House call

My five homes during the course of my life in Liverpool:

1.













I spent nine months in this hall of residence-cum-reform institution, holed up in that room in the top left hand corner. Not, as you'll have gathered, a happy time.

2.

















I spent my second year at university here, just off Penny Lane, in a dump that had no central heating, leaking pipes, slugs that used to constantly crawl into the scullery (yes, there was a scullery) and a front door that wouldn't shut properly. Now look at it. When I took this picture it was the first time I'd been back in 10 years. I was staggered to see how much it'd changed. If it wasn't numbered 33, I wouldn't have known it was the same place.

3.

















My third year at university, and a step up the property ladder. This was much nicer, with heating and everything, and looks almost the same now as it did then, although it's quite clearly become a proper private residence. Better still, at least one of the occupants is a Doctor Who fan (see the top left hand window).

4.

















I lived here from 1997-2003, on the top floor, in a flat that became increasingly destitute and knackered along with its tenant. This was the place that played host to, amongst others, a lunatic care in the community case, a band of drug dealers, two Ukrainian women, a mother and a constantly screaming baby, and a Deacon Blue fan. When I left it was about to be pulled down. That didn't happen. Now it looks like it's become a housing association place, and is even more soulless than before.

5.













My last and final flat. A really lovely place, this, the best that I've ever lived in, and one that I'm heartbroken to have to leave. This is the view from behind the block. Mrs Noise is in the flat above, adjacent to her is the bewigged driving instructor, while the gay businessman is round the back. As it were.