Living Right Next Door To An Angel

Neighbours are funny things, don’t you find? The problem is that, unless you live on an island in the Outer Hebrides that’s been cleared by anthrax, everyone has them and we’re all expected to get along in a perfect, fluffy, world where Postman Pat delivers our mail and the Teletubbies run the local Neighbourhood Watch.

I guess that even the Queen must have neighbours, but I bet they don’t call her up all the time to borrow things and complain that her hedge needs cutting or that she’s putting the bins out too early. “Liz, it’s Doris here. Got a “do” at the embassy tonight. Can I borrow that fabulous tiara? I can? Fabulous. I’ll send Jolyon through to get it. You and Phil must come round for supper one night soon.”

I’m lucky as I have some great neighbours who I see a lot and, as the difficult ones tend to hibernate over winter making poisoned potions or holding the paper boy captive for not closing the gate, I only have to put up with their moaning round about now. As the sun comes out, so do the unpopular people in the street as they start clipping their topiary, trimming the wisteria and digging out the common weeds – fancy ones being allowed to stay, of course, as they were probably brought back by relatives from the colonies before the words Call and Centre were even invented.

I swear some of my neighbours even put green food colouring down on their lawns and spray Estee Lauder on their roses. Oh yes, we’re a posh neighbourhood you know. Well, I say posh but really our maids and our chauffeur don’t think it’s that posh really, and my private jet pilot, John, reckons his swimming pool is bigger than mine so perhaps we’re not that well off after all.

A very nice man came to my door yesterday. He’s the caretaker of one of my neighbours, a primary school, and he wanted to warn me that they were having a sponsored run on Sunday so I might get up in the morning and see sweaty, well intentioned, weight watchers running past my gate, all in a good cause. It was kind of him to let me know and it all sounded fine, but I bet one of the difficult neighbours will object that the panting Spandex brigade will upset their dogs, or the pavement pounding will cause cracks in their lovely art deco walls. Some people love to be the centre of attention, even if it’s just by being difficult.

As the song goes “Everybody needs good neighbours” but it seems to me that it should be compulsory that we all get the tanned and beautiful examples that appear on Ramsay Street and that they come with a one year contract before they have to leave and release a pop song. The odd murderer on the run is fine to add spice to the area but even they have to get their comeuppance and move on to Home And Away after a while. Keeps things fresh.

When I was growing up I remember we all played together, had dinner in each other’s homes, built gang huts in our gardens, pelted other gangs with stones and smeared dog poo on our neighbours’ door handles. Where’s that sense of community now? Today it seems you have to ask permission just to walk up someone’s path, even if it’s to tell them that their house is on fire.

Let me pass on my experience of neighbours over the years so you can tell whether any new arrivals will be a problem or a life long friend. Of course this is all rational and well thought out and not at all based on anyone I currently despise and wish would be raised with their house in to the sky by a tornado and dumped on top of a wicked witch in Oz.

The ones to worry about are the garden freaks. They have the box sets of Gardener’s World DVDs, posters of Alan Titchmarsh, and kneeling pads for weeding. They don’t have kids but still call themselves Mummy and Daddy in front of their yapping dogs who are spoiled rotten and keep you awake all night as they roam around looking for romance with the neighbourhood’s mutts. Like spoiled kids, their little Fifis and Cupcakes try to impress the other canines with their Cartier collars and Burberry coats while showing off their pedicure from the local pooch parlour.

These neighbours will look like a smile has never visited their face, they’ll moan that the wind is blowing your leaves in to their garden, object to the noise your kids make, and generally make a nuisance of themselves before disappearing for winter to watch Countdown and write off for Asbos to be issued against whoever had a barbecue over summer. Their cars will always be gleaming and pristine and their houses will have names like Dunenjoying or Casa Betterthanyours.

My pal Will is very anti his neighbours just now, or at least one of them. After years of borrowing the usual cup of sugar, hedge clippers or bottle of shampoo, Will’s neighbour recently popped in and borrowed his wife. The worst thing is he forgot to give her back. Will has since discovered that the neighbour had been keeping an eye on his wife, and any other beautiful ladies in the area, ever since he moved in to the street.

Now that really is a Neighbourhood Watch scheme I could work with.