- On our first day in Enmore, boxes not yet unpacked, we rock up to Le Bake, devour breakfasts, coffees and juices, only to discover they don’t take cards and we don’t have cash. We want to rush to the bank, but, “Don’t worry!” the owners Julie and Edmond say. “You live here. You’re family! We know you’ll pay one day.”
- Walking my dog on Cavendish Street, he crouches to do his business (as dogs do), and I pull out a little blue bag and pick his business up. We’re out the front of a house, and a woman is in her front yard. She looks like she belongs in Mosman, not Enmore. I’d put her at about 50 years old, immaculately styled blonde hair, silk white pant-suit with a gold woven belt and matching gold jewellery. “Give me that,” she says to me, pointing to the blue bag. “I’ll put it in my bin, you don’t want to be carrying that.” I demur but the woman absolutely insists on taking the bag of dog crap from me and putting it in her own rubbish!
- The day of our wedding, the family headed out to our front street to execute a bit of a clean-up because, while I’m ever a fan of my neighbourhood, I confess it DOES get pretty filthy. This was also the day of the State election. Neighbours helped out. Some picked up rubbish, others loaned their brooms and gloves, and others who couldn’t help out on the day have taken charge of the upkeep ever since.
And finally? Just like Kate and Will we, too, had a fly-over at our wedding ceremony. Because we chose to get married in our secret garden, a heavenly little spot out the back of our house that my mother made lovely and my father brightened by painting the door blue. And right on cue, after our vows (and possibly during them but my concentration was elsewhere), the Boeing 747s roared past. It’s entirely possible the passengers witnessed our vows.