Taking Rocky for his morning walk we passed an ederly woman pushing a three-wheeled walking frame. "You won't be seeing him anymore. He died. We had the funeral last Friday. It's better that he was put out of his misery". So matter of fact. Apparently devoid of emotion. Her husband and she would make such a fuss of Rocky each time our paths crossed. Then one day she said "I had to put him in a home. He was going up here" she tapped her head. I saw him being pushed in a wheelchair by her a few times, and he did appear to be physically and mentally deteriorating before my eyes. Nearly every day she would visit him in the nursing home. I don't even know their names, or how long they had been married. I only knew where they lived because Rocky had a habit of jumping over their garden wall and having a sniff in their garden. This is how we first met. Near neighbours and yet strangers. We go about our separate lives.
Not where I live, everybody makes it their business to know YOUR business.
ReplyDeleteI must admit that living here is a turn up for the books, when I lived in London I had anonymity. In certain parts of Lincoln one suffers this also but on Monks Road it is has its own ethos. People just open up to you, the local shop is a great meeting place. This area is regarded by many as an area of comparitively high crime compared to other parts of Lincoln, but if you stand out on the street in the summer people WILL talk to you as they pass by. The college is just down the road and so is the Nomad homeless shelter. Some folk may appear "a bit dodgey" at face value but when you break down the initial barriers you find that they are lovely blokes/gurls despite being drug users/homeless/cripples/head cases etc.
This must be one of the best cities in the UK to live in. (as long as you lock the doors and windows at night)