Everybody needs good Neighbours.

...as the classic theme song tell us. But I think the question needs to be asked: do we really?

My grandma once told me that it’s important to be great friends with your neighbours. After all, if you go on your annual family camping trip to South West Rocks and need someone to watch your house, collect your mail, and every six hours flip the cassette tape with recordings of your voices to fool theives into thinking you’re still home, who else are you going to rely on?

Now, my grandma’s a pretty wise woman. This is the same lady who, when I came out to her, told me that I could “do better than James (my boyfriend at the time) as a friend (that’s meemaw speak for homosexual acquaintances)”. Also, who can argue with the woman who makes Coopernook’s meanest butterfly cupcakes? Noone. The answer is noone. You will lose if you try. That said, this comes from the lady who was best mates with the couple down the road for over a decade... until your run-of-the-mill disagreement over who knows what (poor Grandad who MUST agree - or else - shrugs and rolls his eyes in my imaginary background) meant that not a word has been exchanged between them to this day, many years later. This is what I mean. Don’t argue with the lady, you will be burned like an ex-CIA agent.

James is not my ex-boyfriend's his real name, by the way, I’ve protected his identity out of respect (no I haven’t, he’s a wang).

So. In light of Grandma's experiences, let's look at the important facts to consider when considering becoming friends with your neighbours.

First, where do the boundaries lie? I used to live in the same apartment block as two elderly gentleman who were so friendly and welcoming when my sister and I first first moved in. Every day, no matter what time I was getting home from work, they would offer a friendly wave from their balcony and ask what you'd been up to and what your plans were for the next few hours, usually accompanied by an invitation up to their apartment for coffee if we were ever bored and wanted to look at the extensive collection of sic-fi DVDs their pension got them. Between two straight divorced bachelors, that is a lot of DVDs.

Now, go back and read the key points in that story. Old men. Balcony. Coffee. Every. Damn. Time. I worked in before and after school care. Whether I was leaving work at 5AM, returning at 9AM or leaving again at 2PM... they were there. It got to the point where my sister and I would cover her baby daughter's mouth so she wouldn't make a noise as we crept, back to the wall like we thought we were Sydney fucking Bristow, under their balcony and quickly as we could into the hallway while their shouts of greeting echoed behind us.

Awkward.

Currently, I live next to a man in his... early 50s? Also his Filipino wife and their toddler son. If I'm not being woken at 7AM by the dude revving a goddamn engine (be it car, motorbike or boat (?!)), I'm being torn from my pleasant dreams by the incessant crying of the boy. Fall off his bike. Cries. Trips in the hallway. Cries. His mum tells him to, "put your fucking hat on before you come outside" in a comical Asian accent. Cries.

That last bit bordered on being a little bit racist. I'd take it back but my backspace button is broken.

Any advice on how to deal with awkward neighbours? Or the rules of engagement when it comes to boundary setting?