A COUPLE of months ago, on our way to London for a weekend of babysitting, we read in the paper that North-East England is the least neighbourly area in the British Isles - or so a survey claimed.

Apparently it's worse even than London (next worst) which I imagine everyone would expect to find at the bottom of the list.

I have to admit I was shocked - and very surprised. Our own experience of living in the North-East certainly doesn't bear that out, but maybe we've just been lucky with our neighbours.

As far as London's concerned, it's less surprising, if only because so many people in the capital are newly arrived and very busy. They don't have time to get to know one another. And, of course, as recent events have shown, they have much more reason to be suspicious of their neighbours.

That weekend in London we found ourselves walking along a busy main road, pushing the baby in his pram while senior grandson walked alongside. His latest passion is convertible cars. Whenever he spots one passing by he points it out in great excitement. So we were all rather pleased when a sleek black Mercedes, top open to the morning sun, came to a halt in a parking space nearby. We paused, grandson wide-eyed, grandad green with envy. We watched as the electronics controlling the hood set it unfolding, neatly and silently, until the roof was covered, the windows rising into their place. Then the driver spotted us watching. Would he be annoyed at our fascination? Would he swear and say: "What do you think you're staring at?"

Not a bit of it. He smiled, warmly. Then he got out of the car and crouched down beside our grandson. "Would you like a go?" he asked, handing the remote control key to the three-year-old. Then, carefully, kindly, he showed our grandson how to work it. Slowly, the process was repeated in reverse, windows smoothly lowered, hood drawn back and folded neatly into the casing at the back. Then our grandson's hand on the key set it all moving back again, while he watched, entranced.

The driver stood up, chatted a bit more, said teasingly to our grandson, "Here - take it for a spin!" which (fortunately) our grandson realised was a joke. Then he went on his way, having made one small boy very happy.

Un-neighbourly? Unfriendly? Well, if that's the standard of the next-lowest, then all I can say is there must be some astonishingly friendly places in the British Isles. It doesn't after all seem so shameful to be at the bottom of the list.

A FEW weeks ago I mentioned my loathing for the hot-air hand driers provided in most public conveniences. A reader points out that for sufferers from Raynaud's disease they can be a lifeline. This condition seriously affects the circulation, and sometimes means the sufferer has to find an urgent source of warmth - and hot-air driers are ideal. So I shall look on them rather differently in future!

What's more, my son and daughter-in-law were recently discussing my column on that subject as they sat with the children in a pizza restaurant. Whereupon senior grandson, overhearing, promptly decided he was quite big enough to use a hot-air drier, which until then he'd strongly resisted. It may not be the result I expected, but at least my column does seem to have some effect. It's caused me to change my view, for starters.

Published: 21/07/2005