A Saturday fire alarm and a confiscated kitchen item should have been warning enough. Bad things do not come in twos.
Number three arrived at 4am. Grr, already.
Then add smashed windows, intruders, destruction of flat contents, and the calling of police and window-repair-men, and grr does not even partly cover it. Fortunately, it wasn't my flat, but it was 2 floors down, and with single glazing and very thin floors, it sounded like it was in my bedroom. And it was damn scary!
Cue much gossiping the next morning, considering only I and one other girl had the nerve to come out of our rooms to find out what was going on. Drunken psycho's, I believe was the conclusion...
Either way, the Ghetto has certainly told us why it deserves that nickname. Thank goodness for the new flat being in posh-trendy area :D
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