Latest news with #G
Yahoo
3 days ago
- General
- Yahoo
Dear Richard Madeley: My otherwise lovely neighbour is playing fast and loose with my lawnmower
Dear Richard, For the second time this year, I've lent my lawnmower to my next-door neighbour, only to have to remind him to give it back, and to find on receiving it that he hasn't topped up the petrol. Perhaps he thinks it runs on magic beans. To make matters worse, this time, one of the blades was chipped. I don't want to be 'that guy' but I am feeling miffed. I didn't perform a close inspection of the mower when he brought it back so didn't notice or mention these issues then – is it too late to do so now? And should I just withhold it in future, or stipulate conditions? I'm mortified by awkward exchanges at the best of times; plus this guy is in other respects an exemplary neighbour – friendly, minds his own business, takes in deliveries, waters the garden when we're away, and so on. What's the best way to deal with this?– G, Surrey Dear G, If you're proposing risking falling out with a good, reliable, helpful neighbour over a few tablespoons of petrol and a chipped lawnmower blade (which you may have been the one to damage), then frankly you need your head examining. The value of good neighbourly relations is beyond rubies. Have you ever lived next door to someone with whom you've had a falling out, G? Talk to someone who has. It can poison daily life beyond recovery. As I wrote here only last week, it's worth performing back-handsprings through hoops to stay on good terms with the folks next door. Right, let's sweep up this hill of beans. First, the chipped blade. As you yourself say, you didn't inspect the machine when it was returned, so how do you know you haven't damaged it since? Or, assuming you didn't cast your eagle eye over the thing prior to lending it to this guy, that it wasn't already chipped? Answer: you don't. So drop it. Now, the fuel. I don't use a petrol mower but I just checked and the ones you push around burn about half a litre per hour. The bigger things you ride use about a litre. That's roughly 67 pence worth for the first, under £1.50 for the second. G, G, G. Come on. Are you really going to present this bloke with a bill for 67p? How would you feel if he made a storage charge for the parcels he takes in for you when you're away? And yes, it must be irritating if you can't use it until you've filled it up, but unless you're riding it to the petrol station and back surely you have some petrol in the shed or garage, and it's just a matter of topping it up? I have one word for you, G: perspective. I strongly recommend you get some. You can find more of Richard Madeley's advice here or submit your own dilemma below. Broaden your horizons with award-winning British journalism. Try The Telegraph free for 1 month with unlimited access to our award-winning website, exclusive app, money-saving offers and more. Solve the daily Crossword
Telegraph
3 days ago
- General
- Telegraph
Dear Richard Madeley: My otherwise lovely neighbour is playing fast and loose with my lawnmower
Dear Richard, For the second time this year, I've lent my lawnmower to my next-door neighbour, only to have to remind him to give it back, and to find on receiving it that he hasn't topped up the petrol. Perhaps he thinks it runs on magic beans. To make matters worse, this time, one of the blades was chipped. I don't want to be 'that guy' but I am feeling miffed. I didn't perform a close inspection of the mower when he brought it back so didn't notice or mention these issues then – is it too late to do so now? And should I just withhold it in future, or stipulate conditions? I'm mortified by awkward exchanges at the best of times; plus this guy is in other respects an exemplary neighbour – friendly, minds his own business, takes in deliveries, waters the garden when we're away, and so on. What's the best way to deal with this? – G, Surrey Dear G, If you're proposing risking falling out with a good, reliable, helpful neighbour over a few tablespoons of petrol and a chipped lawnmower blade (which you may have been the one to damage), then frankly you need your head examining. The value of good neighbourly relations is beyond rubies. Have you ever lived next door to someone with whom you've had a falling out, G? Talk to someone who has. It can poison daily life beyond recovery. As I wrote here only last week, it's worth performing back-handsprings through hoops to stay on good terms with the folks next door. Right, let's sweep up this hill of beans. First, the chipped blade. As you yourself say, you didn't inspect the machine when it was returned, so how do you know you haven't damaged it since? Or, assuming you didn't cast your eagle eye over the thing prior to lending it to this guy, that it wasn't already chipped? Answer: you don't. So drop it. Now, the fuel. I don't use a petrol mower but I just checked and the ones you push around burn about half a litre per hour. The bigger things you ride use about a litre. That's roughly 67 pence worth for the first, under £1.50 for the second. G, G, G. Come on. Are you really going to present this bloke with a bill for 67p? How would you feel if he made a storage charge for the parcels he takes in for you when you're away? And yes, it must be irritating if you can't use it until you've filled it up, but unless you're riding it to the petrol station and back surely you have some petrol in the shed or garage, and it's just a matter of topping it up? I have one word for you, G: perspective. I strongly recommend you get some.
Yahoo
22-07-2025
- General
- Yahoo
Dear Richard Madeley: ‘I'm sick of my neighbours' children throwing balls into my garden'
Dear Richard, I've always got on well with my next-door neighbours and I am fond of their children, but when they (the kids) play in their back garden, which is, naturally, adjacent to mine, after school and at weekends, a constant stream of missiles – balls of various sizes, Nerf darts, Frisbees and so on – comes raining over the fence. Said fence is too high for small people to climb over (plus if they managed it they'd land in my herbaceous border) and I am reluctant to put a gate in it, so I'm expected to answer the door and let them come through the house to retrieve their equipment. I don't mind this once in a while, and may even have occasionally indulged them with the offer of a biscuit as they passed through the kitchen. But in the warmer months it's happening more and more, and while I work from home I am often in virtual meetings and can't easily leave them, which is not a concept the children seem to understand. I don't want their playful instincts to be repressed but I am starting to mind this. There's a kind of netting fence that could be installed for around £100 – would it be very passive-aggressive of me to ask my (adult) neighbours to contribute to this? — G, Surrey Dear G, As I have said here many times before, it is worth doing back-handsprings through hoops to stay on good terms with one's neighbours. If relationships sour, they can be very, very difficult to restore. There's a tendency for the original dispute to escalate and mushroom into others, and before you know it you're grappling with a many-headed hydra of hostility and resentment with people who have the power to make your daily life a misery. So if you are, as you say, currently on good terms with the folk next door, let's do all we can to preserve the status quo, shall we? A little patience, tolerance and generosity of spirit now will pay dividends further down the line, I guarantee. As far as I can see, you have two options. Install a little gate in the dividing fence so the kids next door can nip in and retrieve their ball, Frisbee or whatever, without disturbing you. Or, as you say, put up some netting. The next step is to involve your neighbours in the decision. Either pop round or drop them a note. Be friendly. Don't say you're getting fed up with their kids disturbing your work by hammering on the door; tell them you've had an idea which means their children can play uninterrupted – a net to keep their toys on their side of the fence, or a little gate so they can nip through without having to come all the way round to your front door. Make it sound like the kiddies are your priority. (The end result will be the same whatever, won't it?) Say whichever option your neighbours prefer, you're happy to organise it. Then casually mention that if they'd be willing to go halves on the cost, that would be much appreciated. If they're the pleasant pair you say they are, I'd be very surprised if they baulked at that. There you go, G. When it comes to dealing with neighbours, always follow the 3-D rule: diplomacy; diplomacy; diplomacy. You can find more of Richard Madeley's advice here or submit your own dilemma below. Broaden your horizons with award-winning British journalism. Try The Telegraph free for 1 month with unlimited access to our award-winning website, exclusive app, money-saving offers and more. Solve the daily Crossword
The Guardian
03-06-2025
- General
- The Guardian
My mentor and friend died suddenly while I was at work. The memory of his kindness kept me going
We are going through the list of overnight admissions when my phone beeps. Expecting a medical request to do something or see someone, my chest cramps at the message. I must be sufficiently distracted for the trainee to ask, 'All OK?' It's a split-second decision. My instinct is to blurt out that an old friend has died and I need time out. But this would inevitably incur an explanation causing the ward round to be consumed by sympathy for me instead of care for our patients. So, I muster the pretence to say, 'Just keep going', convincing myself this is what Mike would have wanted. Mike and I met more than 30 years ago. Medical student admissions are a multifaceted thing but I like to think that he was the administrator who 'let' me in. More accurately, he was the one who told me years later that after several rounds of offers, there was just one remaining spot and many deserving students but maybe the universe had spoken and I squeezed in. Getting into medicine would turn out to be the most consequential event of my life. The next year, Mike gave me my first job, the task of settling the nerves of the medical students who were appearing for their interview like I did once. It was a decidedly plum job; paid hours, free sandwiches and real orange juice. But even better was Mike introducing me to a fellow student, G. 'I think you will get along' turned out to be a singular understatement when I think about the bounties of our close friendship, which now embraces five children. Like other students, I stayed in touch with Mike because he was interested in what medical students did with their lives after the coveted degree. He attended my wedding and brought my children thoughtful gifts when he came to dinner. He was there for the celebrations and the lamentations, when they came. Fifteen years ago, driving home from a routine work day, Mike suffered a devastating stroke. I remember dashing to intensive care where he was expected to succumb. Miraculously and, in part, due to his relatively young age, he survived every complication and was discharged to the stroke unit, the place of my worst memories. Here, Mike was often insensate and when awake had no meaningful use of limb or language. The nurses were caring but the loss of his dignity was scathing. I would sit there stunned by the blow of fate, hoping he recognised me. Defying predictions, Mike not only survived his hospital ordeal but also emerged largely cognitively intact. However, his physical needs necessitated admission to a nursing home. My standout memory from the nursing home was that his only window to the outside had an opaque coating. It made him miserable and even the staff couldn't explain its existence as it was not related to privacy. Over months, Mike and I appealed to the management to allow him a glimpse of the sun, sky and trees, all in vain. After that dashed hope, I resorted to simpler ways of 'helping' by asking what kind of sushi he wanted. At least, that was always under our control. But we never stopped talking about his desire to get out of the nursing home. In service of his dream, he was diligent with physiotherapy and continued to train his brain. I knew plenty of people who yearned to leave residential care but none successfully. It took the best part of two years and a mountain of paperwork and advocacy from his valiant sister to get Mike back into his own home. That was a remarkable day. With sophisticated modifications and dutiful caregivers, Mike's life was again illuminated by friends, theatre, and current affairs. When we visited him and found him content, I told my children that Mike's transformation was also a testament to a society which had painstakingly restored dignity to an individual in circumstances where it would have been far easier to let him languish in residential care. This really was exemplary disability care in the community. I found it especially instructive to witness the loyalty of his childhood friends whose interest in him seemed unaffected by his limitations. They were a living reminder of the adage that if you have one true friend you have more than your fair share. As Mike acquired a social life, our interactions slowed. But I was always delighted when he couldn't see me because he had other plans – there had been many intervening years of drought. Some weeks ago, I sent him an email proposing lunch, never imagining that it would only be read by his sister undertaking the heartache of posthumously sifting through his affairs. Now she tells me that Mike, after enjoying a holiday, presented to hospital with sudden and fatal deterioration. There had been no time to let anyone know that he was dying. It is difficult for me to absorb the shock all at once but Mike's sister says something very generous – that in his years of greatest need, I was like a daughter to him. I will never know it for sure, but the thought itself is a lovely consolation. Mike was one of the people who derived personal satisfaction from my enjoyment of medicine. My friend, G, became a role model for honouring our relationships despite the demands of life. Who would understand the significance of this sudden loss? G is the first person I text. I picture Mike's satisfaction that the two of us, brought together by him, stop to reflect on a life and legacy that couldn't have been scripted, at least not by two doctors. Ranjana Srivastava is an Australian oncologist, award-winning author and Fulbright scholar. Her latest book is called A Better Death
