My head

Living next door to True Blood

October 8, 2015

true bloodMy neighbours are lovely.

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?

No.

A movie?

No.

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.

living next door to true blood

 

What are your neighbours like?

 

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2 Comments

  • Reply Gary Lum October 8, 2015 at 9:07 am

    They may be devotees of the Marshall protocol that suggests vitamin D is a cause of ill health and so they avoid sunlight. I’m assuming they have skin pigment and don’t avoid the day because of albinism.
    I live in an apartment and my neighbours upstairs are noisy, they are oriental and so there is always the smell of cooking and the sound of a cleaver chopping.

  • Reply Momma G October 8, 2015 at 9:23 am

    We had beautiful directly-next-door neighbours. This year, S moved out as her jerk-off landlords basically tossed her out without any notice (she’s since found a much better place, cheaper rent, and awesome landlords), and the jerk-offs sold the house at a terribly inflated price during those short few weeks when everything in Sydney sold for 30% more than they should have. We loved having S next door – she is a good friend, our occasional babysitter and also our family day care educator. The other lady, dear darling R, passed away 2 months ago, and her estate is putting her house on the market. We live in a small cluster of villas, so we are hoping for good neighbours to move in.

    Speaking of our villas, we have the most awful neighbour at the front of the strata plan. She hates everyone, and will happily sit on her porch yelling out to any and all passers-by that we hate her and she is the victim. She took us (the strata plan) to NCAT to try and sue for a bunch of stuff, which cost a bomb and ended up seeing our strata levies jacked up from $400 a quarter to around $900 a quarter. I wanted to be kind to her, at least polite and civilised, but she saw to it that I would eventually find out she had blabbed to EVERYONE that I was a mail order bride, bought from an unknown Asian country on a 24-hour trip taken by J Daddy some years ago. After suffering through a year of NCAT hell, NCAT finally told her to pull her head in and stop harassing the neighbours, and she’s left us alone. I am sure she knows I know what she’s said, because she ducks her head when I walk past her to go to the mailbox.

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