"Oh crap, I'd forgotten about you."

My voice carries over in the still midday heat to a pair of very long, very masculine legs, attached to a pain in the arse man; apparently choosing today of all days to be out on his terrace enjoying this Indian summer which for the last 3 weeks has persistently settled over London. The tropical heat of an upwind of warm air blowing in from Africa shows no signs of abating, ensuring that every night I go to sleep with a thin sheet and the monotonous sound of my air-conditioning. Religiously, the news now finishes with a, 'and finally, the country is shortly gonna' be running out of ice cream' segment, even Holly & Phil are starting to complain about it all, and doing sections on holidays to Lapland with excitement on their faces.

Yet, above the busy streets of North London, all I can do is sniff the scent of suncream floating on the very light warm breeze.

"And yet, I find you completely and utterly unforgettable." He drawls. Typically, this is the first day 'he' has chosen to sunbathe. Going by the long glass of iced water, suncream, ipad and expensive looking sunglasses sitting on the small mosaic table next to him, with might I add some girly tealight holders, I'd say he's planning to stay here for the majority of the day. For a brief second, he looks at me like he's hearing my inner thoughts, or maybe to be specific casts his uninterested gaze before going back to his broadsheet. "Are you going to be doing some gardening?"

"Maybe." I huff. Anyone else saying that, I would have laughed, because I must look a bit of a sight standing on a sparse outdoor terrace in 32 sweltering degrees of heat with my rock climbing gloves on and a backpack. Well I think they're climbing gloves but they've got a picture of a horse on them so I think Sadie, who kindly got them from Amazon for me, maybe got it wrong. "But it's really got nothing to do with you, ain't it. So….." Seriously, he is ruining my plans. Lounging there on his blue striped deckchair from Heals, and reading like he doesn't have a care in the world. Unfortunately I do. "...as much as you wanna' hang about 'n' chat. " I try. "If you don't mind, I ain't got the time, I've got somewhere I need to be."

Now Charles looks at me properly, a full newspaper down on his lap, chocolate brown eyed stare with complete confusion. "I wasn't aware I was stopping you?" Not Charlie, not Chaz but Charles, and when he says his name it sounds like an aeroplane which has gathered enough speed to take off, lifted its nose off the runway and then decided to put back down again. Charles is slightly posh. And has a son. And a wife. "At least I'll get some peace from your bloody music." He is also rude.

And he won't get a break from my bloody music. . Now That's What I Call Music 92 played as loud as it can be until I return. And if he even threatens to lob my Bang & Olufsen stereo over the balcony again, I'll ensure 'You Don't Own Me,' is polluting the soundwaves until I get back. "You love my music." I point out.

The first time we met, I'd been cleaning my penthouse apartment like I did every single day. Except that morning I'd had my front door wide open to stop the crippling cabin fever I was prone to, blissfully unaware Charles had been standing there. In my defence nobody had lived across the corridor since I'd arrived. I'd presumed it was going to be empty for my entire duration. How was I to know that someone was due to move in that day? Therefore, I'd been giving it my all. In time to the old classic my Dad loved playing at full blast, my hips swinging, the duster in my hand conducting the music when a sixth sense made me turn - and there he was; a large cardboard box marked 'office' in his arms and a huge sodding grin on his face; "Hello, I'm Charles." He'd said. My first thought had been 'Christ he's bleedin' gorgeous, my luck is in', I suddenly realised what they meant by instant attraction though it wasn't just his good looks, there was a kindness in his eyes and his cheeky grin was out of this world. My sex drive which had vacated my body a while back, suddenly perked up and knocked on my brains door to tell it just how much it wouldn't mind a bit of fun. "Nice song, always liked a bit of ELO." He'd continued, and I'd found myself giving him a shitting huge smile, trying to think of something witty to reply when unfortunately my second fully cohesive thought had been 'oh bollocks' as the glass doors of the lift had opened, allowing a tall elegant blonde and a kid to appear and seriously ruin any kind of fun I'd been planning. The kid was about the same age as one of my younger brothers, quickly referring to him as 'Dad', in case I was in any doubt, and well, she'd laid a territorial hand on his arm so she must have been his wife, especially seeing' as they both had wedding rings on.

Life really is crap.

In hindsight, smiling like a maniac whilst my foot found the small blue figurine I'd had since a kid and was now using as a door stopper, and moving it until the door was slammed shut in all their faces, hadn't been my best move either.

"Don't often see you out here." He interrupts, his tone bordering on conciliatory.

'Yeah, well I've got vertigo." I lie. "Can't really be out here unless I can put up with my old knees knocking together." Sitting down on the edge of our periphery wall, I wait until I've got his attention again. Even though I don't really like him, he's someone to talk to and I'm a bit lacking in company these days. "Do you know it's like what everyone says? It's not the fear of falling, it's the fear that I actually bleeding' jump. What are you scared off?"

"Well thankfully I don't have vertigo…. Or agoraphobia, like you." Charles says too pointedly for my liking, like he doesn't believe the reason my current living situation is down to an anxiety of outdoors. "But let's just say I have a fear of neighbours who can't tell the difference between agoraphobia and arachnophobia."

"Bit harsh. I get nervous of meeting new people. Affects my speech."

"Didn't affect your fine motor skills of moving a smurf toy from your door, and therefore allowing it to slam shut in my son's face on the day we met."

"Oi, it wasn't a bleedin' toy. That has sentimental value, I'll have you know. Anyway it was the nerves that made me do it."

One eyebrow is raised, have I mentioned I think he backcombs his fringe each morning and then gets the curling tongs out, it's always sitting perfectly but with the disdainful look I'm on the receiving end of, I remember I need to get rid of him quickly. My mind struggles for how to encourage him to go inside and it's only when my eyes light on a pair of combats, hanging over a clothes horse behind him, that I strike gold. "Sounds like it's all kicking' off in Syria."

Jackpot. He's interested. For a second the side of the newspaper is lowered fractionally until he thinks better of it, or decides I'm not worth believing and goes back to looking like a wasp has stung him up his arse. "Assad Forces supposedly shot down a Russian fighter." I continue. " 'n' Putin phoned Trump 'n' well he phoned Boris 'n' they think they're gonna' put boots on the ground - or that's what they said on BBC News, not that I've got a bleeding' clue what that means." I lie. "I've just got a vision of them dropping off all these boo-."

"Shit, I knew something like this was going to happen."He's off his sun lounger in seconds.

"Me Too." I add for good measure, my attention lingering fleetingly on his Officer's tan of a slight sunburnt v at his neck, and hands darker than the rest of his arms. A squaddies tan is different; they have ¾ tanned arms because they actually get down to their t-shirts and do some bloody work. His abs, to be fair are just as well defined as anyone's I've ever seen and, I hate to admit, he has the perfect amount of chest hair for me to-

"Do you mind if I go in and-" He interrupts my lewd thoughts, pointing through his french doors.

"No, course not."

And he's gone.

Time isn't mine to waste. His flat is the mirror image of my accommodation, so I know it will be 256 steps to go through his open plan kitchen/dining room, along the hall and into the spacious 'drawing room' as it says on the blurb of the luxury North London Apartments, where no doubt his large flat screen Television will be. There's then the problem he'll have of trying to find a news station which will have any mention of my story. Plenty of time for me to walk to the perimeter of my small terrace, find the rope I'd hidden behind a plant Dave had bought me as a moving present and check my bowline knot is still secure. Throwing it over the side, I climb over the railing, say a few hail mary's even though I'm not Catholic and, for a final time, check that Sadie's Cath Kidston Tea-Towel is there, which she kindly leaves hanging over her balcony to let me know that she's in, and as a slight gust of wind catches it, I scale confidently over the side of the balcony.

For 2 years I was in the army, and I am utilising everything I learned because really this isn't so much different to abseiling down the side of a Welsh Mountain. There's a few notable changes; like I can't see any sheep, only a fantastic view of trees and sunbathers on Hampstead Heath. The lack of rock also had me a bit scared the first time I did this, having to actually let my body slide down the specifically measured length of rope when I get to 'no man's land' at the terrace between Sadie and I's flat, rather than kick against the rock face like I'd been taught but I manage, and as I get to my destination, with a bit of swinging momentum my leg can hook over the railing and I breath a sigh of relief when my feet hit solid terrace floor. Taking off my gloves I put them in my backpack and take a deep sigh that I've completed another successful escape.

"I HAVE NEVER SEEN ANYTHING SO BLOODY RECKLESS AND FOOLHARDY IN MY ENTIRE LIFE."

In a similar scene of not being able to ignore the aftermath of a car crash, I find myself leaning over the edge of the balcony and staring back up, squinting against the sun to make out my next door neighbour. At this moment I realise he's angry, well angry, the kind of anger I've only ever seen on previous Commanding Officers faces. "IF YOU HAD SPLATTERED ONTO THE FUCKING PAVEMENT….."

Possibly he's thinking of the poor paramedics who'd have to peel me off the ground, or the innocent passers-by who would have the mental image of me broken limbed and bleeding for the rest of their lives. What he doesn't know, is there'd be an entire section of the government, who if they could bring me back to life would kill me again for being so stupid… and then bring me back to life again.

"THANK YOU FOR YOUR CONCERN, SIR." I shout back, giving him a wave for good measure.

"You didn't tell me your neighbour was a bit of a looker-"

"Shittin' hell Sadie, you nearly gave me a bleedin' julius caesar."

Turning, with my hand still on my chest from fright, I find Sadie next to me, one wizened old hand on her zimmer and the other, encased in costume jewelry, waving up to Charles. "Once met a SS Officer, think he was a spy, was far too good looking to be the enemy." She says with a coquettish giggle. "Had the hint of those very cheekbones. He was really well hu-"

Interrupting her, I roll my eyes. "Sadie, there is something called over-sharing."

"Not between friends dear."

"Even between friends." I clarify disdainfully.

"What a gentleman he is, he's still waving." Sadie says with breathless delighted awe. I'm about to point out the chances of her suffering from repetitive strain injury is going to be high unless she stops waving like the sodding queen, when she shuts me up. "You can tell from here he'd be good between the sheets"

"Sadie."

"You should give him a shot, life's too short, if I was your age I'd have got frisky with someone as good looking as him."

With the excuse to myself that I'm not sure if he is good looking, I glance back up to the floor I've just abseiled down from. He's still there. Catching me looking, he gives a disappointed shake of his head before turning and stomping away. As ever, I have that unsettled feeling in my stomach. "Maybe I don't want to have anything to do with that upper class wanker."

"Oh dear." Sadie giggles, clumping with her zimmer through the double door into her flat.

"What?" I ask to her retreating back. "What?"

"You have got it bad. Now do you have time for a cuppa' before you head off."