Jamie and Tommy

I've cried in a bathhouse jacuzzi, spend weeks alone in bed with a bottle of Jack Daniels and experienced love but lost it and all you can say is "so tell me about your neighbours."

You are tempting yourself for disappointment here, I promise.

So the landlord was around on Monday morning because The Neighbours have decided they want Virgin Media.

Our landlord lives down the road and is quite hands-on (he's an artist and although he's married, my housemate - who's a girl - is convinced he's gay).

Anyway, so the landlord is here drilling holes so that The Neighbours can have their silly broadband / TV bollocks.

And as always, I like to provide photographic evidence so here is The Neighbours' new cable connection that runs above their front door...

So while he's drilling away I invite myself in for a chat.

And I am standing in their new flat; the holiest of holies.

Landlord says that the previous two - Lame Gay and Miserable Bitch - were so dirty that they left the kitchen like a Chinese takeaway.

Dirty bastards.

Anyway, so in The Neighbours' flat - ohmygod - it's so fucking boring and dull and clean and anodyne.

Okay, let's give them their names, which aren't their real names but their nicknames may be Jamie and Tommy, so I'm sure you can fucken work it out.

In their flat there is a rail of white shirts and cards in the window wishing them good luck in their new abode.

One of the cards has a naked man on the cover like you'd see in Prowler / Clone Zone. Oh god, I'm gonna puke.

I ran out because I just couldn't take it.

Apparently Jamie is a graphic designer and Tommy, well who knows. Maybe he's an accountant.

I met Jamie because he locked the latch on the Yale lock and he had the only key, so he had to come back and unlock it for me.

He is tall and dark with flaky bouffant hair. You could say to him, 'on Saturday night me and my mates went out and got ass-fucked in The Hoist and then we all licked each others' underpants' and he'd be like "whoopsie-daisy, well we went to a fabulous restaurant with the Old Boys' Union and talked about how our PE teacher quietly violated us as kids."

He is poofy, poshy English upper-class gay with dandruff hair and a bad fitting corduroy jacket. And not cool like Stephen Fry.

So because this is all you want to talk about, tonight I climbed out of the kitchen onto the roof.

From here can we see that the TV is off... (fucking trebles all round for discovering that!)

And then from this picture (me risking falling off the roof...) we can see their retro 70s chair with remote controls all nicely placed.

Underneath, there is a Jamie Oliver cookbook.

I haven't met Tommy yet - and to be fair - this is the one who my housemate said was worth shaking your willy at.

However, time will come.

Tommy is the one with the embroidered cushion on his bed - I didn't manage to get into his room when I gate-crashed the landlord.

Maybe Tommy's the hot and beautiful one. Maybe Jamie is just the constant bridesmaid.

Boring bastards. I may go and stalk them some more.

22:00 Edit
Just after finished this, I heard Tommy get home.

The only reason I know that it was him was because the light in his bedroom went on.

And right now, he's watching some woman scream her lungs out ITV2.

Gay, gay, gay...