When I first moved to London I was living in leafy Streatham in south London. I lived with my godfather and a friend of his Mark who was a painter. I only paid a peppercorn rent really, to live in a big Victorian villa not far from Cynthia Payne, a neighbour he knew quite well, in fact she opened a couple of his shops.
For some reason I used to arrive home everyday at the same time as the man next door. We both used to walk up our respective garden paths, pace for pace, at the same time each day. Being a friendly sort of soul, I of course always used to say hello, he feigned deafness and didn't acknowledge my existence.
It could have gone two ways. I could have thought that this is what happens in London, or I could stay true to myself and keep on being polite. I of course kept on saying hello as the months turned into a year. Eventually of course I won, and he did start to say hello. It did actually help when his children's balls started landing in our garden as they got older, and Mr Keep To Yourself had to ring the door bell to ask for them back.
It was the same when I bought my first flat six years later. My immediate neighbours did say hello, but when Mum used to come down she wasn't going to settle for just that, she engaged in, gasp......chatting over the garden wall. It paid off and I got to know the families next door quite well, and never went short of a cup of sugar.
In Glasgow I never saw my neighbours. The luxurious block of flats were I lived was like the Marie Celeste. I'm sure that they would have been chatty if I ever saw them, because every other person in the city was friendly, and would want to know your life story, and to tell you theirs given a minute.
Now I'm back in Oswaldtwistle I have great neighbours. My next door neighbour is a friend of Mum's from the sixties, when they used to go for a sauna and a swim with another woman, who also happened to share their name. I get on well with everybody on the whole row, and people couldn't be kinder. We've had some great parties since I moved in, and I love living here.
Yesterday I saw my neighbour being dropped off with a load of shopping when I was coming back with a paper. I helped carry her shopping in for her, and then went in to give my advice on colours as she is decorating. We had a good old gossip about the weekend, and had a real laugh. As I left I promised to help her move her dresser as soon as she'd packed the china, so we could lift the carpet.
I won't move again, and I hope all my neighbours don't either because we get on fantastically.
Signs off, humming Neighbours theme tune.
For some reason I used to arrive home everyday at the same time as the man next door. We both used to walk up our respective garden paths, pace for pace, at the same time each day. Being a friendly sort of soul, I of course always used to say hello, he feigned deafness and didn't acknowledge my existence.
It could have gone two ways. I could have thought that this is what happens in London, or I could stay true to myself and keep on being polite. I of course kept on saying hello as the months turned into a year. Eventually of course I won, and he did start to say hello. It did actually help when his children's balls started landing in our garden as they got older, and Mr Keep To Yourself had to ring the door bell to ask for them back.
It was the same when I bought my first flat six years later. My immediate neighbours did say hello, but when Mum used to come down she wasn't going to settle for just that, she engaged in, gasp......chatting over the garden wall. It paid off and I got to know the families next door quite well, and never went short of a cup of sugar.
In Glasgow I never saw my neighbours. The luxurious block of flats were I lived was like the Marie Celeste. I'm sure that they would have been chatty if I ever saw them, because every other person in the city was friendly, and would want to know your life story, and to tell you theirs given a minute.
Now I'm back in Oswaldtwistle I have great neighbours. My next door neighbour is a friend of Mum's from the sixties, when they used to go for a sauna and a swim with another woman, who also happened to share their name. I get on well with everybody on the whole row, and people couldn't be kinder. We've had some great parties since I moved in, and I love living here.
Yesterday I saw my neighbour being dropped off with a load of shopping when I was coming back with a paper. I helped carry her shopping in for her, and then went in to give my advice on colours as she is decorating. We had a good old gossip about the weekend, and had a real laugh. As I left I promised to help her move her dresser as soon as she'd packed the china, so we could lift the carpet.
I won't move again, and I hope all my neighbours don't either because we get on fantastically.
Signs off, humming Neighbours theme tune.
