I've got one of these "sheltered accommodation" thingy's where they all pay their own and I almost view it as charity work. Some have been a right pain, others are lovely.
I do about 12/15 (depending who's died

) out of 18 flats on two floors.
The "outside" I do wfp, the insides along two landings trad.
I've had warring neighbours playing their music louder and louder until the warden intervened.
I've the "nutter" from Cornwall who thinks he's a cross between MI5 and the local bobby and he tells me he "helps the police with their enquiries!".
Then there is the old dear who is on a zimmer because some chav ran her over in a stolen car (hang 'im, I say) who is lovely but takes ten miutes to get her money, so I knock the door, do her flat and hold my hand out.
The deaf old girl who pays for about five of them but falls out with one and says " I ain't payin' 'ers!".
The loon who despite being informed I only do monthly tries to get me to come back every six months ...
Linda, the posh one who is ashamed to be on the council housing and a bit snobby and doesn't like that pole thing.
Olive with 10 kids who's 83, makes lewd comments to me and asks me to get me shirt off ...
Then Mrs wossername at no 14 who's as sweet as sugar and got me a good paying doctors surgery on recommend.
I reverse my van onto the central grass area so that my hose reaches all parts of the complex. In January I got stuck in the mud and had to call the RAC!
