Home and Away

We don't really know our neighbours.

And by "we" I mean "Lucy and I". But couldn't I also be saying that of humanity as a whole?

Do any of us really know our neighbours?

Yes. Some of us do. Some of us know them really well.

But I don't know who knows their neighbours. Certainly not my neighbours. I don't know them well enough to judge whether they know their neighbours or not. One thing's for sure: our neighbours don't know us.

Unless they've been eavesdropping and webcam-ing and stalkerishly profiling us.

And they might be doing that. I don't know.

We don't really know our neighbours.

Do you introduce yourself when you move in? I'm sure some people do.

"Hi! We've just moved in next door! Don't worry, we don't own any obnoxious dogs. Can I borrow a cup of sugar?"

No-one needs a cup of sugar. It's an unorthodox quantity in this country. You might as well ask for a gravy-boat of batteries. Then slip and stumble back to your own flat, to feed your increasingly obnoxious wolves.

We've bumped into various people, of course. Every now and then. When we're checking the post, or going to work. We'll see someone in the building. And imagine they're supposed to be there. I'm no good at spotting burglars unless they're concealing a candelabra under their bonnet.

But there's not much to say.

"Hello. We live here too. Can I have a look at the layout of your living room to see if it's the same as ours? Remember when the hall light was broken for a while? I nearly went spare. Why are you fumbling for your keys? You don't need keys. Here, take my axe. Yes it is an axe. Of a sort."

There's not much to say.

There's the blonde girl with the nose-piercing opposite. We held on to a package for her once, and she returned the favour. Didn't get much info out of her, though. I think she's a spy.

She probably has a tiny microfilm in her nose-stud and is studying us for a magazine article (which she writes to supplement her spying career) and she probably goes wake boarding and makes her own guacamole.

But we don't know her.

There's an American girl who's moved in downstairs. Describing her that way is probably patronising. She could be Canadian for all I know.

A couple of weeks ago, she had a loud party on a Thursday night.

A Thursday night!

It went on too late. I fantasized about rappelling down the side of the building, smashing the window and launching into an eloquent oration on the importance of restraint. This is Britain after all, I'd shout between machine-gunnings.

But I didn't. And the loud party disaster has not been repeated. I'll keep an ear out for any trouble.

I wonder if anyone in our building reads this blog. I think the chances are astronomically small.

I think there's more chance of a former Saved By The Bell cast member reading this than someone in our building.

And there's more chance of a former Saved By The Bell cast member living in our building than there is of anyone reading this.

I wonder if Lark Voorhies is in the building. Reading this. She could be the loud American girl.

I think everyone should put some kind of visual representation of their personality on the door to their flat. That way, I could walk down the corridor and see at who our neighbours truly are. If I saw a display I liked, I could knock on the door and ask to borrow a jug of cougars.

If their display included a photo of the flat's occupants at a zoo, or a Keats poem, or a signed photo of John Thaw on the door, I'd know they were my kind of people.

If their display included a photo of the flat's occupants at an abattoir, or a Ronan Keating poem, or the decaying corpse of John Thaw on the door, I'd know that they should be avoided at all costs.

On our door, I think we'd just have a large question mark. It would either make our neighbours think we were enigmatic and fascinating, or that they were living next to the Riddler.

Maybe we're living next to the Riddler...

I did see Batman in the corridor once, bound and gagged. I asked him for a cup of sugar, and he had one in his utility belt. But he's from Gotham. That's how they do things over there.

Maybe the loud American girl was Wonder Woman. Or some other superheroine whose powers involve being shrill into the early hours.

We could have a building full of interesting characters.

We don't really know our neighbours.

The human race could be full of interesting characters too.

But we've got plenty of sugar already.

I'd better check the door is locked...