So, this happened to me not long after I moved into my new flat in a three-story terrace house in Manchester. My neighbours are a young couple with two little ones next door and then theres Margaret, a woman in her fifties who lives alone on the other side.
I figured wed all get along finenever had any trouble with neighbours before. But then, one Friday evening, Im cooking dinner when the doorbell goes. Its Margaret, looking a bit cross. She tells me the smell of garlic from my kitchen is seeping through the wall and putting her off her telly. Asks if I could go easier on it next time.
I was gobsmacked but just nodded and shut the door, thinking nothing more of it. Fast forward a few days, Im making my favourite spaghetti with chicken and garlic, and suddenly the landlords knocking. Turns out Margaret had a proper moan to him about a «persistent odour problem.»
At first, I was fuminggoing behind my back like that! But then I thought, right, how do I fix this? Next time I cooked the same dish, I knocked on Margarets door with a smile and said, «Maybe you were just jealous it smelled so goodfancy a taste?» And I handed her a plate.
She looked shocked but took it and invited me in. Over tea, she told me how when she was a kid, garlic bread was her absolute favourite. But her late husband couldnt stand the smell, so she hadnt cooked with garlic in years. My food had brought all those memories back, and shed been frustrated with herself for ignoring what she loved.
The next morning, there was a note on my door»That was proper lovely, thank you.» Since then, I always make extra for her, and now we even cook together sometimes. Turns out all it took was a plate of pasta to sort it out.
