Me, me, me.
In the six years that Iíve been in my flat, I have spoken no more than a few words to my neighbour who lives upstairs. In the last two weeks, however, I have had two proper conversations with him. The first was when he came and asked if I had a bike pump he could borrow, and the second was when he just happened to be passing, and I just happened to be outside.
He knows the local area better than I do, and as I recently bought a bike, I am keen to learn about all the paths and off road tracks in the locality, so that is what I tried to talk to him about. All he seemed to want to talk about was the medication he was on for his mental problems and his previous suicide attempts. I will probably try to avoid him in future if all he wants to do is talk about himself.