Every weekday morning at precisely 7.15 I hear the noisy whirr of my neighbour's shower. I'm usually awake - but if not it's the perfect alarm call and I can lie in bed and imagine the soapy scene.
He returns from work at 6.30pm. After he closes the door I never hear any music, voices or television.
I wonder about him.
Bill at the end of the corridor goes 'home' to his mum in Burnage for his tea every night - usually carrying a bag of dirty washing.
I like John and Ian
John is a big, handsome lad who drives a macho silver company car. He's done well for himself and could afford a posh house in Alderley Edge.
We chat often. He loves to discuss his career success and his lack of initiative in other areas. Home to this 6 ft 5in giant is a tiny studio flat (bedsit to you and me) from which he only emerges to go to work and play 5 a side on Sunday afternoon.
Ian's the one who leaks into Kev's flat. He's a blonde, good looking hippie with a slight stutter. Mum and Dad are his only visitors. He spends his hols with volunteers cleaning up beaches.
When I moved here to look after mum 9 years ago the place was full of old fogeys with attitude, young couples, raving alcoholics, rowdy Oirish men singing loud into the night and some impecunious upper class twits addicted to gambling.
Not to forget the trumpet player from the Ali orchestra.
You could have written a soap about it.
Gradually they've gone and the sad and serious singletons have taken over.
The girls seem to have a social life but the blokes are lonely ... Any ideas?
Labels: All the lonely people