Our Towers has been our home for almost a week.  We’re strangely settled (even if it does feel like we are staying in an Air BnB that we’ll have to leave soon).  We’re mostly unpacked (other than the rather large number of boxes we’ve hidden in the storage under the house and I’m ignoring the fact that at least eight cupboards pour their contents over you when you open the door because I’ve just pushed stuff in there until no more will fit).  But it’s looking quite good really.  We look almost like grown ups.

Excitingly, we have neighbours that talk to us (they didn’t in the last house, mainly because being a coach house we were literally in the middle of the road so didn’t tend to bump into anyone).  One of the Our Towers neighbours came over on Monday night when I waved through the window.  It was slightly weird:  I opened the front door and stood in the porch listening to him (he seemed lovely but there was no chance of getting a word in edge ways) and suddenly remembered that the front door locks itself when it shuts and I didn’t have a key.  Not wanting to distract from him monologue, I shook one of my slippers off behind me and positioned it so that the door couldn’t slam shut – all without breaking eye contact.  And that was the point that Norman decided he would quite like to investigate outside – something that is at least four weeks away to be sure that he knows this is definitely home and remembers to come back here.  So as he shot out the door I swore loudly and just managed to catch him before he completed his bid for freedom and ushered him back inside.  Chatty neighbour didn’t seem to notice – or in fact pause for breath – and I wondered if I could just walk through the house and grab the keys while he continued talking but thought that was a bit rude.  So instead (all while maintaining eye contact as this was becoming a bit of a game now), I maneuvered my foot back into the slipper behind me, located the window thingy on the far side of the porch that I’d used to wash the windows with and popped the pole of that in the door instead.  Success!  The door wouldn’t slam shut, the Norman couldn’t escape through a smaller gap, both my feet were warm and….chatty neighbour was still chatting.

So actually, either we have the chattiest neighbour in the world who was so enthralled by himself that he didn’t notice my need to push things through the door gap, my swearing, an overexcited Norman or my balancing on one leg, or we have the politest neighbour in the world who noticed every little thing and will just never acknowledge us or my slipper tricks, ever again.  I’m not entirely sure which I’m hoping for.  But I think maybe I should introduce myself to the neighbour on the other side so there is no chance of a repeat performance; I like the idea of friendly neighbours – I don’t want to scare both sides off :o)