"De Wielingen" was a squat house in the south of Amsterdam that used to be an orphanage.
The yard area of the compounds appears to have first been squatted by a group of motorcycle enthusiasts, who used the space to work on their bikes. The bikers soon opened a place where they and their hangarounds could hang out. A 'coffeeshop' in the 'Amsterdam coffeeshop' sense, where drugs like hash and marijuana were sold freely.
The wings of the building on the opposite side of the block were at the time mostly occupied by students, hippies and assorted outcasts, in other words, um squatters.

To my recollection both groups did not get along very well, and things got tense on a few occasions, but The Nitwitz were 'neutral' and we soon found ourselves being accepted by both the bikers for being good frequent customers, and by the squatters for doing benefit concerts for them on a regular basis.

The Nitwitz and befriended band the Gotterflies used to practise in the (often flooded) basement, which is best described as a dim-if-at-all-lit claustrophobic catacomb next to the morgue (no shit, the room next door was actually a little morgue, complete with concrete slab and all).
The Nitwitz used to get high on the bikers' supply and hang out in the pitch black morgue a lot before and after rehearsal sessions, getting baked out of our gourds and creeped out, repeating phrases like "Oh man, there's some bad juju around this place" over and over again.
There was another Freddy Kruger type boiler room in that basement with big vats and dripping pipes with next to no daylight where our guitarist Steven moved into, later on. He lived there in a tent after his mother kicked him out of the house.
I thought he he was nuts for doing that.

I recall one particularly dubious inhabitant of De Wielingen named Mark.
Mark was this homeless man, who in a sense, squatted the squathouse. He simply moved into De Wielingen. We called him "Mark From The Broomcloset" because he told us he lived in a janitor's closet. Although Mark wasn't allowed to enter the rooms or corridors on the first or second floor of the building (which were locked) he had free access to the rest of the premises. He must have been in his mid-thirties (which was ancient to us teenagers but looked like he was in his sixties as most homeless people do.
The guy was crazy as fuck and stank like a wild boar's asshole, but he was mostly harmless, scuttling about on the bikers' yard, where he would do curious things like "build an aeroplane" with sticks, empty beercases, discarded motorbike mufflers, and such.
Mark pretended to be genuinely interested in our musical activities but mostly wanted social interaction and some company.
Whenever he spotted us while loading out gear, he'd pop up and inquire whether we'd be interested in "hanging out". When we said we couldn't do that because we had to play a gig he'd investigate possibilities to "party after the show", usually waving a bottle of cheap hooch (I think he preferred sherry) around trying to lure us in.
Although the poor bastard was completely insane, he must have had a life and a family at some point. His posh accent and ability to speak ancient Latin and Greek seemed to indicate a well to do background, and he may have even been a doctor at some point, or something. Much to our amusement, he'd try to level with us by mixing in some outdated "hip" beatnik street slang in his jargon. "Hey man, that swings ! You cats really send me ! Like wowsville !" which amused us greatly.
Gradually, Mark From The Broomcloset became a scarecrow looking human being, who was solely propelled by basic instinct : Eat. Drink. Sleep. Especially drink.

He would frequently undertake nocturnal trips to the corner liquor store a few blocks down. Not to rob the place in the traditional sense. He'd pry loose a rock from the sidewalk, chuck it through the window, then grab whatever booze he wanted, before moseying on back to his broomcloset without a care. That's how he rolled. These nightly sorties to forage may have gotten him in some trouble with the law, but I think he was back holed up in his broomcloset by the time the cops showed.

Reportedly, Mark was spotted one fateful night, jacking off to mannequins in front of a fashion store.

Another time I caught Mark in the communal kitchen (where he must have snuck in, not being allowed to enter the first and second floors), merrily stirring away in a huge, tarnished black pot on a stove, while wildly pouring booze into it. Still stirring, Mark turned around to me and exclaimed "Hey guy ! Care for a bite to eat ?".

Gagging at the foul smell, I looked in the pot. Closer inspection revealed he was frying a pigeon, feathers and all.

I'm not making this up.

Anywhoo. It would be safe to assume Mark has been dead for a ages. His memory lives on in the lyrics "I dine on roadkill pigeon" of a Nitwitz song that I wrote almost 2 decades later called "Drunk Tank Celebrity".

"Wielingen Walgt" (translates as something like "Wielingen is disgusted/revolted/appalled") is a 12"/45rpm phonograph disc that currently enjoys cult status among collectors. It was recorded live by Dolf Planteyd during a benefit concert on March 14th, 1981 at De Wielingen to protest against the planned eviction of said squat.
I'm pretty sure it was an 8 track recording. There's no overdubs, no fake extra 'Budokan audience' applause track mixed in there or anything. No digital mastering (didn't exist yet, yo.) so what you hear is what you get. This is what it sounded like.

The Nitwitz headlined and tore the roof off that bitch. Also on the bill that night were "OK, you guys suck but we're friends" The Gotterfliez, future media-darlings/crooners Trockener Kecks, and future improvising jazz-experimentalists The Ex. Both groups, who were still in what may be called their "punk phase" declined to appear on the record afterwards, for reasons not fully disclosed, understood or known. Whatever reasons they may have had, what was intended to become a 4-band compilation LP eventually ended up as a split 12" record.
A funny anecdote may be the Nitwitz song 'What did you get'. It was a brand new song that we were excited about and wanted to have out there on a release.
Unfortunately we fucked it up during the live performance: in the end, you can hear Steven playing the chorus, while I'm still playing the verse. Then everything stops at once. Maybe it adds a little bit to the vibe of that night. Who knows. I don't think anyone noticed. But if you listen closely, you can hear it. We fucked up the song but thought "let's put it on the record anyways because the beginning rocks hard".

The epic cover sleeve for the record was drawn by renowned comic artist Peter Pontiac (who would draw some uber-cool record covers for both B.G.K. and Loveslug in later years).
When Meissel and I went to pick up the design to make the 'deadline'. Peter hadn't drawn much. Maybe nothing at all. He looked pretty out of it. He told us we should go buy him a bag of weed "for inspiration", so we went to the bikers and got him some potent shit that got him to work. Peter finished the cover sleeve that very same night and the result was astounding.
The back sleeve (picture collage) was done by myself using scissors and glue. I always thought the title of the record sucked, but Peter made it up and put it on the cover so we were stuck with it.