OH DEAR LORD, NO!

There I was, the other night, idly sitting alone in my house, waiting for the telephone call asking me to meet the beloved off the late train after her evening’s shopping, when I heard the soft thud of the letterbox telling me that someone had just posted something through it.

“Damn!” I thought to myself, realising that this probably meant that I’d have to fork out myself and pay the window cleaner this week, losing this round in the little “lottery of life” game our household plays amongst itself.

Nevertheless I strolled downstairs to the back door and found a folded up piece of A4 paper which had been posted through.

“Oh no!” I thought “I’ve been found out!”

Now what might have been found out, I’m not entirely sure, but I tend to think that sort of thing out of habit anyway whenever something unexpected happens. I find that it kind of saves time and prepares my mind for whatever horrors or disputes are about to unfold. At least, I usually think, whatever it really is can’t be any worse than I can imagine it could be.

I unfolded the paper.

It was worse than I imagined.

After years of tolerating each other, trying to get along but, basically, leaving ourselves to ourselves, somebody along our remote, isolated little terrace has had what can only be described as “An Idea…”

Not only that, they honestly seem to believe that it’s a “good” idea, which, of course, perhaps it is. It’s hard for me to judge.

There have been conversations occuring and somebody has decided that they really would like to get to know their neighbours better, and the full horror of this is going to manifest itself as a “Terrace Jubilee Party” if they have their way. “A few barbeques on the go, a few drinks and a bit of socialising…” all of which, they will no doubt fail to appreciate, will combine into adding up to being something approaching the absolute pinnacle of my own personal idea of hellish torment.

So what do we do now…?

Do we have to spend the entire Bank Holiday weekend hiding out in our own front room…? Do we have to book into a hotel to escape for the duration…? Do we just go out for the day and spend the entire time wondering quite when would be the most prudent time to return…? Would this horrific notion of “fun” still be carrying on far, far beyond a time of the evening when I’d rather be tucked up in bed with a good book...? Will I instead be running the risk of being trapped in my parked car, hoping for a window of opportunity to slip past the partying throng and through my own front door, and hopefully managing to remain unnoticed by them all as I do…?

There will now follow a fortnight of trying not to catch anyone’s eye as I arrive home, or sitting indoors on whatever sunny evenings we may have, just in case someone takes the opportunity to ask us the question about our involvement directly. There will have to be a few mumbled non-committal replies, or long evenings spent wondering quite what the most effective excuse that we can come up with is likely to be. Not only that, but, when the day itself comes around, we will no doubt spend it overhearing the raucous sounds of dubious organised “fun” being had outside and feel unable to either venture outside ourselves, or be able to just choose to sit outside in our own little garden for fear of being forcibly dragged into the proceedings.

It’s going to be a nightmare.

I do, of course, recognise (of course I do) that, to a great deal of people, this would appear to be a very “nice” idea. I’m even prepared to recognise that it is, in fact, a “nice” idea. Getting to know your neighbours better and promoting a sense of community is a perfectly laudable thing to want to do. However, when it comes to it, it’s also something that I want nothing whatsoever to do with.

At least not in that way.

I’m perfectly happy to chat with people on my own terms, and I actually quite like chatting to most of the neighbours that I’ve met, but stick me into the middle of a party situation and my panic alarm will be ringing madly and they are, absolutely, likely to just never want to speak to me again and a whole row of “For Sale” signs are more than likely to then start to appear within days of this momentous event.

Watching television, later on that fateful evening, I saw, to my horror, that “Big Brother” was about to return to Channel 5, an event which I would usually pay no heed at all to. I did, however, seriously wonder, just for a moment, whether I could still apply to take part, as it seemed the perfect way to avoid both the Jubilee and the Olympics this summer. Unfortunately, I’d also miss the cricket, but I thought that it might just be worth it…

And so, some of those tiny little horrors of life continue to unfold around me, just like that innocent piece of paper. In disbelief I looked at it again, hoping that there’d been some mistake and that I’d read it wrongly and misunderstood it somehow. I even showed it to the beloved when she got home, and her horror at what seems to be unfolding was just about as bad as mine, which probably meant that I hadn’t.

We may have to move…!

That was also the moment, incidentally, when I noticed something far worse about this message from beyond our four walls - on closer inspection, the text was set in a “Comic Sans” style typeface…!

How on Earth could I possibly be involved with such an event after I had noticed that…?

(Well, when it comes to making up feeble excuses to get out of things, I have to go with whatever I can come up with...)