Recently I’ve been noticing unexpected aspects of Lewes life, and wondering if it’s ethical to pay close attention. I feel like the Jimmy Stewart character in Rear Window, becoming obsessed by things I catch by accident. Hearing an argument through an open window so juicy, I blush. I happen to know that a sweet-looking elderly couple live there. I only listen whilst passing, of course. Perhaps I slow down a bit, tie my non-existent shoelaces. Are they about to beat each other senseless with tins of Frey Bentos, or is that normal interaction for them; fury honed over fifty years of marriage? Next time I see them, we talk of how lovely their roses are this year, and how the grandchildren are getting on. There is something about how we behave when we live cheek-by-jowl, the politeness and pleasantries, which belies what we know about each other. A few years ago, after moving to a flat opposite a fire station, I realised the kitchen overlooked a window unadorned by curtains or blinds. Extraordinarily, the firemen behind it were similarly undressed. I nearly sliced my finger off chopping an onion. We faced their shower room, and it soon became clear that we had a regular supply of naked or nearly naked firemen at all times of the day and night. I know. I did some serious research. For a nanosecond, I wondered about the ethics of it. Should I not look? Our kitchen became popular with friends of both genders. When any of us passed the firemen in the street, we’d nod and smile politely. I was never entirely clear whose face belonged to which body. One day, a fire officer said to my neighbour: “We watch you too, you know.”