Saturday, March 3, 2007

Love Thy Neighbour

As a sweepingly broad general rule, some Brits don't 'give compliments,' rather they 'do backhanders.'

I whiz past my neighbour in my car, just within the speed limit, busy with my list of very important 'things to do.' [translation = errands.] [Why isn’t it ‘beneath’ the speed limit?]

I see him almost every day, out with his great grandson. He is hunkered down next to the child in a stroller. He chats, points out cars, traffic, items of interest. The great grandchild is a small boy, little language, as he’s under one year old. Probably doesn’t understand a word he’s on about, with his gruff voice and rough exterior.

Great grandma is still at home, in a half built house and a garden, that still looks like a building site, which of course it is. The property [translation = lot] will remain in this state forever, if my neighbour, who is also the building contractor, doesn’t knuckle down and start putting brick on brick, or rather sheet rock on the frame. Of all the many things that this man should be doing, he is out for his morning constitutional with this child, whittering away as if there were all the time in the world.

Does he think this baby will remember him when he’s pushing up the daisies? As far as I know, few children remember much before the age of 5. Yet there he is, every day, wasting valuable moments of his ever shortening life span in this pointless pursuit.

There again, if that man had four children, and then adopted six more, that means that he has a pretty big family, amongst other things. I'm sure that there will be lots of people around to pass on the word in years to come.

There again, it wouldn't hurt to wander across one day, when the small chap is a bigger, just to share a little reminder? It would be a neighbourly thing to do.

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