As the police were raiding my neighbour’s garage recently, photographing and cataloguing the alleged stolen property, I found myself contemplating all the flaming awful neighbours I’ve had over the years.
I’ve had my fair share, ranging from the stupid to the psychotic. Somehow though, I reckon the selfish ones, with their petty acts of neighbourly neglect, were worse than the scary ones.
Of course the bloke who held a knife at my sixteen-year-old throat and threatened to kill me if I made any noise was very frightening, but he never assumed he could park in my driveway because he had two cars.
The peeping tom who found my phone number and had me curled up on the floor in fear with his late night breathing phone calls had a few issues, but he never put coffee cups or cigarettes into my garden.
Whilst the couple running ‘rebirthing’ classes in the flat next door to ours, with groups of people panting and chanting through our walls for hour upon hour, were perhaps a bit misguided, they never recommended I take down my wind chimes because they found the noise too loud.
And the Russian lady who shared a double bed with her adult daughter in their one bedroom flat was insanely jealous of me and my small child in our two bedroom flat, but she never requested I only use my washing machine between certain hours of the day.
Perhaps my next move will be to the country, where the flaming neighbours are a bit further away...