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I did.....
some weirdo neighbour who I heard told someone he was my "boyfriend" (just because I would do the "good neighbourly thing" and say "Hi" or "Good morning/afternoon/evening" on the stairs...)and we were going to "live together" <span style="font-weight: bold">Yikes</span>! No! Never!!
r by "knocking the wall down between our flats" (which would collapse the building... 
)
Well, God bless him, he was found dead in his flat, so he's gone....
But having been thru "certain stuff" it all brought it back by reading this article...
Am I the only one??
(Oh yea, some other neighbour got weird stuff thru the letterbox, never could pin it on him....)
<span style="font-weight: bold">'My neighbour is stalking me - and now I've discovered that he has been to prison twice for harassing other women'</span>
<span style="font-style: italic">At first I thought the man I kept passing in the street was just being friendly. Every morning as I left my house to commute to London, the short, balding man with the moustache would be returning from the newsagents. After a few weeks of cheery "good mornings", he told me his name was Karl and he lived next door. Then he began popping up everywhere.
I left for work very early, always before my husband, but whenever I opened my door Karl would be there, putting out the rubbish or setting off to the paper shop. My British manners meant I then had to make polite conversation as he accompanied me down the road. His constant appearances began to irritate me, but I assumed he was just sad and lonely. On my days off, I would arrive home to find him outside his flat, waiting to strike up conversation. If I was brusque he would just carry on talking - even as my door closed behind me. No amount of polite rebuffs deterred him. I began to dread leaving the house.
One morning, instead of turning off to the newsagents, he insisted on coming all the way to the station so we could carry on our "chat". That evening he was waiting on the platform when I returned from London. This was no longer just neighbourliness. I was so shocked and angry that I demanded to know what he was doing. He blustered something about having been passing and "seen me", but this was impossible from the street. And I rarely caught the same train home in the evenings - so just how long had he been waiting there?
I pushed past him and walked briskly up the road, ignoring his attempts to talk. I am a friendly person but he had disturbed me so much that I was downright rude. When I got home, my husband and I agreed that I would fetch him if Karl was waiting for me in the morning. But my irritation had done the trick and I didn't see him for a while.
Yet things soon became more sinister. When I was in the bathroom I started to hear knocking from the other side of the wall - in his flat. It would be three or four slow taps as if to say, "I'm here with you." Then, as I walked up the stairs to our bedroom, the knocking would follow my footsteps from the other side. It never happened when my husband was in there, but whenever I took a shower or cleaned my teeth the tapping would begin. At one point I was convinced he had drilled a spyhole in the wall and could see me.
I was now pregnant and, as my bump grew, I became increasingly angry that this weirdo was invading my privacy. We realised that my husband always listened to the radio in the bathroom so Karl knew who was in there. Sure enough, if I turned on the radio there would be no knocking. If my husband showered in silence the tapping would start.
This went on for a couple of months, until one day I opened the door to find Karl waiting for me again. I knew he had to be stopped, so I called his landlord. "I'm probably over-reacting," I told the PA who answered the phone. But her response sent a chill down my spine. "You must get off the phone and call the police immediately. We were advised not to tell you anything about Karl because it would scare you."
At first the police said they needed "special disclosure" from the chief constable before they could speak to me. I knew this must mean that he was on the sex offenders' register, and I was petrified. But the next day, on a beautiful spring morning, two officers sat in our sitting room and revealed Karl's past. Their words rang in my ears: "obsessed with female neighbours", "stalking", "masturbated", "secretly filming them" and "obscene suggestions".
Tears filled my eyes at the realisation of who - and what - lived next door. Karl had already been to prison twice for sex crimes against female neighbours. The last time he was released, he had moved next door to me.
He didn't care that I had a husband - apparently in his twisted brain even a simple hello was a "come on". He had told the police that an earlier victim wanted to give him oral sex because when he had secretly filmed her through her flat window she had licked her cereal spoon.
There are 180 men on the sex offenders' register in my town - they have to register with police once a year and are visited twice a year. So who knows what they get up to on the other 362 days? Even the officers who visited me seemed frustrated with the system.
Karl was banned from living in the same town as his victims or in a building with women, or one that overlooked anyone. But he is allowed to live next door to me. He can see straight into my back garden and watch me in the street when I pull up in my car.
My baby is due in just over two months and Karl is still living on the other side of my bedroom wall. Now, when my husband leaves for work, I get up and bolt the front door. When he is away on business, I have to stay at a friend's house or get someone to stay with me. We talked about moving but the timing couldn't be any worse. I just have to pray that our next-door neighbour isn't a ticking timebomb.
• Names have been changed.</span>
some weirdo neighbour who I heard told someone he was my "boyfriend" (just because I would do the "good neighbourly thing" and say "Hi" or "Good morning/afternoon/evening" on the stairs...)and we were going to "live together" <span style="font-weight: bold">Yikes</span>! No! Never!!
r by "knocking the wall down between our flats" (which would collapse the building... )Well, God bless him, he was found dead in his flat, so he's gone....
But having been thru "certain stuff" it all brought it back by reading this article...
Am I the only one??
(Oh yea, some other neighbour got weird stuff thru the letterbox, never could pin it on him....)
<span style="font-weight: bold">'My neighbour is stalking me - and now I've discovered that he has been to prison twice for harassing other women'</span>
<span style="font-style: italic">At first I thought the man I kept passing in the street was just being friendly. Every morning as I left my house to commute to London, the short, balding man with the moustache would be returning from the newsagents. After a few weeks of cheery "good mornings", he told me his name was Karl and he lived next door. Then he began popping up everywhere.
I left for work very early, always before my husband, but whenever I opened my door Karl would be there, putting out the rubbish or setting off to the paper shop. My British manners meant I then had to make polite conversation as he accompanied me down the road. His constant appearances began to irritate me, but I assumed he was just sad and lonely. On my days off, I would arrive home to find him outside his flat, waiting to strike up conversation. If I was brusque he would just carry on talking - even as my door closed behind me. No amount of polite rebuffs deterred him. I began to dread leaving the house.
One morning, instead of turning off to the newsagents, he insisted on coming all the way to the station so we could carry on our "chat". That evening he was waiting on the platform when I returned from London. This was no longer just neighbourliness. I was so shocked and angry that I demanded to know what he was doing. He blustered something about having been passing and "seen me", but this was impossible from the street. And I rarely caught the same train home in the evenings - so just how long had he been waiting there?
I pushed past him and walked briskly up the road, ignoring his attempts to talk. I am a friendly person but he had disturbed me so much that I was downright rude. When I got home, my husband and I agreed that I would fetch him if Karl was waiting for me in the morning. But my irritation had done the trick and I didn't see him for a while.
Yet things soon became more sinister. When I was in the bathroom I started to hear knocking from the other side of the wall - in his flat. It would be three or four slow taps as if to say, "I'm here with you." Then, as I walked up the stairs to our bedroom, the knocking would follow my footsteps from the other side. It never happened when my husband was in there, but whenever I took a shower or cleaned my teeth the tapping would begin. At one point I was convinced he had drilled a spyhole in the wall and could see me.
I was now pregnant and, as my bump grew, I became increasingly angry that this weirdo was invading my privacy. We realised that my husband always listened to the radio in the bathroom so Karl knew who was in there. Sure enough, if I turned on the radio there would be no knocking. If my husband showered in silence the tapping would start.
This went on for a couple of months, until one day I opened the door to find Karl waiting for me again. I knew he had to be stopped, so I called his landlord. "I'm probably over-reacting," I told the PA who answered the phone. But her response sent a chill down my spine. "You must get off the phone and call the police immediately. We were advised not to tell you anything about Karl because it would scare you."
At first the police said they needed "special disclosure" from the chief constable before they could speak to me. I knew this must mean that he was on the sex offenders' register, and I was petrified. But the next day, on a beautiful spring morning, two officers sat in our sitting room and revealed Karl's past. Their words rang in my ears: "obsessed with female neighbours", "stalking", "masturbated", "secretly filming them" and "obscene suggestions".
Tears filled my eyes at the realisation of who - and what - lived next door. Karl had already been to prison twice for sex crimes against female neighbours. The last time he was released, he had moved next door to me.
He didn't care that I had a husband - apparently in his twisted brain even a simple hello was a "come on". He had told the police that an earlier victim wanted to give him oral sex because when he had secretly filmed her through her flat window she had licked her cereal spoon.
There are 180 men on the sex offenders' register in my town - they have to register with police once a year and are visited twice a year. So who knows what they get up to on the other 362 days? Even the officers who visited me seemed frustrated with the system.
Karl was banned from living in the same town as his victims or in a building with women, or one that overlooked anyone. But he is allowed to live next door to me. He can see straight into my back garden and watch me in the street when I pull up in my car.
My baby is due in just over two months and Karl is still living on the other side of my bedroom wall. Now, when my husband leaves for work, I get up and bolt the front door. When he is away on business, I have to stay at a friend's house or get someone to stay with me. We talked about moving but the timing couldn't be any worse. I just have to pray that our next-door neighbour isn't a ticking timebomb.
• Names have been changed.</span>
or more natural, cheese cloth type material in the window, so that he can't look in, but the light will not be hindered.....
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