You Want to Be Where Everybody Knows Your Name

A rare warm day in Belfast town. The sort of day on which George Harrison might have said, here comes the sun, doo-doo-doo-doo.

Here comes me, all tooled up and raring to get at the front hedge.

And here comes Terry-or-Tony. I'm not sure, but it's one or the other. He's been living across the road for four years. I can't ask him now. It's much too late for introductions.

I'm not bothered. He probably doesn't know my name either.

"Hiya, great weather, eh? Cutting the oul' hedge, are ya?"

Oh, behave yourself, Terry-or-Tony! I'm perched on a stepladder beside a privet hedge holding a Bosch electric trimmer. I'm not about to tile the bathroom, am I?

"Yeah, giving it a bit of a tidy."

"Weren't the Northern Lights fantastic last night? People travel to Iceland to see that whole shebang, and we got them for free in Belfast! Did you see them?"

"No, I missed them."

"How could ya miss them? Sure, you only had to open your front door and look up!"

"That's where I slipped up  - I forgot to open my front door! Didn't get past step one, ha, ha!"

Please don't offer to show me pictures on your phone…

"Aw man, ya missed a treat! Here, I'll show you the pictures on my phone. Some crackers."

Ten minutes and 6,000 photos later, Terry-or-Tony saunters back across the road and I climb back onto the stepladder.

The Pharmacist

I've just fired up the Bosch again when The Pharmacist appears from around the corner. I don't know her name either. I know she's a pharmacist, as she dispensed that information in a conversation with my wife some years ago.

Dispensed, right? Thank you, you're too kind.

Bet you anything she doesn't know my name or what I do.

"Getting the garden sorted out?" she says. "You're putting the rest of us to shame!"

"Ah, now, here!" I say, the way you do when you can't think of a sensible response.

"Wasn't the aurora borealis brilliant last night?" she continues. "Did you see it?"

I take a quick look around to check that Terry-or-Tony isn't still kicking about.

"Yeah, wasn't it fantastic stuff! People go to Iceland to see that whole shebang, and we got it for free in Belfast!"

Oh, grow up! There's only so many photos of coloured sky a man can look at, and I'm already 5,997 over the limit.

She takes a step closer and lowers her voice. "Did you hear they tried to steal a motorbike from number ten's driveway last week?"

"No, I didn't hear that."

"Three men wearing masks walked up in the early hours of the morning and tried to start the thing. They were captured by the doorbell cam."

In my head, I'm seeing a giant lasso shoot out from a doorbell cam, roping three men and a Harley-Davidson together, while a disembodied voice says 'Yee-haw!'

I mutter something about kids today.

"Oh no, it wasn't kids," she says. "These were adults. The man from number ten sent me the pictures. Wait till I show you."

Are you serious?

I spend the next fifteen minutes looking at grainy footage on her phone. Fourteen minutes of nothing happening in a dark driveway, followed by one minute of three shadowy figures poking at a motorbike before running off.

"I'll let you get on," she says eventually, heading towards the shops at the bottom of the street.

The Wee Woman with the Dog

I haven't been up the ladder long when I hear a cheery, "Hello!" It's The Wee Woman with the Dog. Chats to everyone. For ages.

I'm not even sure she lives in our street, but she's always walking her Golden Retriever outside our house.

She nods in the direction of the hedge. "Making hay while the sun shines?"

No, at the minute I'm hopping on and off a stepladder while the sun shines. Very little hay being made, frankly.

"I'm feeling stupid today," she says with a grin. "Everyone's talking about the aurora borealis and how lovely it was. I forgot all about it! Did you see it?"

I glance around to make sure The Pharmacist isn't on her way back yet.

"No, I missed it too, so you're not the only stupid one!" I say. She chuckles and I smile. Just two stupid people having a laugh together.

"My son saw it on his way home from the pub," she says. "He sent me some photos. Would you like to see them?"

I'd rather pour bleach in my eyes, thanks.

"I'd love to!" I say.

I glance nervously up the street. I don't want to be looking at photos when The Pharmacist comes back. I don't want The Wee Woman telling her I'm one of the two stupid people who forgot to watch the aurora borealis. 

That's not what The Pharmacist thinks, remember?

Just then, Terry-or-Tony reappears at his gate and sees us talking. He wanders across, hands in pockets, doing a great impression of a man at a bit of a loose end. He fishes his phone out and he and The Wee Woman start comparing snaps.

Looking down the street, I see The Pharmacist making her way back carrying a shopping bag.

"Need to charge the strimmers," I mutter, edging towards my gate.

Neither Terry-or-Tony nor The Wee Woman look up. Too busy oohing and aahing over their phones.

When The Pharmacist reaches them, she’ll stop to say hello. Someone might notice I’m no longer there. They’ll scan the street and peer up the driveway.

One of them might say, “Did anyone see where The Bald Fella went?”