The Brindsley Files: My New Next Door Neighbour by Harold Gorringe

hound_mock1.indd The first thing that struck me about the new chap next door is he has lovely hair. It’s sort of dark sandy straw colour which doesn’t sound as if it’s up to much but I liked it never-the-less. Not sure about some of them pieces he’s bringing in though, shabby chic really isn’t for me I have to say, quite the reverse in fact, and when I first laid eyes on that rocking chair I almost gasped. I’m sure it’s not fit to sit in.photo 1

Well he’d been in for 3 days and I thought it’s time I popped across the hall and introduced myself. Dressing to impress while trying to look as if you haven’t tried at all is some task I can tell you. I like people to catch me at my best you know. Ferny knows. I’ll tell you more about Ferny later on…photo 2

So I potter across in a nice pair of gray flannels and the pink shirt I bought from Camden for last New Years. I knock the door and wait a few moments. It’s clear from the mumbling beyond the door that there is someone home. Then the door flies open and I’m presented with a delightful view. Naked save for a towel round his waist which he is holding up with his free hand and his soaking hair dripping all over that lovely floor. I introduce myself, somewhat apologetically I might add, but secretly delighted.

“I’m Brindsley Miller,” he says, “come in.” So I did.