I love
where I live.
Do I look
out of my window onto rolling fields with a babbling brook playing gently down
the middle over moss covered stones? No.
I look out onto an Indian restaurant and an MOT centre.
Do I have a
tastefully landscaped driveway, winding up to a double fronted, Victorian house
with woodwork painted in co-ordinating shades from Fired Earth? No. I live in a
mid-terrace with not enough parking and walls so thin you can hear every light
switch being flicked on and every annoying, shift-working neighbour’s alarm
clock at 4.30am.
Do my
children run, carefree through our half an acre of thoughtfully planted trees,
wildflowers and herbaceous borders (and the odd vegetable patch with vintage
slate markers, designating the rows of purple sprouting broccoli and salsify)?
No. We have a shed (workshop if you’re
speaking to my Screwfix-mad husband, shed if you’re talking to me); some
rosebushes that were planted by the last-but-one owner, which are pretty for 2
days a year and then infested with greenfly for the rest of the summer and a
cat litter “house”, affectionately known as the Poo Pagoda, which gets filled
up with said poo after 3 days and is then wilfully ignored by both of our
feline friends in favour of the weed filled flowerbeds.
We have 4 Chinese
takeaways (one of which is constantly in the local newspaper – and I don’t mean
with a half page advert or a coupon offer if you catch my drift...) and 2 Chinese
restaurants – both of which are ridiculously expensive an d have the local
clientele divided exactly down the middle as to which is the best. Is it the one which has the 70’s style
keyboard player after dinner, who is replaced by the even more exciting DISCO at
Christmas time!? Or is it the one with
the fish tank wall outside the toilets, where they fill your glass up after
every sip to make sure you are properly wankered (and broke!) after every
visit?
We have 4
Indian restaurants/takeaways, but by the time I hit “publish” on this blog
entry, it may have changed, so please no outraged comments about the other 2 or
3 I have forgotten. They will have gone again
by the time you finish registering your email address to Blogger so that you
can add your comments...
There are
copious bakers, hairdressers, cafes and butchers – far more than is necessary
to service a community of our size. On
the face of things, we are the takeaway capital of Hampshire and whilst several
of my fellow residents were clearly strongly opposed to the well known pizza
chain that wanted to join the other 3 Italian restaurants/pizzerias (it was 4,
but they had stiff competition in the in-house keyboard player department from
the aforementioned overpriced Chinese and went under...) I say – bring it
on!! We are clearly a collection of lazy, cash-rich-time-poor,
greedy gits who can’t cook a meal to save our lives.
Despite all
of the smells (and there are many), the neon lights and the potential health
hazards - you know which takeaway you are – my “village” is the only place I
want to be.
“OK Molly”,
I hear you say. “Clearly once you have made your fortune and published a
collection of your inane rantings in your critically acclaimed book, ‘AnthoMollogy’,
you will be off to Devon in a flash, never again to shop in North Camp for a
stale doughnut or heavily discounted golf club. But, and this is the truth,
whilst I may purchase a delightful holiday cottage by the sea in the South West
(probably next door to Kirsty Allsopp), I will NOT be leaving my beloved North
Camp. Not never.
For all its
faults, it is, quite simply, fabulous.
The people that live here are second to none. Every time I step outside my front door, I am
greeted with a smile, a wave and/or a friendly wolf whistle (and not in a
horrible, sexist builder kind of way...) from the garage across the road. My husband has developed such a wonderful
friendship with the guys in the Indian across the road, I never have to buy
beer for him (as long as we lend them a dining room chair every once in a
while) and the manager of the Co-op is always smiling and calls me madam. I love that.
I didn’t 2 years ago, but I do now.
My children
attended the best pre-school that hardly any money/all the money in the world
can buy and are now flourishing in an Outstanding school where they, and I,
have made friendships that I am sure will last forever. Or at least until one of them goes off the
rails in later years and we have to make a whole new set of friends. The
best bit is – I can walk them there. I can also walk to my best friend’s house,
at least 4 pubs, 2 cash points and 4 charity shops.
I know at
least 30 people who would happily take my kids to school for me if I was ill or
had a childcare issue and I would let at least 25 of them actually do it!
Yes. I want a bigger house so that I can
buy loads more stuff from Tiger, my own driveway and a kitchen that you can
walk past someone in without touching them inappropriately. But would I sacrifice all of these things to
stay in my lovely North Camp? In a heartbeat. Probably a slightly irregular
heartbeat due to the build up of takeaway fats in my arteries, but you get the
idea.
I only hope
that everyone can find their own North Camp Village – just please don’t come to
mine, because the parking is bad enough thanks...
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