry about his personal circumstances, but no.

We went on to discuss the welfare of the other housemates and I told him that, since Christmas, three of them had lost their jobs.  “You know what?” he replied “That bloody house is cursed.  I lost my job within a couple of months of moving in.  What did you do in your past life that’s come back to haunt you and the rest of us?”  “Actually” I reasoned “People downgrade from self contained accommodation to a room because their life is starting to fall apart.  I really don’t think it’s me.”  This isn’t true as almost everyone who lost their job had seemingly secure, long term positions.  However, it got me wondering about my past misdemeanours………………..

Tom – Again!

Sunday morning and the phone goes saying that Tom had burst through the front door the previous evening, banged on everyone’s door swearing at each tenant demanding to know who had left a knife covered in chocolate spread in his beautifully polished sink and they were all a bunch of “F****** ***ts” for not respecting his cleaning skills.  This sparked wall punching and accusations over the pee on the bathroom floors and all hell broke loose between Greg, Andrew, Justin and Tom – only 3 of whom were sober.  I called a house meeting on the Monday and asked everyone involved to come along to get the underlying issues sorted.

Standing in the kitchen with 4 HUGE, jumpy, testosterone fuelled men baring their teeth and trying to talk over each other about the issue of who last used chocolate spread, it became almost laughable (to me).  Failing to calm them down enough so each tenant could voice his grievances I ended up grabbing a wooden spoon and using it as a Talking Stick.  The purpose of the Talking Stick is to only allow the person holding it to speak and everyone else must keep quiet until they’ve finished and each person has a turn to hold it.  After a shaky start and lots of indignant interruptions, it worked!  Greg was fed up of the toilet being dirty, Andrew was upset at being threatened in front of his girlfriend, Tom was depressed at being unemployed and spending his days cleaning the kitchen after the others and felt their dirty dishes disrespected him, and Jason, it appeared, was just there for fun.

I explained to Tom that, if he lived in my house, my kitchen, the sink and most of the house would cause him a coronary as it’s so untidy and was it really fair to take out his frustrations on the other tenants?  Andrew agreed to make an effort to wash up and, as for the pee, short of doing a DNA test no-one would confess.  Everyone shook hands, stopped short of a bear hug and felt happy that the air had been cleared.

Is the house cursed?  I really hope not – at least for the sake of the next tenant.  Perhaps I should warn him……