I couldn’t help noticing while lugging my shopping home the other day that the man who lives opposite was sitting on the roof of his house. Not the roof right at the top, the roof of the porch over the front door, but the roof, nonetheless.
Me, wittily: Don’t do it!
Neighbour: I just locked myself out and I climbed up here to get in through the upstairs window, but the window is locked, and now I can’t get down, and I left my phone in the car so I can’t call my mate who has my spare keys…
Me: Ha ha! That’s brilliant! Can I take a photo and put it on the street Facebook page?
Me: Oh. Would you like a ladder so you can get down?
Him: Yes, that would be very helpful thank you.
The stepladder was not as high as I thought, so actually that didn’t help. What did help was ringing the doorbell of the woman who lives next door to the man on the roof, and she let him into her upstairs window, so at least he got off the roof. Then he broke in through his own front door in time-honoured style with a credit card.
It was a week of getting to help neighbours out with minimal effort on my part. In one weekend three different neighbours came to the door asking to borrow this or have that or did I know where so and so lived, and I can smugly say I was able to come up with the goods every time. But my favourite neighbourly visitation came on a Wednesday afternoon.
‘Postman’s looking short today,’ I thought as I went to answer the door.
It wasn’t the postman. It was a boy holding a football and he actually said, no really, he actually said this: ‘Can your kids come out and play?’
I suppressed the urge to take a photo and/or video and put it on the Facebook page. Sadly I also had to tell them that both girls were out but please, please come back another time.