Moving neighbourhoods is a test of my social skills. I knew the shift would be a wrench: How could we replace our favourite family across the road? Three brothers under nine who shimmy like monkeys up their wrought iron fence and hang on the crossbars yelling: “Hello! Hello! Can you come and play?”  

Our three would send back an equally ear-splitting chorus of greetings (whilst taking turns to ride the gate off its hinges). We two mothers would leave surprises at each other’s doors – a bunch of parsley, or my latest attempt at low-fat brownies. (why bother, we decided). On chaotic mornings, I could signal a mayday from the porch and she would walk my boys to school.