Winkle escaped today. I wouldn't have known if it wasn't for the bloke two doors down coming and knocking on the door to alert me to Houdini's antics. He'd tried to grab her but she'd given him the slip. (Of course I would have realised eventually except for the small technical fact that she came home and was crying to get back in before I could even get my shoes to launch the search). She knows there's no place like home. It was something I thought about in the afternoon when I saw Detroit by final year QUT acting students. This was part of the Contemporary America Theatre season. Set post global financial crisis, it was all about the decaying American dream. But over and over again it talked about how people don't know their neighbours any more. How no-one would knock on the door next door to borrow a cup of sugar because we probably don't know our neighbours and wouldn't want to disturb them if they did.
Well, let me tell you something. In my neck of the woods we talk to our
neighbours. The women up the road this morning dropped a handyman's card in my letterbox because she knew I was in the market for a few odd jobs . On a walk with the dogs to the UQ lakes, I ran into another couple from up the street with their dogs and we had a chat. I probably would drive down to the Nite Owl if I needed sugar but when the chips are down - like when one of my precious dogs escapes - I know my neighbours will have my back.