I don't know how many evenings I've sat on my front porch, sipping on my gourmet coffee, observing my neighbours as they accomplished a myriad of domestic duties.

Dog walking, lawn mowing, secretively tinkering in a work shop like Dr Frankenstein, tending to flower beds like Martha Stewart, fixing the car, and cleaning the yard are a few of the more popular activities. Watching my neighbours perform these tasks is never a bore, and at least one of them always seems to be doing something memorable. Watching has become my favourite past time.

There is Bob for instance. He's not, as they say "the sharpest tool in the shed". He has what I call, Beer Attachment Disorder (BAD), characterized by his pathological need to have a can of beer glued to at least one of his hands at all times. In fact, he cannot be separated from a can of beer for more than 15.23 minutes or he will suffer from another condition I've termed, Alcohol Detachment Syndrome (ADS). This is characterized by the victim's belief that if another beer is not consumed immediately, his head might implode. Fortunately for me, BAD, when mixed with low levels of common sense, increases the comical antics I witness in his yard on a regular basis.

Although Bob's two young children produce a lot of diapers, Bob never feels the need to take his trash to the dump like the two other people on our street who don't pay for trash pick'up. Instead, he prefers to stink up the neighbourhood by burning his trash in a 55'gallon drum. One day last week, he decided to burn a bunch of soiled, balled up diapers in that drum, but since it rained that day he couldn't get the fire started without some help. So what did he do? Thinking he was being slick, he went to his shed and retrieved a large jug of gasoline, and poured half into the drum full of diapers.

As I sat on my porch watching he gave me a confident "watch this" wink'and'nod, and triumphantly lit a match, dropping it into the barrel. This first match went out before it lit the fuel, adding to Bob's frustration, so he angrily lit a second and dropped it in. I heard a sudden and very loud "Whoosh". Then I saw a huge orange fireball launch from the can into the air, immediately followed by an earth'shaking "BOOM!" Somewhere in the neighbourhood of 50 flaming diaper balls were flying straight up in the air!

Amazingly, they went up so high that it took no less than five full seconds to rain back down on Bob while he ducked with his arms over his head as if he were on a battle field. With beer can still in hand, he was hollering, ...Ow! Oh!... as his beer sloshed out of the can onto his head. Seeing that Bob wasn't hurt, I had no problem laughing. Neighbours can be a great source of entertainment.

Bill, my buddy from across the street, does some things that make me angry. For one, he's always asking to borrow my stuff. Then, if and when I get my stuff back, it's broken or damaged in some way as to require either repair or a good tossing into the dump. However, occasionally he also does things that entertain me. For example, last month Bill borrowed my lawn mower, which he claimed, wouldn't start when he finally got around to using it. He said he thought the mower needed a new spark plug so he rummaged around his garage until he found an old one that would screw into the motor. This would have been all well and good except; the spark plug he put in wasn't the right size. In fact, the threaded portion was a fraction too narrow and too long. So when the mower engine ran the piston was smacking the bottom of the plug making the neighbourhood sound as if it was under machine gun attack.

Again, I was sitting on my front porch when the plug's threads failed. And it suddenly shot out of the motor, and flew through the air like a missile. Understandably, it came as a shock to everyone who witnessed this when the projectile finally imbedded itself in the windshield of a police car on patrol. I think the policeman was just a little jumpy, because he leaped from his still moving car crouching, and ducking with gun drawn as if he were being shot at. Alarmingly, the police car continued down the street, coming to rest over a (now broken and spraying) fire hydrant.

Another neighbour, who lives across the street, has a way of both amusing and frightening me simultaneously. Tim, a self'proclaimed inventor, is always ...one step from a million dollar patent.... I say he's always one step away from sending either himself, or someone else, to the hospital with his quirky ideas. The sad thing is, he's risking lives in the hopes that he will get a patent that he doesn't realise in most cases, already exists. One time in particular, he somehow put a chainsaw motor on his son's skateboard. Laughing, he called it an "out'board"

motor. It was about five o'clock in the afternoon last Monday when I watched his 12'year'old son try to take it for a test drive. The boy foolishly stood on the board while Tim pulled on the starter chord.

After about 20 pulls and a lot of tinkering the motor finally puttered to bare existence. A moment later it unexpectedly roared to life and took off! It quickly shot out from under the poor kid's feet, up'ending him! He landed on his Dad, who was knocked to the ground, and they both fell in a heap in the middle of the street. They were fine with just a few bruises, but the 

'motor'board' kept on going. It must have been doing about 50 miles per hour when it turned up Main Street, veered into Corner Cut's Beauty Salon, and caused Mrs. Johnson to have a large hunk of her hair inadvertently hacked out by the startled beautician. The 'motor'board' finally came to rest embedded in the salon's back wall.

Another thing Tim tried was like parasailing, but used an old army parachute and another skateboard with a binding to secure both feet. From my porch I watched him slip his feet into the binding. Carefully, he put his back to the wind and positioned the 'chute pack on his chest. He pulled the chord and let the 'chute fall to his feet. Then he bent over, grabbed it and tossed it into the wind.

It wasn't long before he was being dragged uncontrollably up the street toward the busy Main Street intersection. There was nothing he could do but scream like a little girl, as the 'chute lines got caught on the corner of a dump truck bed as it headed up main street. He told me later that he was dragged at least 5 blocks on his road'rashed fanny before he managed to free himself. I faked sympathy, but was busy laughing inside.

Mrs. Dolittle is the neighbour that all the rest of us try to stay away from because she always seems to be sticking her nose in other peoples business. When she gets wind of some good gossip, she spreads it around like a bad cold. One afternoon not too long ago, I had a laugh watching Mrs. Dolittle tend to her flowerbeds. She was hunkered down on all fours, paying close attention to what she was doing when Tim's high strung black'lab, Bruno, came bounding up the sidewalk.

Mrs. Dolittle didn't have time to react. I heard a loud, surprised ...Oh!... as Bruno ran over to her and planted his nose in her behind. As Bruno continued his unwelcome 'planting', Mrs. Doolittle lurched forward, flat on her belly. Finally, Bruno, looking victorious placed his front paw on her back and stood there panting. A truly unforgettable sight.

It should now be obvious that sitting in front of the 'boob' tube' isn't the only thing one can do with leisure time at home. Why not trek to a spot like your front porch, where observations are live and can be much more entertaining. Soon you may find yourself getting to know your neighbours instead of catching brief glimpses of them as you dart to and from your car. Life is too short anyway to spend it transfixed on that idiot box, so live a little away from the couch.

Daniel Taverne is a legally blind veteran who has experience in bricklaying, Occupational Therapy, and writing. View his blog at: http://dtaverne.blogspot.com