My engagement with life has been somewhat suboptimal this year.  That old devil called depression has left me feeling disinclined to do stuff and, while people around me seem to be getting on with things, I have been gripped by a state of pfft, still waiting for the summer, still waiting to feel better.  Sometimes you can wait too long and sometimes you just need a little bit of help to get you back to being you, whatever that might be, whoever that might be.

During the summer months, particularly the school holidays, the relative freedom from work of my immediate neighbours taunts me.  Unleashed for six weeks, they are able to enjoy their outdoor space as much as the weather allows; for them, any day when it doesn’t rain means that they move their existence to their extended garden, with added deck that overhangs the river.  In addition to the near constant procession of them running from house to outdoor living area (with accompanying slamming of their back door, and two gates every thirty seconds) they have now added a pool table to the deck.  When the door and gates aren’t slamming, the balls are.

But they are doing what normal people do: enjoying life; living it to the full.  I can’t resent them for this.  I just wish they’d be a bit quieter and decide whether they’re coming or going.  And stop slamming that fucking gate and door. And yes, I know my dog is an annoying little fucker, but if you were at work all day like most folk, you wouldn’t hear him.

Despite being consumed by ennui, I did manage to make the most of my own bit of private outdoor space this year.  My little yard was jetwashed to within an inch of its life and is adorned with flowers that cheer me when I open my blinds in the morning and when I return home from work as the late afternoon sun still fills the far corner.  It’s a nice little spot and I like to spend as much time out there as possible, Radio 2 filtering through from the open door into my kitchen.  In contrast, my other outdoor spaces have been neglected.  I decided to leave the patch this year in an almost deliberate attempt to attract hedgehogs.  It is now an overgrown mess infested with mares’ tail weed.  The area where I park my car, immediately behind my back fence has suddenly sprouted all sorts of undesirable weeds, and despite my best efforts, the paved area to the front of my house provides a constant battle against nettles and dandelions.

I am unwittingly doing my best to provide affordable housing to the area by bringing property values down.

But, you know, I’m on my own and I work full time (unlike SOME I could mention).  Just because I’m on my own, it doesn’t mean my kitchen and bathroom get any less messy than those of a family of four.  My home seems to generate more dust than any other I’ve encountered.  And, you know what?  I’m tired, so bloody tired.

So, do a few weeds outside my back gate bother me?  Well, yes actually, they do, but not as much as not having a clean kitchen or bathroom, or not having clean clothes or bedding, or having everything covered in dust, or not having an evening meal, or even a little dog who likes to go for nice walks down the woods.  But clearly, the weeds outside my back gate were bothering my neighbours because I returned home from a few days away last weekend to find them gone.

Now, I know I shouldn’t get irritated by this, but I am.  Along with the slamming back door and gates, the constant in and out to the car and them filling up MY paper recycling bin to the point that I can’t fit any of my stuff in (because they got rid of their own so they could park their two cars), this has wound me up.  Maybe to return the favour, I should go and fix their gate so that it doesn’t slam.  Or stick a note on their windscreen that says “Have you remembered everything from your car so you don’t have to keep coming and going for stuff four times an hour?”

I think though, in return for this act of kindness, I’m going to phone the council and request a new paper recycling bin for them.  I’m sure they’ll be most pleased.