Everybody Needs Good Ones

On a holiday in the countryside a while ago, I stood looking out the kitchen window at the vast garden and the picturesque rolling hills beyond. My friend, next to me sighed and said:

“Imagine living here…”

And I immediately imagined washing up every day at that window, gazing at the incredible view and feeling massively lonely.

I live in London in a small block of flats. Some people find it weird but I actually love hearing the people in the flats around me. Don’t get me wrong, the soundproofing’s OK and I’m super fortunate that my neighbours are pretty considerate and quiet. I used to live somewhere where the woman in the flat below me would pass out at 3 a.m. with Magic FM on at a terrifying volume and that wasn’t fun. It’s a strange thing to try and sleep through Chicago’s “If You Leave Me Now” blasted at a building shaking level.

No, these days I hear an endearingly nerdy laugh in the evenings, happy whooping during football matches and the very occasional party. I even find the parties quite cheering. Before I moved in, I was on a house-hunting visit and I helped an elderly woman across the road (GET ME, I KNOW). I asked what the area was like and she said:

“Oh yes it’s lovely. There are no young people here at all”.

Miserable old cow. I like young people. Even if one of them across the road has an unnerving habit of hanging their big black coat on their bedroom window latch. Coming home at night it looks like Death has moved in to keep an eye on us.

The guy upstairs keeps very similar hours to me and if I hear him snoring I think “Oop! Should get to sleep!” It’s cosy.

Not friendly, though. It’s still London. I’ve lived here ten years and it’s still a smile and nod situation even with the closest neighbours. There’s a guy up the road who laughs every time he sees me. I know why, it’s because I once lost my phone, and when I rang it, the man on the other end said he was in the pub at the end of my road and I could come and collect it.

“What do you look like?”

“You can’t miss me - I’m very tall and ginger with a beard.”

Great! I rushed into the busy pub - chockfull with well dressed young people. I, in my anorak, specs and frizzy hair approached the tall beardy ginger man, smiling. He and his friends paused their conversation and looked at me.

“Have you got my phone?” Blank look. “I was told a tall ginger bearded man had it”.

“Oh!” He laughed “I noticed there was another of those in the back room”.

Anyway, Tall Ginger Beardy 2.0 laughed and apologised when he returned my phone seconds later, and still laughs when he sees me now.

No thresholds crossed. My immediate neighbours and I sometimes exchange Christmas cards, but this year it was too stressful. I found 2 different past cards from the family across the way. MOST of the signed names were the same but there was one missing in one of them. I didn’t know which order the cards had come in. Had the dad left? Is there a new partner? I decided to leave it until they sent one so I could reply. They didn’t. Christmas cancelled.

There’s a woman who lives up the road, on the ground floor who always has her lights on and blinds open. I couldn’t appreciate her more. My whole family is absolutely obsessed with her and her cats - delighted when she watches the same stuff as us, or plays the same computer games. She kept her Christmas tree up for a long time. The day she finally took it down she replaced it with a tiny one on her table. It’s so wholesome. I was thrilled to see her in the street a while back - it was like spotting a celebrity (I feel the same when I unexpectedly see my cat out and about). We were sad when a man came to stay for a bit and made her shut her blinds. He’s gone now and she’s back to her old ways. What?! We don’t stand and stare! We just notice things as we pass. Plus, my mother-in-law says in Germany, if you do that, it’s because you WANT people to look in; so ner.

I put the recycling out the other day (GET ME, I KNOW) and a squirrel running at full pelt, jumped off a fence, bounced off my back and into a tree. And yes I very much screamed. I turned around to see a man standing at an upstairs window, open mouthed, toothbrush in hand.

“Did you see that?” I squealed up at him. He nodded, still gaping. And then we both really laughed. And for some reason I felt so pleased to have had that witness. If I lived in the countryside, there would only have been the squirrel as a witness. And frankly, I don’t trust them. I’m still OK with city life for now.