neighbourly, me?

Plinky asked: Are you a good neighbour?

I’m ashamed to say that since I moved from the suburbs to the city, I have to put myself in the ‘bad neighbour’ category. That may be because I live in an apartment building. I only know the name of one person who lives on my floor and short of knocking on everyone’s doors, the only opportunity I have to bump into a neighbour is if we happen to catch a lift together.

This is in stark contrast to when I lived in the suburbs. I knew both my neighbours well, I knew where they worked and even what train they caught in the morning. We all got on well and were quite happy to have a conversation over the fence in our dressing gown clasping a cup of tea.

Because we got on well doing neighbourly things were commonplace. Giving up one’s time to collect the mail while someone was on holiday, or help out with lifting a bulky item was done willingly and swiftly.

The nicest thing I remember on my first day in my new house was my elderly neighbour deliverying a plate of louise slice to my back door. The gesture was appreciated and afternoon tea was all the better for it.

But for now my neighbours are nameless and faceless which is a bit shameful really.

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