MY wife's on curtain-twitching overload since the neighbours started building a conservatory. Funny what gets her excited. When the postman was run over outside our house, she didn't even put her iron down. The neighbours' extension, however, now gets better viewing figures at Chateau Lockley than Emmerdale. I could not care less. They could install a nuclear bunker and I wouldn't stir from my armchair. "It's very small," she hissed, peering through the smallest gap in our net curtains. "I wouldn't have something like that," she added, desperately trying to suppress the crashing waves of jealousy. "I think what we've got is much better...a lot more natural." We have a collection of broken, moss encrusted slabs littered with dead mice, butchered and brought home by our cat. It's certainly eco friendly - unless you're a mouse. "Oh, they're putting the windows in," she near-shrieked. "I'm going to pretend to put the washing out and get a closer look." I told her she was being downright nosy. "Is that a conservatory you're having built?" she trilled from over the fence. "I thought so," she cooed, before almost sprinting back indoors. The fact that it's white, has windows and is stuck on the back of the house is a bit of a giveaway. It's definitely not a bat box. Last night Julie announced she, too, wanted a conservatory. I accused her of a 'trying to keep up with the Joneses' mind-set. "You haven't even thought through the specifics, such as the design and size of the thing," I protested. "I know exactly how big I want it," she snapped. And how big is that? "Twice as big as the one next door!" | 
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