THAT'S WHEN GOOD NEIGHBOURS BECOME GOOD FRIENDS

Unless they’re nudists.

It’s almost like we’ve hit the jackpot with our little street where we live.

We bought this house for the position near the water and the fact that we were after an “easy” renovator. Our intention, to live in it for a year and renovate around ourselves and then sell for a huge profit. We are still here 2.5 years later.

This is the first time we’ve ever planned, in our lives to do anything. All three kids, unplanned. 1st House, unplanned. 2nd house – moved to over an hour from my work. Hmm. Again, not well thought out.

Our move back to the Gold Coast however, was very planned. We investigated and watched the market and knew where we wanted to be. But then we looked at 45 overpriced houses and we got desperate and we happened across this house, a deceased estate, with orange shag-pile carpet and most notably, one freaking toilet. Inexplicably, we had to have it. It is the size of a gingerbread house. It had three bedrooms for 5 people (close together). One toilet. One bathroom. One miniscule old person’s kitchen. A massive fucking shed. SOLD

So many ideas we had. Phil’s dad being an architect drew up plans immediately with add ons, parents’ retreats, Bali huts, a pool and a deck out the front. Then we got real. These things weren’t going to happen straight away. We both worked. We had a 6 month old baby. Ripping up the shagpile for timber floors would have to do for now.
We have done a few things. We have rendered, fenced and refurbished the bathroom and toilet. Mostly though, we’ve started a lot of shit and not finished it.

Unexpectantly though is the street full of friends we have acquired.

I grew up on a street where most of us played, lived in each other’s pockets and kids raided each other’s cupboards. I didn’t think that existed in modern Australia. Until we moved here.


The first home we purchased was in Labrador. My brother who is a policeman and at the time worked in the Southport watch house, feared for our lives. He knew where all the “undesirables” lived.

Didn’t matter, we loved the Broadwater, it was within our budget and we were keen to renovate in bright blue and yellows and be home (mortgage) owners.
Little did we know, along with the asbestos roof, we were also gaining a nudist, a staunch racist, young crazy, Jehovah’s witnesses and an old gay man in denial who was a serial water waster.

First up: Shirley – The staunch racist. Shirley was of course, part of the Shirley club. She would also, at every point possible, tell me how much the Asians “gooks”, gays “poofters”, New Zealanders “dirty Maoris” and Americans “yanks” had somehow ruined her day, month, year. I was usually accosted when hanging out the washing. What should have been a routine chore, was often a calculated mission to avoid the Nazi loving 76 year old.

Then we discovered the Nudist. It came early when again; I was hanging out washing and heard someone clear their throat. My natural instinct was to look in that direction. That led me to him, standing naked in his door frame very casual-like. Gag.
Not sure of his name as that would have involved me having a conversation with the weirdo. His naive’ or stupid wife used to bring me over chocolates at Christmas and ask me to “leave the kids with her if I needed” oblivious to the fact that her wacked out husband was often on the roof in the nude checking out the teens in the apartments behind us complete with binoculars and esky.
Stanley the in-denial-gay man was the Mrs Mangel of Labrador. He knew everything that went down. Mainly because he watered his garden all day long and when that wasn’t close enough to the action, he watered the bitumen – in the middle of the highest water restrictions ever. Stanley was clearly gay. Clear to everyone but him. Stanley was alright though and could always keep us up to date when there was any gunfire in the street.
And that did happen one night.

So came out decision to leave the lovely first home we managed to partially renovate.

The next house we moved near friends and it was a neighbourhood of planned street parties and awesome views. My mother was getting on and work commitments brought us back to the sandy strip of the Gold Coast.

Alas this brings me back to our little street we now call home. The street we, even though, space wise and monetary wise would probably be better off leaving, we cannot.

We have made friends with most of our neighbours (except for the 20 year old dipshits renting on one side of us who have ridiculous parties til 6am) Hey we are pretty easy going people, but when you party like the world is ending, 10 weekends in a row, we become a little uncool. My only revenge was to play Hot Potato on repeat on max volume directly at their windows the morning after. It worked. They’ve been oh so quiet ever since.

We have a great bunch of varied people who help each other out, the kids can play and we can have a drink and a laugh.

I think this is Australian surburia how it was intended.