I know my neighbours about as well as most people in London do, if not slightly better. I know the names of all of my immediate neighbours and I chat with them and the people in the other flats in the block whenever we happen to bump into each other.
Some of them know that I’m training as an actuary from when we had the obligatory “and what is it that you do?” conversation. Some of them will have seen copies of “The Actuary” magazine being delivered each month. None of them, as far as I’m aware, know that I design knitwear in my spare time.
Which makes me wonder what they must be thinking when, like this morning, I carry my mannequin, camera, and other bits and pieces down three flights of stairs, into the communal back garden and start photographing knitting.
Most of the time I’m out early enough that I just convince myself everyone else will still be in bed and not looking out their windows wondering what on earth I’m up to. Every so often though, I turn around and realise just how many windows overlook our garden:
Oh well, someone has to be the crazy neighbour, right?