The Mind-Blowing Terror Of Seeing Your Neighbours Fully Clothed

I was walking the dog the other morning when I came face-to-face with the woman who was naked when I last saw her.

I don't make a habit of this sort of thing, but the last time I had clapped eyes on Naked Woman, she had been naked. And also a woman.

And if there's one awkward situation specifically designed to bring out the full Englishman in you, then this is exactly it.

Now call me a Peeping Tom or a pervert, but I don't go out with the intention of seeing my neighbours déshabillé, and Naked Woman was certainly nowhere near the top of my list of people I would want to see in such a state.

Mrs Naked Woman, to give her the dignity of her proper title lives in a bungalow near to our flat, and she and her husband, Mr Fully Clothed Man As Far As I Am Aware, are what you might call a perfect example of the Daily Express's target readership. Well into their retirement years; Kia car on the drive; a sensible, well-tended garden with the tang of Jeyes Fluid; and a caravan so they can just-hitch-up-and-go, but with enough mildew around the windows to suggest that it's been a long time since they've got up and gone anywhere recently.

But it was as I walked Wilson past their home a few weeks ago - 6.30 in the morning - that she flung open the bedroom blinds exposing her full, naked glory to the world and anybody who might be passing. Me, and an 11-year-old Jack Russell Terrier, as it turns out. Naked, yes. Not exactly glorious, but who am I to judge, for everybody has their own idea of beauty.

I like to think I have reached that stage of maturity where I do not have to regale you with a graphic description of my near neighbour's early-morning nudity, for you have an imagination of your own. And if you don't there's always Google.

Hurrying along, it's not something you tend to forget too quickly, and I changed my dog walking route for the the best part of a month, just in case.

So, having reverted back to the Danger Naked People Route recently, it was only a matter of time before our paths would cross again.

It was an evening, I was walking and 11-year-old Jack Russell Terrier who's going to be 12 next month, and she was getting out of the sensible Kia parked on the drive.

Our eyes met, for a brief awkward second.

My thought were immediately "You've seen her naked", and I turned away.

I have no idea if her immediate thought was "He's seen my bosoms", because I'm not a mind-reader, but I went into safety mode and assumed this to be the case.

"Come on, Wilson," I urged, hoping for a quick getaway, but he was militantly sniffing at her gate-post in the tenacious way that Jack Russells do, so I was trapped there until the leg was cocked, hoping that we would not be drawn into awkward small talk that might betray what one neighbour knew about the other. Or the other way around.

Inevitably: "Lovely evening," she said.

"Mmm," I replied, gesturing at Wilson while he sniffed with ever greater alacrity around her gate*, "He'll be done in a minute. Sorry."

"Must gets my blinds fixed," she mused.

I fled. Wilson never got the chance to cock the leg.

*Not sexy slang