HE DIED WITH A FELAFEL IN HIS HAND EBOOK

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Editorial Reviews. Review. 'This is the grunge version of Melrose - the characters move site Store; ›; site eBooks; ›; Literature & Fiction. Read "He Died with a Felafel in His Hand" by John Birmingham available from Rakuten Kobo. Sign up today and get $5 off your first download. John Birmingham. Read "He Died with a Felafel in His Hand" by John Birmingham available from Rakuten Kobo. John Birmingham has lived with eighty-nine people and kept.


He Died With A Felafel In His Hand Ebook

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[Matching item] He died with a felafel in his hand / John Birmingham ; read by Greg Fleet, Gretel Killeen, Mikey Robbins, Jeremy Sims and John Birmingham. 'A rat died in the living room at King Street and we didn't know. He Died with a Felafel in His Hand makes Withnail & I look like a lesson in. (ebook) He Died With a Felafel in His Hand () from Dymocks online store. Here for the first time is the full horror and madness of.

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If you have not received any information after contact with Australia Post, please contact us to confirm that the details for delivery logged with us are correct. Young, innocent and off-the-plane from Perth, my boyfriend and I move into our first room off King st.

The house is an decrepit 3 bedroom terrace no living room with a disgusting bathroom the plastic in the bath is warped and stripped away. In our first week Apart from Scientologists and born-again Christians, junkies are probably the worst people in the world to live with. In our first week there someone stole the yellow bin out back.

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Who steals a rubbish bin? Anyway, it's about 11pm, our housemate opens our door and we're all "???? Instead he turns around, leans against our doorway and pisses into the hall and on our floor, then trudges through it to our other housemate's room and falls asleep in his bed.

Our other housemate and his girlfriend return. They find it hysterically funny. On the plus-side he bought us a box of favourites the next day as a "sorry-for-pissing-in-your-room" gift. All in all, just a regular Tuesday night for John Birmingham. This book is great. One man's tale of living in the cheapest possible lodging in Brisbane, Sydney and Melbourne during the 90's. Very funny and quintessentially Australian. Verandahs and fibro walls abound.

Birmingham can turn a phrase, especially when describing some of the 89 characters he's come across in his 10 years.

Lead singer of band The Black Dogs named Lizard Man, "The Lizard Man was a six-foot-two love machine who oozed really creepy sex - he had this thing about being naked, couldn't wait to get his gear off and run his hands up and down his body" who John haplessly lets crash at his parents' house, "My parents and I did speak to each other again. After about two years. But we never mention the Lizard Man. At first we thought all the bent spoons came from too many tubs of frozen Homer Hudson, but the 1mL syringes with the bright orange caps sealed the deal.

When you could hear them you'd flick on the light, hold a cigarette lighter up to the spray can and flame the roaches off the wall. It was a lot easier than actually spraying, which didn't really work anyway. View all 3 comments. Comunque non posso negare che ci sono un paio di capitoli che mi hanno fatto letteralmente piangere dalle risate! Sep 07, Kevin Klehr rated it it was amazing.

I read this many years ago when John Birmingham wrote it while still writing articles for the Rolling Stone I think. It's the embellished account of thirteen share households he actually lived in across major Australian cities during the s.

Very funny.

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It's easy to relate to as you recognise the personality types that you may have met or lived with back in the day. There was a movie version made of this, but I don't recommend the film. There is no real plot in the book, which makes it a fasc I read this many years ago when John Birmingham wrote it while still writing articles for the Rolling Stone I think.

There is no real plot in the book, which makes it a fascinating collection of anecdotes. In the movie they developed a plot, which for me, weakens the charm of the original novel. Yes I know movies should have plots, but I think you could have got away with not having one for this story. The first share house in the movie which is closer to the book After that, not so intriguing.

Dec 13, David Sarkies rated it liked it Recommends it for: Sharehousing in Australia 13 December John Birmingham wrote so much better when he was writing gonzo journalism rather than the sci-fi books that he seems to have written of late, but then again he seems to sell books, and the books that he did write early on pretty much set him up to the point where he could pretty much write what he wanted to, so I guess more power to him.

Anyway, while I do not know what the experience of share housing is in England and I understand that there is a lot o Sharehousing in Australia 13 December John Birmingham wrote so much better when he was writing gonzo journalism rather than the sci-fi books that he seems to have written of late, but then again he seems to sell books, and the books that he did write early on pretty much set him up to the point where he could pretty much write what he wanted to, so I guess more power to him.

Anyway, while I do not know what the experience of share housing is in England and I understand that there is a lot of it there , the feel of this book is that it is distinctly Australian, and having been in a number of sharehouses myself I can seriously relate to what he is describing here though I must admit he has probably embellished the stories somewhat, but then again why let the truth get in the way of a good yarn?

I guess I should do what others have done when commenting on this book, and that is talk about some of my sharehousing experiences, and I must admit that I have had a lot.

The average time that I have spent in a sharehouse is usually about six months, though there have been a couple where I have lasted about two years though one of them had a somewhat itinerant population and the shortest would probably have been about two weeks. Okay, I guess one may need to define the idea of a sharehouse as being one where you are sharing with more than one other person, though sometimes the actually definition of a person living in a house can be rather dubious.

One house we had was originally intended for two of us, but as soon as my housemate picked up a girl he always had to have a girlfriend she immediately moved in, and then another guy decided to camp in the lounge, and within two days he had brought another friend around as well. Mind you, this particular house lasted two weeks before the police kicked in the door and arrested the lot of us. Then there were the Findon Flats, a collection of about two hundred flats were while there were only two of us living in the flat, the entire place was like one community: Mind you one of my friends was a small time drug dealer, so that is probably why there were always people coming and going.

One of the cool things about living there was that people would come in, hang for about half-an-hour, smoke some weed, and then leave. However, the problem with living with drug dealers is that once somebody hooks onto you as a drug dealer they suddenly become frequent visitors. Oh, and the fact that your flat also becomes a target for thieves seems to outweigh the benefit of getting free drugs.

I also lived in what is pretty much termed as a party house. It was a large, two story, six bedroom house in one of the wealthier parts of Adelaide with a pool and a spa. The problem with the spa was that it always broke down. However, we actually had ten people squeezed into that house at one time, which made using the rather small kitchen an absolute pain. However that house brings back lots of memories, including the parties which wouldn't be a party unless the cops rocked up at least once, and usually multiple times.

I still remember the time that my mate and I decided to cook some pasta using dope butter, and suddenly having the sensation of being stoned hit us so hard that we were literally flat on our back for hours.

That house came to an end because the landlord simply could not get anybody into the house, and I was too much of a stoner read lazy and paranoid to actually attempt to get others to move into the place.

We did finish my time in that house with the mother all all parties which only came to an end when my friend almost killed himself by flaking out on a concrete step.

That friendship circle also came to an end pretty quickly also since the mother of all hangovers literally turned us all against each other.

Hey, I'm still sharehousing, this time in Melbourne, and I do desire to try to keep the tradition of it by not staying in the house for too long. Okay, now that I am km away from my parents, I do not have the luxury of running back to their house when things go wrong, and moving can be a pain. At least I have learnt from my mistakes and can at least prepare myself to consider moving on before things get too bad. However, the problem is that I have found a good church within walking distance, though nothing is ever that permanent, and since Paul the Apostle never really set his roots down anywhere for too long, I don't think I need to either.

Aug 17, Little Miss Esoteric rated it really liked it. As an art school student, I lived and slept in various group houses in Queensland. They were fun years, although a bit hazy. I'm sure I know some of the people in this book, and a great many of the cockroaches View all 4 comments.

That was until a year ago, when I moved back to Brighton, on the south coast of England and moved into a shared flat sight unseen, as I had moved the length of the country specially with well, I shan't name her. Let's just call her 'miserable catholic lesbian troll', or OK, to make this easier, I will refer to her as A. Now A and I pretty much got off on the wrong foot straight away, when I arrived at the flat with the landlord.

I was in the process of bringing in my suitcases while he watched me struggle and even before I had taken my coat off, she appeared from her room and announced that I was my turn to contribute to the gas and electric keys and that I should do that straight away. Unpacked, I did just that and everything was ok at the beginning and she was pleasant enough going forward from there but gradually I could tell that there was something wrong with the dynamic of the building and specifically between her and the other two guys living there.

Immediately, she made it very well apparent that she disapproved of them both and began to tell tales on them, before I had even met them myself.

Then she one night, she told me of the previous tenants and how each of them had left after seemingly some sort of issue with her, including one guy who tried to poison her food. Great, I thought. She's one of them. Difficult and unforgiving. As far as I could tell, A had no friends. She didn't work. She never went out, apart from church on a Sunday and had no apparent visitors.

Not that we could answer the door, if we had any visitors or mail to answer the door to, as the building had no doorbells to each flats, and sure enough the other two guys left one after the other. Her main problem with one guy was that the temperature and heating controls were in his room and he kept turning them off, while she insisted on having the heating on all the time, and all at the same time complaining that we not her were using too much gas.

She also insisted that the lights in the only communal parts of the flat, a hallway, a bathroom and kitchen were to be kept on all the time. Even in the middle of the day when it was bright and sunny. Pretty much, she made this atmosphere of tension so bad, even when she had other room mates move in. It didn't matter who it was, she would find fault with them and do tiny little annoying things to wind you up as much as she could, in order to cause conflict.

As I had pre-empted this quite early on, I did my best to avoid A as much as possible, but even I became housemate non grata. Of the contributions which were kept on a list in the hallway, she added another list highlighting the amounts we had contributed over most of the year and of course hers was the most, but she included what she had paid, for six months before I had even moved in.

When I highlighted this and that I had paid as much as her over the amount of time that we had lived together, she went ballistic. I made it clear that I didn't care what she thought, which probably made things worse, but she had no right to inflate her position.

Then things started to go missing from the kitchen. One day, all the teaspoons went, then a couple of flat metal trays I bought to put things in the oven on, then all the knives went. Which may sound petty and silly, but its hard to butter toast with a fork. Try it. Then the toaster vanished one day. The kettle the next.

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Each time, I tried my hardest to let everything slide because I knew she was doing her very best to get a reaction. I was starting to feel sympathy for the guy who tried to poison her.

A couple of us asked her about the toaster and the kettle and even though they are on the inventory as part of the furnishings, she insisted they were hers and said that she would rather have them in her room. It was spiteful. She made the mistake of taking a small porcelain cereal bowl that a new housemate had brought with him.

She just thought, 'oh, my candles would look nice in that' and when said housemate couldn't find it, he flipped out. We had already talked about the fact A was doing all this to create conflict and make everyone leave like everyone else before us and that essentially, I thought, she wouldn't be happy unless she had the whole place to herself.

When she was confronted about Bowlgate, she completely denied taking it. When the housemate disappeared, she finally admitted to me that she had taken it and when I said that she should return it, she said that she had gotten rid of it instead, in order to stop all the arguments. Because that was the best thing to do.

Anyway, Bowlgate died down things went quiet for a while, when the bowl owner met someone and stayed round her place for the majority of the time. One night, I came across A in the kitchen and she seemed a little spaced out. She was either drunk or high, I couldn't say and proceeded uninvited to tell me a very lengthy story about how she was drugged, kidnapped and raped by a very famous couple.

When I pried for essential details and queried the many holes in her story, she had none and just wanted to have some listen to her babble on, a lot of it incoherent bullshit.

The next morning, she looked a bit worse for wear and I asked her if she was ok.

She then went into tears about her ipad and that she couldn't afford to get the bus into town to fix it. I had a look at it and it looked like it had died. I said, walk into town with me, I'm going but she wouldn't, what with her being lazy and fat. To be fair, its a good two hour walk but I don't care. She cried further and I ended up giving her money for a bus travelcard, reminding her that I was doing this out of the goodness of my heart after she hadn't been very nice to me or anyone else generally.

Anyway, things went quiet for a few weeks until I heard a 2am knocking on my door, I ignored it and heard the door to A's room slam. I was watching Eastenders through my headphones as one of the other guys was working nights and had gone to bed not that this bothered A , so I ignored it.

(ebook) He Died With a Felafel in His Hand

Twenty minutes later, there was more shouting and I went to see what the commotion was, she ran back to her room when she saw me and slammed the door. I knocked and asked she was ok and the door flew open and she got right in my face, accusing me of hacking into her tablet from my computer like I knew how to do that and that I was scum and that she was after me.

I tried to placate her but she just kept on. I told her that in no uncertain terms that she was batshit crazy and that she can fuck off. Because I'm still here and that was only last week. Ideally, I would be elsewhere but for the moment I am tied in and stuck financially. But hey, she's been a bit quiet the last few days. We shall see.

View 1 comment. This book is hilarious, laugh out loud funny. I used to read this while on my way to work on the tram and got some very strange looks from my fellow passengers because of my laughter. It's ok, they probably just thought I was one of those mental cases. John Birmingham has lived with such people, and here he tells us about them. We have stories about housemates who come home drunk and piss in the fridge, housemates who get into screaming arguments over which cupboard shelf the can of pineapple ch This book is hilarious, laugh out loud funny.

We have stories about housemates who come home drunk and piss in the fridge, housemates who get into screaming arguments over which cupboard shelf the can of pineapple chunks should go on, and housemates who never really move in, but actually steal all of your things in the night and disappear. If you've done the share house thing, as I did for years, you will love this. If you haven't done it, first of all, get a life, go back to your parent's country club, and read this anyway.

You should still find it funny. View 2 comments. Jan 07, Brenda rated it did not like it Shelves: I'm afraid I didn't enjoy this book at all.

It was loaned to me by my son, he loved it, also his wife. And the many others who have reviewed it positively. But it's just not my sort of story! View all 6 comments. Oct 05, Rachel Eldred rated it liked it. I do remember, however, that it was strange. The book is less strange; more nostalgic. It made me laugh, but it also horrified me. Most of it was spent under the influence of drink or drugs, in houses in Sydney that should have been condemned.

I remember I would make pacts with the cockroaches. They could roam my room as much as they wanted, but land on my bed and they were dead. Also if they flew. I can still hear the crackle of creepy crepe wings as they flew at me. Bucket bongs were a thing in Queensland, Birmingham writes. They were also a thing in the Blue Mountains, west of Sydney, where my brother had one set up in his room, day and night, after our mum ran away from home with her lesbian lover.

That was the end of that.

Probably a good thing, in hindsight. I related when Birmingham wrote: Feel comfortable … Just treat it like your home. Apparently you were not to laugh when he fought with his girlfriend. It was insensitive. I related less to the fish fingers.She also insisted that the lights in the only communal parts of the flat, a hallway, a bathroom and kitchen were to be kept on all the time.

It took me back to wandering around West End in high summer, sweltering in Doc Martens and heavy black eyeliner because I wanted to keep up an image I'd barely established in the first place.

Anyway, while I do not know what the experience of share housing is in England and I understand that there is a lot of it there , the feel of this book is that it is distinctly Australian, and having been in a number of sharehouses myself I can seriously relate to what he is describing here though I must admit he has probably embellished the stories somewhat, but then again why let the truth get in the way of a good yarn?

Unavailable for download. Close Report a review At Kobo, we try to ensure that published reviews do not contain rude or profane language, spoilers, or any of our reviewer's personal information. That friendship circle also came to an end pretty quickly also since the mother of all hangovers literally turned us all against each other. Ben Aaronovitch. When I highlighted this and that I had paid as much as her over the amount of time that we had lived together, she went ballistic. John Birmingham's rendering of a life in share houses will leave you laughing, cringing and reminiscing about your own brushes with the mad, bad residents of flat mate hell.