“ You can have the same neighbors for years, ” the old man said. “ You love them or you think you love them. And you hope they love you. But do you really understand them ? ” Charlie Kemp and his family lived next d oor to me for fifteen years. We were good friends for all that time. I enjoy friendship—I'm sure it's the best thing in the world. And friendship with the Kemps was easy, because they seemed to welcome it. They were interesting and clever p eople, but they were always in some sort of trouble. It was usually illness or accident, but there were other things too. For example, their house caught fire twice; and twice the whole family slept in mine. They were always losing things——money, keys, a w atch, a camera. Pictures fell off the walls; the children fell out of bed... I used to wake in the mornings and think: “ What will happen ? ” I was their neighbor and their friend. Life was always interesting, never dull. Best of all, I liked the whole fa mily. One day I made a fire in my garden and was burning some rubbish. After a time Charlie Kemp came out of his house and walked up the road, “ Morning, Charlie. ” I said, “ Lovely day, isn't it ? ” He smiled and nodded. I went on with my work. Twenty minutes later a policeman arrived. He walked into my garden and said: “You'll have to put out that fire. Your neighbor has complained to us. He doesn't like the smell.” “ My neighbor... ? ” I said. “ Yes. ” The policeman took out his notebook and ask ed, “ Charlie Kemp. He lives next door, doesn't he ? ”