Mr Neville Asphall
Do you know what it feels like, to feel that your life is worth nothing?!…
To want to end it all?…
To feel that whatever you do, you will never be able to rebuild everything you built over the years?!…
Over 15 years, all that was written, researched, sewn, sketched, all the stage concepts and business plans…
Costumes sewn and embellished by hand, whilst big lusty fleas ate at me, in this bury street Edmonton flat of yours!…
Hundreds of hours writing and sketching stage concepts, projects, for my production company, my dance theatre company... Gone.
All the labour, the weeks on bread and water, so I could purchase beads on eBay: dance costumes gone.
All the sleepless nights, writing projects and funding applications.
All for nothing. They are now gone.
Those scores, those portfolios, those papers: they were my companions, my life, my reason for living.
My first composition exercises, my very first pieces, were the product of utter resilience: they had been the one survival tool I had, during a very sad and traumatically period of mine. Gone.
My fathers memorabilia, photos: gone.
My fathers money, a few hundreds: gone up in smoke, trying to deal with flea infestations. Gone.
I had no friends, except for one or two. I couldn’t afford to socialise: but I held my head up high. I could go out in nice, suitable, flattering clothes. I had no wealth, no love: but I had my projects, my intelligence, my hope for the future. I had my dignity, my existential truths.
Now I have clothes from charity shops, whilst for a year I had only torn leggings and shoes, with flip flops to wear throughout the winter.
Those clothes don’t fit very well, let alone flatter my appearance.
All my friends and acquaintances, even the lower achievements back at school, have got clothes, a house or a flat. They look well-put together. They look forward to their day, when they wake up. I feel trashy and stupid, worthless, in front of them.
Mr Asphall, I asked for my clothes when winter approached, following my eviction. I was ignored, several times, for 6 months. Then was summoned to come and pick whatever was left, within a week. What was left was a pile of dirty, rotten fabrics, for they had been sitting on the floor all along, and I had been nowhere near to handwash them as before.
Mr Neville Asphall, you have a yacht, a Porsche, a Bentley, which you arrogantly flash on your WhatsApp account, for all your tenants to see. You have a penchant for cruelty and selfishness. You have all the traits of a sociopath.
You tried and tried to sleep with me against rent arrears, you forced yourself on another tenant and claimed she was up for it.
The more I try to get over that dark period of my life, the more I realise it is too late to build everything back. I strived against injustice, poverty, loneliness, depression, loss, tragedies, and unequal opportunities. I built, with my hands, powerful walls of resilience. I built and excellent portfolio for myself, and tools for a living.
A genius IQ, a beautiful body, a stunning 5-octave voice, an extreme willingness to work hard to get there: all thrown out the window. By a mediocre landlord, who cannot even provide decent living accommodation for people who pay for his services. Blocked toilet? Who cares? For 4 years. No heating? Who cares? For 2 years. Broken fence? Neighbour harassing me about it? Tree needs cutting? Neighbour harasses me about it?… Who cares?! For starters, I nearly lost my mind over those flea bites and the 30 plus remedies I tried against them. And my skin, too, thanks to the tamarind paste. Lost hundreds of hours of sleep, following a very slow recovery from chronic insomnia.
Now I find myself lost again, not sure what to do with my life. At all. I am 44. What do I do, start again from scratch, everything I had done from age 14?!
An all-time low, just wanting to end it all, tired of desperately looking for that horizon.
I want you to know, that You had a major 85% part in this, my rotten state of mind, right now. The other 15% are just me being fair and impartial.
Go to Hell, Mr Asphall.
This affair will never leave you, whatever happens to me. Ever. No one will let you get away with this, wat you did to me, over and over again.
Go to Hell.












