Hot Gossip and Hot Dogs

I don't consider myself a bad neighbour... I say hello and comment on the weather when I see people in my street, don’t park in front of anyone’s gates, and am happy to take in parcels if people are out. But as my mother would say I do tend to ‘keep myself to myself’.

On my way to work the other morning, I popped into the village shop and behind me in the queue was someone who lives a couple of doors away - we only know her as the ‘blonde lady’ (she’s got very blonde hair), So I said hello and we exchanged neighbourly pleasantries about the weather ‘cold isn’t it’ ‘like the middle of winter’. Having paid for my paper and mints I left and was about to drive away when the Blonde Lady came out and knocked on my car window.

I opened the window – wondering if I was going to get invited to some neighbourly do and already thinking of excuses as to why I couldn’t go – but she started by saying “I’ve left him you know, I didn’t know whether you’d have heard.” ‘Him’ I took to be the man we nicknamed Mr Overalls (as he’s always wearing decorating overalls – our nicknames for neighbours really don’t stretch the imagination!) who lives - or did do - with Blonde Lady.

“No,” I said, “I didn’t know. Gosh, I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Oh, don’t be,” she says, “it’s the best thing I’ve done, he’s not right – he's not normal”

At this point, I was torn between wanting to know what’s supposedly wrong with Mr Overalls and what constitutes ‘not normal’ in my street – and thinking, noooo, I really don’t want to know the intimate details of the breakdown of a strangers relationship. The latter thought won the day – plus I was late for work, so after asking whether she’s still living in the village (yes she is), off I went.

But it did make me wonder what else am I missing out on in my street, what gossip or goings on - there could be wild parties, wife swapping, or drug fuelled scrabble nights going on right under my nose. hmmm I think its best to keep on ‘keeping myself to myself.’

A couple of days later there was a dog show in the village. Not one where you see pedigree pooches preened and prancing about but a proper village dog show with classes for dogs with things like the ‘waggiest tail’ (won by the spaniel puppy) and ‘saddest eyes’ (the Bassett Hound was pipped at the post by the whippet). So me, Son and the Mutt went - we made some new doggy friends and saw ones we hadn’t seen for ages, and caught up with the news – Daisy the rottweiler is only just back on the streets after breaking her leg and having to stay in for three months, Chelsea the sheltie tore a nail out jumping around last time we were out with her, and the man that doesn't bother putting his dog on a lead even though it fights with all the others hasn’t been seen for a while by anyone. And even though we didn’t enter the Mutt we will next year (he is bound to win the ‘dog that most thinks he’s a human and that cats really like him’ class).

I felt better when I came home, thinking that while I may not know the ins and outs of my neighbours private lives, we do have our doggy friends in the village. So though I may not be a complete local social butterfly I’m not such an unsociable hermit crab as I thought I was.