Early man discovered that life had problems, threats from wild animals and other tribes. Answer, live together for mutual defence. So started the ‘neighbour’. If the man in the next cave did not cut his hedge, or cast lascivious eyes at your wife you could club him, maybe eat him for all I know.

One of my son’s first houses when married was in Fulham. Part of an Edwardian terrace, it was divided into three flats. No vehicles when it was built, of course, three cars and parking battles commence. My father lived in a row of bungalows, built in 1934. He solved the neighbour problem very quickly by falling out with the lot of them. 

Only one of our houses in the UK had neighbours, lodges facing each other. The first neighbours only annoyed by their teen-age son, with a noisy motor-bike, throttled to the most extent, a complaint which came up on the last Sunday.

The next neighbours were on friendly terms, our kids made a racket, he drove off in his van in the middle of the night, and had ear-splitting rows with his wife, but we went to each others parties, frequent, so no moaning about the noise levels. We did upset him after one party, setting Nancy Sinatra’s ‘These Boots are made for walking’ at maximum volume and constant replay; he had a hangover, only cured by more beer.

All our French life we had neighbours, not the easiest, but it was good practice for what I do now, which is live in a block of flats in the residential area of Lyon. I am not a happy bunny at the moment. The silence at our lunch table is getting to me, even though I take a book, no point moving, insult current companions and might get worse. A move I really welcomed has started, interaction of generations with university students.

Awful. Two students, six residents. But one lady, an ex-teacher, never stops talking. She never listens, students could not or would not try to run the ‘meeting’ in an orderly manner. Ended up everybody talking at once, over the top of the unstoppable one, no exchange of views. This is actually a French habit, one wonders what sort of a teacher she was.

I have just realised my blog will appear on Easter Sunday, which I love. The thought of our dreary lunch is awful, no music, no flowers.I thought I would go up to the cathedral, but it is just not practical. My most memorable Easter was being on the 9 o’clock news. We were in Durham with my brother and sister-in-law. We went to the cathedral, glorious and packed, not normal. The then bishop was the one making headlines denying the virgin birth. BBC fielded their top correspondent. I asked him to ask the congregation if they only came to see what the Bishop would say next, so he turned his mike on me. So, in a fabulous cream cloak and red beret I was headline news. A very Happy Easter to you all. 

The Gardener

A Moodscope member