Paint over the smoke alarms: the landlord's guide to interior design

TENANTS are ungrateful bastards. Always complaining about broken sinks and holes in roofs but no appreciation for the finer points of interior design. Detail is everything: 

Holistic decor

Considering the whole room, the entire look in harmony, without minor fixtures like light switches or even worse, smoke alarms standing out. Left exposed they’re eyesores, so paint over that ugly casing and smoke sensor in a good thick gloss. They’ve not had any new batteries since 2002 anyway.

Uniform application

While you’re at it, weatherproof interiors by painting over window locks, plug sockets and dead moths. It gives the room cohesion. Drips everywhere? Like that Pollock bloke innit.

Add vintage touches

Meaning your old shit. All the wonderful built-in storage space you extolled, and have painted shut, is perfect for containing anything you’re reluctant to throw away. A clawfoot bath, a car steering wheel lock, a crate of expired protein milkshakes. And the locked wardrobe, with three padlocks, tenants are expressly forbidden to even look at.

Humanise the space

By doing all the work yourself. We’re talking exposed bathroom wiring, office cupboards in the bedroom and a thrilling melange of different kitchen tiles you got cheap. Walk the line between quirky, inconvenient and illegal under local planning laws and you’ll be as right as the rain pooling in the kitchen.

Mystery and history

A property is a living thing. There’s no shame in exhibiting its rich history of stains and odours. Whether wine, mould or scorch marks, they tell a story of years of habitation, some of which presumably must have been happy. It gives a unique atmosphere as does the chronic damp.

Embrace minimalism

No putting pictures up, as in. The plaster won’t take it and this delightful muddy green wall, reminiscent of an abandoned mental hospital, doesn’t need any more holes. Don’t worry, this won’t affect my keeping your security deposit.

Cyclist gangs getting less respect than motorcycle gangs

GROUPS of middle-aged cyclists in Lycra are unhappy that motorised two-wheeled travellers in denim and leather are far more feared. 

Cyclists met today in a Peak District cafe – which they reached with nothing but the power of their own two legs – to discuss why pubs fail to fall silent when they walk in.

Martin Bishop, who took up the sport immediately his wife had twins, said: “We are a biker gang. It’s just we’re on cross-country bikes or hybrids.

“We have a initiation ritual, which involves making a bulgur salad to pretty bloody exacting standards, and we all have intimidating nicknames. Mine’s ‘Marty’.

“When we hit the open road and there’s nothing but lycra and nipple shields between you and the elements, we get positively primal. Whooping, hollering, deliberately obstructing Teslas, all of it. But do we inspire fear? No.

“I blame Sons of Anarchy. No, we’re not running guns, but I’ve ridden up the Rosedale Chimney so I am a proper hard man. Legs like bloody teak over here.

“But still, as I cruise through the mean streets of Walthamstow to drop off Oscar and Felix at baby yoga, I know we’re radical non-conformists. Justin gave up his City job to open an organic bakery. It takes tremendous courage to live outside society like that.”

Biker gang leader Jimmy ‘Four Fingers’ Bates said: “We’ll give them respect when they stop shaving their legs.”