My untidy life

The landlord of the flat I currently live in is a dreadfully posh individual who built himself a nice, beige-carpeted, spotlight-infested block of flats which he clearly considers is for proper people to live in. He doesn't like me and my flatmate very much, because we persist in being scruffy artists who never hoover and fill his aspirational living space with laundry, peculiar plastic domestica, and hamster playpens. And yet, in spite of this incontrovertible evidence of moral depravity, we still pay the rent on time.