Two parents and a couple of little girls under four who have strange Irish spelling of their names so when I try to write them a card at Christmas it’s really awkward because I string together a strange series of letters hoping for the best.
The Irish do strange things to a name like Mabhdh, which is Maeve. Or Caohime, which is a sneeze I think.
No offence to my Gaelic friends, I’m a huge fan of Jameson’s Irish Whiskey and I’m a sucker for the Irish accent, but I’m a total heathen when it comes to Gaelic.
My neighbours mostly keep to themselves and are not rowdy.
They have an inordinate amount of washing which my kitchen windows overlook, but I’m down with a well stocked Hills Hoist and I have much to learn from their hanging and folding at the line method.
We chat sometimes over the fence, but not in the “I don’t want to go outside because I have to speak to them” way. Mostly we just say “hi”, comment on the weather and go about our day. That’s perfect for me.
They stay home a lot.
When my marriage ended I told them in what was the longest chat over the fence we’d ever had. I felt safer with them knowing I was alone and I thought they’d keep an eye out on my family and I.
They seem like GOOD people.
If I needed a cup of sugar, I reckon they’d have a spare. If I do a heap of baking for work, I’ll lob a few muffins over the fence.
We’re perfectly amicable and we parrallel-habitate beautifully, without being friends as such.
Here is where is gets interesting.
They really stay home a lot. Which is fine. I think he might work from home or be the stay at home dad because she goes out more than anyone else in the home.
They rarely make a sound before late afternoon.
In fact, I often feel a bit guilty when my kids are screeching around the garden at 9 am because I feel like they’re waking up the silent, motionless neighbours.
That said, their house appears to come to life after dark. Like, really, really after dark.
Usually, as I brush my Nana teeth and climb into my Nana bed around 9.30 or 10 o’clock I can hear the kids going nuts and running around like maniacs.
Now, I’m not judging their parenting. I don’t really care what their kids’ sleeping patterns are. I may at one time or another secretly have thought their children are up way too late, but shit, each to their own.
What I do judge them for, however, is that their kids often wake me from my sleep.
Two nights ago, I was awoken by the whole family out in the front yard watering the garden and having some kind of animated discussion. The kids were running around, squealing and laughing and having a wonderful time.
I awoke all confusticated and at first I wondered if the kid noises were my kids?
The neighbour’s kids. Having a play in the yard at 1 o’clock in the goddamned morning
11pm to midnight is standard for them and it is daylight savings, but really? On a weeknight, their kids party harder than me on a big night out.
My mama is here at the moment and in the morning she was like – What on earth was going on next door in the middle of the night?
And I broke it down –
They sleep all day
They’re up all night
They’re don’t go out much
They hang out in the garden at night regularly
They wash their doonas a lot (not sure if it’s related, but it could be)
And Sherlock Mama came to a hefty conclusion – obviously, they’re vampires.
I’m ok with freaks and weirdos. In fact, I regularly attract them. Some of my favorite peoples are freaks and weirdos simultaneously.
I would not be surprised in the slightest if Mama was 100% bang on the money with her vampire theory. In fact, I now look at them in a whole new light and rather than judging them for living in a parallel time zone a grey pallor, they’re suddenly much more exotic.
I must say I’m a little bummed, though because although I understand through my extensive research from watching the very accurate vampire documentary, True Blood, that anyone can be turned, I do wish there was a hint more Eric Northman going on at the Hills Hoist as I gaze out the window doing my washing up.
What are your neighbours like?
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