Thanks God my neighbours are the kind to ask me out for a drink when they go to the pub, and the kids in the 'hood guard my cars, because they think they are "kewl".
Next door neighbour left is a builder and thus has a permaaccumulation of builder's vans parked in his front garden, arse ends obstructing half of the pavement.
Next door neighbour right is a coach driver, who couldn't care less about what I'm doing, paints my garden gate columns white when he does his, because he knows
I'll give him a Gewürztraminer as a reward.
Then there are those Russians one house down. Well, they say they are from Belarus, but for me, it's all Soviet Union.
Russki Alex and I had an insane amount of Vodka last NYE, and I won, because it's in my Austrian genes.
Towards the back to my garden, English people live, and they never missed a beat, when we called PARTY.
Alas, they have this nasty habit of smoking my house when they destroy their food in their garden on one of those transcontinental barbecues, despite they have a fitted kitchen,
a phenomenon that will never cease to amaze me. I book it under "all English people have an eating disorder" and that's it.
Should that fucking council (Stockport, MP is that Anne Coffin woman, fucking Lay Poor) even think about to destroy this harmony, I guarantee you, that there will be fierce