Helen Brown Column | Canterbury News | Local News in Canterbury

The boy next door left a hand made envelope in our letter box. It was addressed to our daughter. His name was on the back in cute, clumsy printing.

She opened it, half expecting a Christmas card. Instead she discovered a carefully executed drawing of a monster and the words "I hate you".

"Do you think he means it?" she said half laughing, half crying. "What can I do?"

She hardly sees the boy next door, except when he's climbing in and out of his parents' four wheel drive. He's only six so she's twice his age. Apart from tossing the occasional ball back across the fence to him she has virtually no contact.

We've tried to be pleasant to the boy next door, remembering him and his brothers with gifts at Christmas time and Easter. But our efforts must have missed the mark.

The Bible's probably asking too much when it commands "Love Thy Neighbour". Perhaps the true meaning was lost in translation. "Be Pleasant to Thy Neighbour, Help him out if his Water Pipe Bursts but don't be Too Nosy" might be more appropriate.

After all, it's almost impossible to adore everything about people who live next door just because a land agent happened to drive them down your street one day.

Neighbours work best when they keep a friendly distance.

While the fence or hedge isn't there to freeze others out, it's a necessary boundary ? a way of defining the haven where you can piece yourself together to face to the world again.

Neighbourhoods have changed a lot since I was growing up.

It's hard to believe when we bought a new hi fi system, my brother put the loudspeaker on the front verandah and played requests from Rogers and Hammerstein for the woman next door.

These days a young man with any form of sound amplification is a pariah.

Anyone tapping on the door asking to borrow a cup of sugar would be regarded as potentially dangerous. And it's quite normal to have no idea who your neighbours are.

On the other hand, some things haven't changed.

In most neighbourhoods there's always:

# A dog that barks most of the day.

# A self-appointed "policeman" who has no life so he monitors every movement in the street to report overgrown shrubs and illegal dog droppings to the council.

# A grand old lady who considers herself a cut above everyone else. Maybe she senses half the street's waiting for her to die so they can move into her faded villa and renovate the guts out of it.

# A party house with guests who hover outside forever shouting "G'night!" revving their cars and forgetting to dip their headlights.

# A rough family with sons into shoplifting and graffiti, and daughters who get pregnant at 16.

# A gay couple who have a lovely garden and keep to themselves.

# A couple on the brink of divorce. Their shouting matches keep half the street awake until he eventually moves out and the For Sale sign appears on the fence.

# A house with kids who play loud music with the windows open.

# A bloke who fills his front yard with old cars and junk.

This was the first time I'd encountered an "I hate you" card, however.

"Maybe he thinks it's funny," I said, examining the tidily folded paper and wondering if an adult had been aware of the contents. "Or maybe he just wants attention. Why don't you write him a Christmas card wishing him a wonderful year ahead?"

After all, while it may not be possible to love your neighbour it's probably best to avoid wasting energy hating them.

PS: Thank you for all the Christmas recipe requests.

Unfortunately, there was a handful my computer refused to open. I've tried to answer every email. If you were among the half dozen who received no response, I apologise. It was a technological glitch our family's combined skills were unable to solve. A computer wizard has offered to help set up a website in the New Year. I'll ask her to post the recipes (including those readers have generously sent in) on the site so that those who missed out this year will at least have them for 2005.

May your festive season be the happiest on record. And if you feel like composing a hate letter to the neighbours, why not rip it up and send them a Christmas card instead?