Neighbours...

I had great plans for yesterday afternoon.  These involved a deckchair, some factor 20, my latest copy of Grazia and a cup of tea.  Did I manage any of these yesterday?  Did I 'eck as like...

Instead, I was a good neighbour.  On the way back from a short pre-deckchair walk with the fuzzballs, one of my neighbours was sweeping his drive.  I stopped to talk because I knew he'd had a tough time recently, and as I left his drive half an hour later, another neighbour was waiting at the end of my drive.  She really needed a cuddle and a cuppa, so having supplied both, we chatted all afternoon and put the world to rights.  And then the husband came home.

There was a close call as he dropped his trousers in the hall, and I was relieved that my neighbour had left her glasses at home (not as glad as she would have been had she seen him scuttle across the hall and up the stairs in his pants) and once suitably attired, he joined the two of us for a bit more chat.  

Well it turned out that the husband frequented all of the local pubs which my neighbour had worked in when she was a blonde bombshell of a twenty five year old.  The husband would have been seventeen or so then, so probably easily impressed by an ample bosom, and I waited nervously while they played tennis with questions such as 'Do you remember that Spanish looking guy?' and, 'Whatever happened to that woman who lost her arm and married the chap who got caught in bed with another man?' (He worked the cruise ships apparently).

Anyway, they took a rather ramshackle amble down Memory Lane, and it was a much happier neighbour who left my house at 6.15.

Although being a good neighbour makes you feel all warm and fuzzy, I shall be locking the gate this afternoon and donning my shorts to make the most of the afternoon heatwave.

I may even get the dogs to patrol the drive...



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