A positive outcome of the squatters meet in March has been a phone tree, connecting as many of the 'flat liberators' on the estate as possible.
The 'squatter hotline number' is that of a cellphone belonging to Polishgal who lives two blocks away, whose unlimited and free text messaging enables the rest of us to receive estate news that is sms'd directly to her (and which she distributes). A useful service indeed it is (if vulnerable; if Polishgal departs, so will the phone number).
Recent news has included: warnings about a teenage pervert boy who has been pestering women walking through the estate in the evenings; local Bengali boys stoning a local squat in protest at it being there; and court papers being delivered to nearby squats.
The council is at work again, with eviction notices issued to neighbouring squats, but in opposition, so has the squatters' network on the estate. One morning in early May, 30 estate squatters descended on a squat that was in the process of being closed by bailiffs and reopened it in... 12 minutes!... right before the bailiffs' eyes (who obviously cannot do anything to stop it).
The security guards who patrol our estate, and are meant to stop squatters from opening new spots, were apparently, according to eyewitnesses, mortified -- and yet paralysed by what they saw. Local radio station Resident FM later reported this event on one of their shows.
What of the junkies who have been terrorising our block (as well as their jugulars and testicles) since last November? Who have haunted the first floor and stairwells, and left syringes and shopping bags full of their faeces for all to see?
Gone, forever. But not easily in their departure. As Kitchen Sink Neighbour recounts:
"Polish Husband's wife had already passed them in the stairwell when I came back home late one Friday, giving her aggro on the way. They had apparently arrived within minutes of the security guards leaving.Kitchen Sink Neighbour has since made a full recovery.
As I made my way through them, I asked them kindly if they wouldn't mind taking their needles with them afterwards. They were not pleased. One of them followed me up to the landing, shouting at me about it. When I turned around to ask him kindly again, out of nowhere, he hit me in the face! I started screaming as the man ran off.
Polish Husband had obviously spoken with his wife, because within seconds of my attack, he was out of his flat... he looked at me and then legged down the stairwell and GAVE CHASE to the man, also with the help of the guy in No. 6 who'd also come out of his flat. Both of them rugby tackled the junkie to the ground and held him there until the security guards came.
We haven't seen the junkies since."