#1 Miss Balcony Nudist: When we lived in a block of flats we could shout to neighbours across the street, though we rarely did, contenting ourselves with “Ooo, look, No. 14E has become a right fat bastard since he got married”, etc.; but there was a young woman who I twice saw come naked onto her balcony to water her plants. Nothing more. Nothing more was required. They were perfect, golden moments that needed no further complication or adornment.
#2 Mrs Next Door: On one side we have the dishevelled geezer and his dachshunds, and on t’other we have a Hungarian lady and her husband. In my experience Hungarian women fall into three categories: A) Hard-faced bitches harbouring oceans of negativity and delusions of racial superiority, B) Modern girls with candid smiles suggesting an almost Scandinavian “availability”, or C) Nice, civilised women with admirable dress sense. Despite a surprising colourful vocabulary (says Mrs Dilo) for a demure middle-aged lady, #2 is a C (but with perhaps just a hint of B).
#3 Her Upstairs: When I lived in Tottenham the woman in the flat upstairs was a large West Indian lady with whom I got on well. But one abiding memory of my seven years there is of hearing her noisily going to toilet above me. Luckily I’m not squeamish about that sort of thing - and neither did it float my boat, before you ask, cheeky - but it shows that in some respects one knows one’s neighbour more intimately than does even her boyfriend or her proctologist.
#4 Washing Line Lady: The Archetypal Fanciable Neighbour – for is there anything more suggestive than washing?? Wet washing, fresh-smelling, limp and moist to the touch; or dry washing, smooth, crisp and new, an artist’s virgin canvass awaiting the imprint of a breast or a buttock to which to enspouse and to cleave.
#5 Kylie Minogue: Owing to my lack of interest in TV soap operas I only ever saw Kylie on Top Of The Pops, possibly. Call me old fashioned but I got the feeling that if you went round her house to borrow a cup of sugar or a couple AA batteries she’d lend you them, and with a smile that suggested “that’s when good neighbours become good friends”.
To end, of course, and because I'm feeling in a raunchy mood, another chance to covet that Neighbours' ass:
I'd like to think you did empathise with that West Indian lady having a dump, and shared the relief she must have felt in emptying her bowels. It's nothing to be ashamed of and would do you credit.
ReplyDeleteI never hang my knickers on the line it would get the neighbours far too excited.
ReplyDeleteSx
Quite saucy, Gadj, and with potential to tip over into the outright raunchy. Can we look forward to the next installment, Confessions of a Naughty Neighbour, with you starring as Romania's answer to Robin Askwith? All you need is a cheeky leer.
ReplyDeleteAye, thanks for the Kylie, warms the cockles, floats the boat, revs the engine.
ReplyDeleteYour story of the upstairs lady at her toilet reminds me of a self-amusing incident from my own past. As a student I lived in the dingiest mouldiest basement flat in the western world, and above lived an old man who, I suspected, was going mad. One day I was sitting on the bog and I heard sounds from above of the old man on his bog. He was talking to himself.
"Oh God", I said aloud to myself. "He's talking aloud to himself now."
We had a female neighbour who lived opposite us in Bracknell and would regularly ponce about in the nude, lights on and curtains open.
ReplyDeleteAnd by curtains, I mean curtains.
Unfortunately, she was (and I presume, still is) at the opposite end of the spectrum to Ms Minogue in terms of bottom aesthetics.
Didn't stop me looking though, and I wonder what this says about me.
Did you actually have a washing line neighbour Gadj or is she living in your sexy fantasy cupboard along with thoughts of the cats nipples?
ReplyDeleteI'm the bonfire neighbour - this is fine by the people living close by but gets the bloke living miles away really pissed off!
Bananas, it is indeed nothing to be ashamed of, perfectly natural, and I breathed a big synchronised sigh with her every time!
ReplyDeleteScarley, but you should, it would lend you a certain mystique (though I'm sure you don't need such a thing).
Gaw, Confessions of an English Gentleman could be the title here as most still believe that we're all gents and live in places like on Midsummer Murders. And I'd have to say Nigel Havers rather than Robin Askwith ;-)
Brit, she's a poppet isn't she. Ooerr, and I bet the bloke upstairs was saying (aloud to himself): "strewth, that nutter downstairs, not only is he happy to live in the dingiest mouldiest basement flat in the western world but now he's talking to himself!"
The Jules, a flash of nudity is a flash of nudity whatever shape and form it comes in, it just says you are a human as the rest of us!
Lulu, washing line neighbours abound, whatever part of the world one lives in (though perhaps not in the poshest parts), and always inspire this reaction in me. The cats nipples are returning to normal size now, which is maybe what required me to write this particular post ;-) I'm a bonfire fan too - keep up the good work.
On the great Kylie vs Danii debate, I've always been publicly Kylie while at heart I know I'm a Daniiman. The older you get, the less inclined you are to even pretend anymore.
ReplyDeleteSweary and predatory is how I remember Hungarian girls, sort of Welsh but educated. And now they're in the European Union. Scary.
We have neighbors who shower with the curtains open, so every now and again we get a good view of both his and hers. It wasn't so great for one of us when she was pregnant, but what can you do...?
ReplyDeleteI had been about to volunteer to be your neighbour. But clearly, you want to borrow more than a cup of sugar. Unless that has now acquired a different meaning unknown in Derbyshire parts.
ReplyDeleteBoyo, I barely know who Danii Minogue is (and frankly I feel it's no loss and I'm constitutionally unable to fancy anybody who favours sensationalist spelling). I too haven't got the energy to pretend any more, hence this blog.
ReplyDeleteAna, they shower with both the shower curtains and the window curtains open?? They're clearly trying too hard, and should be relocated to, err, I dunno, the Eurotrash studios.
Madame, I'd love you as a neighbour, please make this happen!! And don't worry, this is just fantasy; and anyway, at least I've got the courage to express what other chaps only dare to think ;-)
Talking to yourself is fine. But answering yourself indicates a problem.
ReplyDeleteInky: a workmate I used to share an office with tells me that the wierdest thing I did regularly was not just to talk to myself but also get into heated arguments with myself when trying to sort out problems.
ReplyDeleteDon't worry Kev, you're not the only one. Nobody woould sit with me in my office - they hid me behind the filing shelves. It was the muttering and constant swearing that put people off. And perhaps the yodelling?
ReplyDeleteSx
Gadj - I saw Top Gear this evening - they were in Romania! What an amazing road around the mountains!
Inky, and then disagreeing with yourself indicates an even greater one :-)
ReplyDeleteKevin, ah, but to give it a positive spin maybe you were entering into what philosophers call a "dialectic".
Scarley, they were?? Top Gear is huge here (as indeed it seems to be everywhere else). It might have been the Transfăgărăşan highway - very pretty, but wasted on that lot.
Can you watch BBC iPlayer?
ReplyDeleteHere is the Romanian episode.
Sx
Scarley, sadly I can't watch BBC iPlayer over here :-( I'll have to simply stage my own Top Gear episide when the snow comes and we go out sledging on bin liners :-)
ReplyDeleteCome on Gadj, own up. You wrote that entire post just so you could use that last-line pun, didn't you?
ReplyDeleteDot, I did I did, you're absolutely right! (And it wasn't even original - I'm Sorry I haven't A Clue circa 2002).
ReplyDelete