So today, Sunday the 28th of March, is Neighbour Day. Who knew?

Kevin Rudd – that’s who. Along with all those who designed a big fuck-off website dedicated to this very day. It has posters and all kinds of paraphernalia to print out and hang up. It tells us that neighbour day is “Australia’s annual celebration of community, bringing together the people next door or across the street for a beer, a barbie or just a cuppa. It’s the perfect day to say thanks for being a great neighbour and for being there when I needed you most”

Well there you go. I mean, I’m all for getting to know my neighbours, but some, well some you wouldn’t have over your house to cut your toenails, let along give them a free beer and cup of tea. It’s all fun and games until one of them turns out to be a closet nudist or a drug dealer isn't it?

So what should we really expect from our neighbours? To be best mates? For them to feed the cat when we take a holiday? Or really, do we just want them to stay the hell away, and leave us be? Well for me, somewhere in between those three, would be just perfect. How do you know what you're in for though? Even staking out a house pre-purchase doesn't give you the ability to see through walls. We've learned this one the hard way. More than once. So here are a few experiences we've had.

THE DRUG DEALERS

Paulie & Renee moved into the unit next to us when were in our early 20's. They were kind of elusive, way hipper than us, and seemed to go out EVERY SINGLE NIGHT. We shared and cared for their very needy Siamese cat and waved whenever we saw each other. I think we realised we weren’t going to be best mates with them, when we found a packet of white powder, dropped accidentally outside of our front door early one morning. Not long after, the cops came and raided their unit and a very shifty Paulie was escorted away. Turns out, they were drug dealers.

THE NUDIST/GUN LOVER

Our very first house was a in a street my brother, a local policeman, warned us about. But we were undeterred, I mean it was near the water and it was in our price range. How bad could it be? Turns out - Pretty bad. There was no way we could have predicted we would soon be living next to a semi-professional nudist slash, pervert though, but that’s what we got. I don’t even know this freaks name, but his wife arrived on the first day we moved in, with some Bundaberg Rum fudge and a Cactus to say “Welcome”. She should have just given us a gigantic novelty card saying "Welcome to the neighbourhood, Fresh Meat". We found him on various occasions, on his roof, with binoculars and a esky, presumably for his coldies and lube, sans underwear, watching the teenage girls in the unit block behind us. Or just casually hanging in his back doorway, fake coughing, so I would look over and see his bare crotch waiting for me. Gag. I guess by rights, we should have been tipped off by the “I BARE ARMS AND I VOTE” sticker on his car. We live and we learn.

THE RACIST

Ahh, Shirley. Shirley the 80 year old racist. I’m not entirely sure who or what would have made Shirley happy. It surely wasn’t the “coons”, “faggots”, “gooks” or “Dagos” she constantly banged on about whenever she got lucky enough to corner me. Man, I cannot tell you how uncomfortable she made me. We eventually sold our house, but not before she had the chance to tell me, that, because of my “Jap” car, I was a disgrace to my nation. Sure I wanted to tell the old bag to get rooted, but sometimes retreat is easier than attack.

THE SCREAMER

This particular woman rented the house next door to us. She and her husband apparently couldn’t stand the sight of each other because about every third night, they would have arguments that would escalate into full scale riot situations. The cops came, the cops went. The next day, they would be all loved up, walking down the street hand in hand. Annoying.

THE OVERSHARER

Recently we had a street party. We let the kids to the letterbox drops. Mistake Number 1. We have one guy who lives up the street with a hotrod who likes dropping massive burnouts in it, whenever the moment takes him. Which is often. He's abused the host of the street party on an occasion, a couple of years ago, because she told him to slow down in the street. A week later, he wrote off his SS Commodore Ute after going 150 in a 70 zone. So, it was by the biggest mistake, that he received an invite. You would think he would have no interest in rolling up to a party full of haters. Oh no. He rocked up, drank about 50 beers, told each and everyone of us how much we must hate his guts (Roger that dickhead) and then, by the end of the night, was telling all the guys how, after numerous visits to a certain establishment, had acquired a rash that just WOULD NOT GO AWAY. He then proceeded to show it to our husbands, on the front lawn. Too much information mate. Far too much.

THE JEHOVAHS WITNESS

These guys were pretty harmless. Until we spoke to them. Then it was ON. They had a little girl around the same age as our daughter and with only a gun toting nudist and 80yr old racist as other alternatives, we were stoked we might finally have some decent neighbours. Ahhh, we should have known better. See we kind of did follow the “neighbour day” ethos and invite the new neighbours over for a beer or a cuppa. They turned up, 2 hours late and we offered them a drink. His response? “No thanks, we don’t drink”. Alarm bells. Fair, not everyone drinks. That’s when I noticed the copy of the Watchtower she’d casually placed on our coffee table. Fucking sirens. It was over before it began.

THE GOOD ONES

Then there are the good ones. The ones you find that are one of your kind. The ones you are happy to have met. The ones you’ve shared a beer and a cuppa with and it has made your life that little bit brighter. So Scott, Deb, Mike, Julie, Jen, Nick, Caroline and Damian. Thanks guys. Happy Neighbours Day. Help yourself to the fridge anytime you like.