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I went to live with my husband in his bedsit in Laitwood Road, Balham in 1994.  Shortly after I got a job at Balham Sorting and Delivery Office, and my husband got a job at Wimbledon Sewing in Tooting.  There were 6 bedsits in the house, and we never saw nor heard any of the other tenants.  Then gradually it changed.

.   A strange bloke moved into the tiny back bedsit on the ground floor.  He used to wake us at night sharpening a large knife on the gatepost.  We lived in front middle.  Then he went on holiday and kindly lent his room to some friends.  Two PROSTITUTES.  The house was lively with unsavoury visitors for several weeks until the landlord pitched them out.

.   Someone posted DRUGS to the house.  So the police were all over the place for several weeks.

.   A major NOISE pest moved into one of the top flats.  He played his music at disco volume causing great distress to the other tenant on that floor, who would go out onto the landing and plead with him to turn the music down.  It must have disturbed the NEIGHBOURS  next door too.  It didn’t bother us, because we did not share a wall.  Then the noise pest brought in a noise sensitive girlfriend who COMPLAINED that my husband was slamming the front door when he went out.  Neither I nor my husband slams doors.  I never heard anyone slamming doors and our flat was immediately above it.

.  The shower  worked by putting a nominal charge into the meter.  As everybody paid when they had a shower, this would mount up, which was convenient for everyone.  The noise pest made a point of RUNNING THE SHOWER METER TO ZERO.  I heard one of our other tenants shouting at him when he had been running the shower for ages, to not run the meter down.

.   A PSYCHIATRIC nurse moved into the flat immediately above, and brought his work home.  The poor chap he brought home would moan, and whimper and plead and complain, and when your man got fed up with him, he put him out in the hall to carry on all night.  At that point we called the police, but they didn’t come. This resident also WALKED AROUND ALL NIGHT AND RUNNING TAPS.

.  At some point the landlord changed the RENT PAYMENT TO DD rather than collecting it every week.  This had the effect that we no longer had weekly chats with him about what was going on in the house, and what was happening with him.

.  Finally, an IRA man moved in.  That was the last straw.  There was a general exodus from the long-suffering tenants, led by us.

.  When the house was vacated, the landlord RENOVATED, converting the 6 (affordable) bedsits into 3 flats at £240pw.  This was about 15 years ago.

.  Then his wife ran off, TAKING THE HOUSE with her.

.  After we had moved to Tooting we met the noise pest.  He had just bought an attic flat in Streathbourne Rd, for £75k.  This from a man with no visible means of support.

What did my husband and I think of this?  That London is an over-priced garbage hole in which to live.  But we were there because of my husband’s work, where he was highly rated in his field.  I only discovered the term gang stalking/organised stalking a few months ago.  And it was only after researching gang stalking sites I realised that what we had suffered in London was perhaps not happenstance.



As my husband and I were working, we were the first to move out when the IRA man moved in.  We took the first available place which was just round the corner in Cavendish Rd.  Cavendish Rd has more traffic than Laitwood, but the ground floor flat was slightly back from the road and we only had one upstairs neighbour. So it could have been peaceful, except we were under another NOISE pest.  He played his music so loud we couldn’t hear our tv even at full volume, and he played his music a lot.  Secondly, he and his wife took turns in OVERFILLING THEIR BATH, so we were presented with the sight of water  pouring through the ceiling, waiting for the fireworks when it hit something electric.  The piece de resistance was when there was a FIRE in the upstairs flat and I came home to the sight of all our possessions neatly stacked in the middle of the room (the firemen were brilliant) covered with a taurpaulin.  The only thing we lost was a smoked ironing board cover.  We moved to Tooting.  Then the landlord that we had never met kindly offered that we include a CLAIM ON HIS INSURANCE for our damaged possessions.  We said no thanks, and pointed out that we hadn’t lost anything.



We then moved to a bedsit on Balham High Rd, Tooting.  It was bound to be noisy as the flat fronted a road which was a main artery into London, and the traffic NEVER stopped.  Not nice, but the rent was low for a very nice large room.  The neighbours when we moved in were a guy at the top who was out at work all day, and 2 pensioners, a white chap with health problems, and a friendly Jamaican, who was no bother to anybody.  The flat above was empty as the elderly chap had recently died.  Directly underneath was a pleasant Portuguese cafe, which was so quiet you would not know anyone was there.

In a few months everything changed.  The Portuguese cafe closed and was taken over by people who were running an all night disco.  The NOISE, at high volume would start at 6pm and sometimes ran through to 6 am, but guaranteed up to 2 am.  (I started work at 6 am).  I was puzzled.  How could a 9-5 cafe suddenly become an overnight disco?  The cafe was certainly not licensed and nobody is serving orange juice at 2 in the morning.  I wrote to the Council enquiring as to their opening hours, and if they were licensed.  I got a FOB OFF REPLY which told me nothing.

At the same time the NOISE PEST from hell moved into the flat directly above.  We could hardly hear her from the noise from below.   It caused such distress to the other 2 tenants adjoining her flat that they both made plans to move out.    The noise we were getting from below us was so great that at one point the noise pest from above came storming down the stairs to tell us to turn our music down, only realising that the noise was coming from the restaurant below when she reached our landing.

When the chap at the top of the house moved out we moved into his flat, and the disco on the ground floor then closed down and was replaced by a perfectly standard restaurant.  We were now above the noise pest, which is better than below.

This landlord also changed the rental payment to DD so that we lost the TWO WAY COMMUNICATION with the letting agents, who had also moved their office out of London.

The old guy with health problems moved out and then what at first seemed a really nice African migrant moved into his tiny bedsit.  A nurse.  She was quiet and she didn’t stand the noise pest. She actually got her to keep the noise down a bit by standing on the landing outside her door and shrieking at her.  The improvement was so great I was about to thank her when something happened.  One Friday evening she started to play loud music.  I thought, here we go again, and replied by putting my speakers on the floor and blasting her out.  Shortly after my husband came in from work looking really worried.  He said there was a group of about 20 African migrants hanging about the alley, the entry to our flats.  Then I realised that the lady below had intended to throw a party.

When she moved in something else happened.  Letters to all sorts of African names started arriving, people who did not live there.  After the first woman had been there a few months, she left and somebody else moved in.  The flat we had moved from had been empty and then the landlord had repainted and recarpeted.  As I was going to work one morning I noticed the door was open.  Curious to see what the landlord had done with our old flat I pushed the door open – and a girl was standing there.  Just a girl.  No furnishings, no possessions.  I apologised, said I thought the flat was empty and went on to work.  The other thing.  Somebody kept breaking the security door.  It was weird.  This was London.  People lock their doors and count themselves lucky if they have a security door.  But somebody evidently wanted to be able to walk in at any time.  And the communal door was also left open.

It was a regular merry go round.  You never knew who was in the house from one week to the next.  Police were always calling and talking to the Africans, but they never knew the person, it was nothing to do with them.  At least at the top of the house we had a bit of peace.  My husband came in from work in a fine temper.  He said he had passed the bathrooms on the way up and he had no idea how many were in there or what they were doing, but at least they could have closed the door.  The person in the flat below the bathrooms, at the back of the house was flooded out twice with OVERFLOWING BATHS and got so fed up she moved out.

Apart from our address having become a general mail drop for at least a dozen people I noticed that the names of the people who were most often in the house, kept changing.  The first and surname would be reversed.  The spelling of the names would be slightly altered.  Mr would become Miss and so on.

One day as I was going up the stairs I heard an Irish girl talking to one of the Africans. Shortly after I went for a doctor ‘s appointment, and the secretary told me I wasn’t registered with them. The doctor came out and met me and seemed really embarrassed. For some reason my medical records had been sent to the other side of London .

A year before he was due to retire my husband was identified as having cancer.  The treatment nearly killed him, as he lost so much weight and he was very frail.  One night the fire alarm went off.  Everybody piled out, and the girl whose small bedsit had caught fire walked past me, dressed in what looked like an assortment of shoe laces. My husband  was helped into the ambulance to wait while the firemen did their work.  But he was in a sorry state.

On one of the return visits of the first lady who had come to the address, after several weeks she announced to us when passing in the hall, that she had just had a baby.  Our jaws dropped.  She was a small skinny woman, who hadn’t looked pregnant.  Shortly after I was coming in the communal door which backed onto the restaurant, when a man and a woman came out.  The woman looked fortyish, and not very bright.  She engaged the Asian staff in conversation, who clearly were not interested but were too polite to say so. They just smiled and nodded.  She was gushing on about how she had just had a baby, and she didn’t have it any more.  She sounded very pleased with herself and was dying to tell someone. The baby came and went.

Later this landlord also renovated his flats, converting the bedsits into self-contained flats, by the method of putting a wall down the middle and making them ensuite.  We could no longer afford the top flat and moved into a room similar to the one we had started in – a good sized bedsit.  But now it was a one bed flat. The wall down the middle meaning whatever room we were in we were living in a matchbox.  This brought about a 50% increase in accommodation costs as we now had 2 sets of rates on top, and the landlord fixed the electric meter to a weekly standing charge of £2.50 pw. (We were now paying £130 pa, for nothing.)

Some Eastern European migrants moved into the top flat.  I came in one day to see some correspondence to one of the Africans had been torn open – it was a claim for child benefit.  Someone had scribbled on it – I don’t see no baby.

Next day the baby came back.

When my husband had cancer he was unable to work and his income dropped dramatically.  At the same time I came down with arthritis and could barely move.  At the same time our cost of living had shot up.  I worked out precisely what it was costing us to stay in a noisy bedsit, scarcely room to move, unsavoury neighbours, and it worked out at £9,300 pa, unavoidable accommodation costs.  That wiped out entirely one of our monthly incomes, either mine or my husband’s.   We had had annual rent increases every year in the 11 years we were at that address.  My husband asked the landlord not to increase the rent, but when he did, we had had enough.  I packed in my job, and we moved up North for a lower cost of living and higher quality of life.




Anyone who has tried to live in London controlling their  living costs will recognise this picture.  And they might reasonably argue – that just comes with the turf of living in London.  OK, but I think it a bit fishy that these unpleasant events which were ongoing only occurred after we had moved into premises which were fine when we moved in.  As occupants at a multiple-occupancy address you have no control over who is put under the same roof as you.  Our first landlord was easy going, but up till then had always pitched trouble makers out.  Then he stopped doing it.  Our second landlord was also easy going, not charging the highest rent possible and relying on the letting agents to do their job.  Well, this is what he was paying them for.   No-one listened to our complaints and when rent was paid by DD, again a perfectly normal procedure, it also had the effect that we couldn’t update our landlords with what was happening, nor receive feedback from them, what was happening to them.

So, for 17 years we paid through the nose for awful accommodation, neighbours from hell, and look see, – I am now recorded at living at addresses which were frequented by known criminals, terrorist, mental patient, drug dealer? prostitutes? welfare fraudsters? arsonists? anti-social noise pests.

Precisely the lies that organised stalkers, gang stalkers tell about their targets. And if they say I lived at addresses with features of all the above, actually it is not a lie.  Except I had nothing to do with it.