Do you know your neighbours? No? I'm not being nosey - I just wondered, that's all, in the light of all those arrests this week of men suspected of being terrorists. Their houses in our suburban streets looked unremarkable. Their neighbours - that is, those that lived nearby - have professed shock and surprise. But then wouldn't we do the same if the arrests had happened in our neck of the woods? Aren't we remarkably adept these days at minding our own business? Just a couple of weeks ago The Journal reported the story of the woman who got a Mother's Day bouquet delivered to her home which was clearly intended for someone else. In spite of local inquiries, it seemed no-one knew where the real recipient lived until the article appeared. Then lo and behold, "mum" came forward - from her home across the road. The two women had occasionally exchanged a greeting in the street in the five years they had lived there, it emerged. Yet names were a mystery. How sad - and how different from the old days when everyone knew everyone. And more importantly, they cared. At New Year one of my very nice neighbours pushed invitations through every letterbox in the street and held a meet and greet party for us all. Naturally, not everyone went, but those who did relished the chance to catch up or introduce themselves. We became a community once more and as the nights get lighter and we can see who's walking past the window, we don't mind being seen to be looking or even to be waving, though that might make us something of a rarity. In 2004 people look straight ahead and try not to get involved. They go out early in the morning and come back at night, avoiding all contact - eye contact especially - with those around them. Their children go to school in cars and don't play out in case something happens to them. Some old folk don't see anyone from one week to the next. People move out and newcomers arrive but no-one says hello or goodbye. I asked round the office this week who knew their neighbours. Most said they didn't; wouldn't know them if they passed them in the street; wouldn't even answer the door if they weren't expecting a visitor. And most damning of all, didn't want to know them. No wonder suspected terrorists can live unchallenged among us, with attitudes like that. Indeed, we may have come a long way in 50 years, but we haven't 'alf gone back in the betting. ********** Still going with the Flo after 28 years It is an amazing 28 years since the effervescent Floella Benjamin entertained the nation's toddlers on BBC television with Playschool. Yet it might just as well have been yesterday. There she was, in the spotlight to present a pair of accolades at the Tommy Parent Friendly Awards in London this week, when the autocue froze. Her smile never wavered as quick as a flash, she held up her hands and started to clap. "If you're happy and you know it, clap your hands," she sang, and within five seconds, the whole ballroom was singing with her. Later she told me over lunch how the moment she speaks she has the capacity to turn confident 30-somethings into bashful kids again as they re-live their childhoods. "They go to pieces," she said. "It's very disconcerting." Not as disconcerting as Floella herself , who is 55 but looks barely 40. In two weeks' time, she is running the London Marathon for Barnardo's, having pledged her personal support for 10 years. And yes, she still has Humpty at home. ********** All for the love of Jonny If you're feeling down in the dumps this weekend and you have the internet at your disposal, go on the website for model Nell McAndrew. Read the messages that accompany the £25,000 worth of sponsorship for this month's London Marathon that she has attracted since last week's wonderful programme about the late Jonny Kennedy. I guarantee you won't be sad any more. Meanwhile, is it too much to ask Channel 4 to hurry up and repeat The Boy Whose Skin Fell Off - surely the television programme of the year - so that as many people as possible can experience the Jonny Factor and be inspired. ********** Good luck to the Irish in their new smoke-free zones and let's hope the ban on smoking in public places is such a success that it is rolled out here too. The other night the smokers that surrounded us in a pub restaurant spoilt my meal with friends. They lit up not just before and after their meals but during them, too. There was no attempt to separate the smokers from the non-smokers and no mistaking the glares of defiance from those who clearly relished their opportunity to annoy the rest of us. Regardless whether it left a bad taste in the mouth - and stinky clothes. ********** Unpalatable three courses Talking of restaurants, three recent experiences have quite put me off - and that doesn't include the smoking. In the first restaurant, a gum-chewing waiter served me. In the second, a waitress dropped the broccoli off the vegetable dish on to the tablecloth and simply put it back on with her fingers. And, at the third, when a friend who ordered a chicken and avocado salad was told that there were no avocados after a 30 minute wait. Her second choice - a dish of pasta - boasted a huge hair in it and tasted as though it was cooked in soapy water. So she went for fishcakes, which looked fine but were unfortunately frozen in the middle. Still, the manager was very decent. Said he wouldn't charge her
Nice of him, wasn't it? ********** Sexploitation of Britney Think back to the days when Sixties pop idol PJ Proby was banned from giving concerts because he split his leather pants. Now consider the way Britney Spears (pictured right) chose to present herself on the first night of her US tour in front of children as young as eight. It is laughable. But I suppose we should remember that however disgusting her provocative and lewd act is - and it's coming to our own Metro Radio Arena very soon - she hasn't chosen to perform like that all by herself. There will certainly be a big team of manipulative managers all working on Britney's career, telling her that becoming a sex queen is better than being a pop princess. And they'll be rubbing their hands at the publicity as she mews her songs (admit it, she does sound like a poorly cat!) and simulates sex with so-called dancers. | 
