Gary has been busy digging bricks out of his drive this week and putting them on the patch of dirt I like to call my garden. I moved said bricks on to the pile of builders’ rubble at the end of the street where they’re building a new cyclepath. I think Gary was eyeing up the stack of kerb stones to build himself a nice new flower garden, although to be fair, he did actually weed his garden the other day and plant some new shrubs, which is more than I’ve ever done.

Witchypoo has stopped asking me to cut down my conifer so that she can spy on the neighbours opposite. She seems to have stopped speaking to me altogether, which is just fine. I’m sure she’ll give the new owner plenty of earbashing. How delighted she’ll be to have someone new to gossip about! Big Mad Beulla will also be around for a spot of proselytising, to try coaxing him along to The Salvation Army for a slice of cake and a sing-song.

Did I write about the weird phone call I had the other day? Apparently the nice shiny blue jeep which the girl two doors down backed into another neighbour’s porch last year isn’t paid for. The finance company would very much like to know what happened to it and wondered if I might have seen it from my window. Alas, I hadn’t. Same caller also mentioned that one neighbour had been out on the street threatening another with a samurai sword. Nice.

It appears that the police visit this tranquil looking close far more often than I’ve ever realised. Actually, they did a drive-by the other morning at 5.30am, no doubt looking for the blue jeep. I was about to go to work when a patrol car slunk quietly down to the end of the road, turned round in slow motion and slunk out again. Fortunately I’d already dumped Gary’s bricks over the hedge just thirty seconds before. I don’t think they saw the guilty look on my face.

No, I won’t miss them. Well, maybe the bricks. But not the neighbours.