Tuesday, 10 May 2011

¡Eso Son Gilipolleces!

Cunts. I had a lovely little surprise waiting for me when I got home today. A letter with "delivered by hand"* emblazoned on it from the owners of the building in which I currently dwell informing me** (and everyone else who lives here) that we have two months to get the fuck out. No reasons given whatsoever, although it doesn't exactly take a genius to work out that they finally realised they can make even more money by kicking the long-standing tenants out, and bringing in new ones at inflated rents. Not that I'm a cynical man, oh no, not me...

So yeah, great, I finally start to put the last few months of stress and aggravation behind me and now this fucking shit. Argh.

*Which, over here anyway, generally means trouble.

**Not personally you understand, a fucking form letter, signed p.p., gotta love that individual touch


  1. Seems to me like there's some danger in givin' folks that much advanced notice that you're kickin 'em out.

    Spend the next two months knockin' the curtains down with your guitar.

  2. That doesn't sound quite legal. Anyways, that "delivered by hand" thing should give you an out, or at least breathing space if you can't find something better within two months. In normal countries they need to be able to confirm you've received the notice (fax, registered letter, signature from you, etc). Of course the more I know about British laws the more oriented they seem to be toward screwing British people so what do I know.

  3. What kind of tenancy have you got? And do you have any sort of legal status pertaining to your illness?

  4. What sort of contract do you have? Also, does the Guillain-Barre give you any sort of legal status?

  5. Unfortunately Spliffe, my contract is fixed term and runs out in June, and in this wonderful but in many ways still 19th century country you have to be in a damn sight worse fucking state than me (at my worst) to get any sort of legal protection against this shit. The law states that as long as they give you a minimum of two months notice you simply don't have a leg to stand on.

  6. Gaggle of cunts. Do the shrimp-in-the-curtain hem thing on your way out.

  7. That's nasty Spliffe.

    We basically had to get rid of car once because I made the mistake of hauling some shrimp I was using as bait from island to another...maybe 45 minutes in the car at 102.

    Ruined everything. I myself my still be carrying a funk from it.

    Do it.