Good grief. Came home to a note under the door from the French girl opposite, asking if I can call ‘whenever I can’.
It is perfectly obvious what is happening here.
The owner of the house next door that’s identical to mine – who also took over the management commitee in a coup some months back – has renovated it, and I let her workmen park in my driveway. As a thankyou, she gave me a pot plant.
Across the ‘street’ (the word ‘street’ is used loosely given this is a private mews) live Frank the mad architect and the French girl (in separate houses) both of whom are, er, ambivalent about the woman next door to me.
Now, I don’t show much interest in the denizens of the Mews, unless you count the eight-year olds still in their summer dresses, playing while the wind ^D ^D ^D ^D ^D ^D ^D ^D ^D ^D ^D ^D ^D ^D ^D ^D however, the neighbours opposite (who are friends) obviously saw the pot plant (which, given my little townhouse has precisely 3.5 square metres of outdoor space of its own, is clearly visible from the three-storey houses across. It’s hard to hide an outdoor pot plant when your outdoors is the size of a sofa). So they think I’m going ‘across to the other side’ and they need to regain my support.
(I don’t do much at management committee meetings; in fact I do pretty much anything to avoid contact with people who live close by. Hey, it’s for their benefit too.)
So, in answer to V*****e to Chris: “Would it be possible to give me a call whenever you can, I would like to talk to you about the Mews” –
Chris to V*****e: NO!
Of course, she may just want to have sex, in which case everything’s fine.