EDitorial ± 12-Apr-2008
Love Thy Neighbour
Windows, we all know, can be a pain. Not so much the blue screen of death this time, more the dropped pane of doom. Car's passenger side electric window conked out last weekend and, despite an entry on my list saying "fix car window", has yet to be sorted. For shame.
Out this pm, alas, the glass glissandoed gently down until it had disappeared completely into the door. How low can you go? Low enough to be out of reach of the pliers. If we'd have listened hard, we might have heard a tiny tinny voice shrieking "I'm falling!"
Until the garage boys can do their stuff next week, not much option but to paint over the cracks. Plastic sheeting, scissors, masking tape, here we go. Then, from nowhere, a phone call: would I like to use a sheet of thin ply? 'Tis the street's very own Professor Branestawm on the line. In a flash, he's outside brandishing tools and materials.
If you find the time please come and stay a while
In my beautiful neighbourhood
— Space, Neighbourhood
We draw an outline and he's off with the saw, the noise of which attracts one of the Professor's gang, one of those people from the "odd" side of the street. He starts chipping in too, sagely advising the deployment of a bin liner. Heath, this is Robinson. Robinson, this is Heath.
Before you can say Ricky Butcher, out comes the Prof's wife and we're starring in our very own Eastenders extended trailer. Number 21 finds a trestle table, number 30 brings out a massive plate of chicken drumsticks while number 9 wires up overhead lights. How number 17 rolled out that upright piano, I really couldn't say. Stoppers of crime and full to brimming with the Dunkirk spirit, them's the neighbours, bless 'em.