Does everybody really need good neighbours?

It’s said that marriage, having children and moving house are the most stressful things we can put ourselves through. Number three on that list is the one we’re likely to endure more than any other. I’m 29, and onto my eighth home.

Most of those have been student houses. Filthy, rabid, smelly and unkempt. These are just some of the terms used to describe the tenants. Back then, decisions on which house to take were based around its proximity to the pub.

But now I’ve crossed off number one on my list, and with number two on the horizon, there are more important considerations for the next move. Top of the wish list is good local schools and a safe place to bring up children. There’ll be off street parking, and scope to add value in the future. Another popular inclusion on homebuyers’ checklists is really friendly neighbours. It will no longer feature on mine. Not after last time.

On moving into our current home 18 months ago, my wife and I were welcomed into the street by our cheerful new next door neighbour, who wanted to introduce us to the occupants of all 12 terraced houses in the road. We were keen to get on with unpacking, meeting the neighbours later in our own good time. But not wanting to get off on the wrong foot, we decided to humour him, and so he went about his introductions. It took ages; we spent the best part of two hours stood on doorsteps, accompanied by our new friend. After he’d finished parading us to all and sundry, he officially welcomed us “to the club”, and told us all about the fun they have together. The street parties, dinner parties, long chats over the fence, even holidays away together.

A thought did cross my mind that this was all a little OTT, but I’d always liked the idea of being part of a community. And the young couples and families we’d just met seemed like such a likeable bunch. So we went with it. On the first weekend, we were the newbies at next door’s barbeque, where we got horrendously drunk and talked late into the night. And we realised that we’d made a terrible mistake. Forgive the slight snobbishness, but we had absolutely nothing in common with these people. But it was too late. We’d signed up to all this chumminess, and we were in. It would be impossible to get out. I mean, how do you thank someone for the burger and the free booze, but actually, this isn’t for us, and we’d rather never have anything to do with you again?

We spent the next few weeks pretending we were having fun at various get-togethers and made excuses why we couldn’t go to others. Every time we left our house, one of them was out there, and I was trapped in inane conversation for the next hour.

And worst of all was when the weather was good. All me and my wife wanted to do was sit in the garden – our garden - with a good book and a glass of something fizzy. But all too frequently, peace was shattered by someone peering over the fence on one side or the other, wanting to ‘chat’. I know it sounds a bit dramatic, but we felt like prisoners in our own home.

But these aren’t neighbours from hell. These are good, genuine people who want to make friends. What’s so wrong with that? Maybe I should get over myself. Thousands have to put up with abuse, violence and dirty needles from their neighbours, and I’m complaining about barbeques and banter.

This continued for a year. Then, out of the blue, the next door neighbours to our left put up the for sale sign. Two and a half months later they were gone. They had been the ringleaders, and without them, the parties dried up. The new arrivals weren’t up for joining “the club”, and the whole thing fizzled out. We had our garden back, and we had our freedom back.

So if friendly neighbours are on your wish list, just be careful what you wish for. Next time I’ll settle for a simple hello.