My neighbour actually spoke to me today. It was the fault of bins. We share an alley way for them. It’s an unwritten code that if you share an alley way then you must collect each others bins from out front. My neighbour is always there first. I can’t decide if she’s making a point by doing so. No sooner than the T-Rex-truck has groaned its way round the corner she is there, grasping my green bin by the handles and dragging it up my back passage, then hers, the same. She fumbles noisily round the corner to her gate and in latches the divide between our lands before depositing her bin in its rightful, precise place.

I beat her to it today. We left the front door at the same time. The unknowing bin man (yes, man, it was, definitely) had left me a present of perfectly positioned bins right at my doorstep. I casually grasped the handles of her faded fake ivy covered receptacle and smiled with much friendly force. She smiled back, as much as her feeble face would allow, and walked towards me in the same brown padded coat she’d had on since I moved here 5 years ago. Then she spoke! Yes, spoke! More than some form of cursory hello too!

“Have they taken it?”
I check. “Yep, all gone”
“Oh good.” She genuinely appeared relieved as she looked at me through her yellowing Reactions(TM) lenses, and said, “I trimmed my bush at the weekend and I was worried they wouldn’t take it.”



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