We had a neighbour when we lived in Glen Iris who was a sweet old man. He lived behind us and and was terribly bent over. He was almost a right angle. We used to see him often when he was walking the Ashburton shops with his jeep where he was well known.
But like all residents of the posh Summerhill Estate, (no brick making on the property was the caveat on our house title. Not sure how you make bricks out of sandy loam) he had his secrets. Over the four or so years we lived there, about once a month he would go off his tree. I would guess it was whisky. He would roam around his house and garden roaring unintelligble nonsense, except for the swear words. It would go on for hours.
It had happened a couple of times before we were told by another neighbour about the occasional days he became 'very stressed'. Don't worry about it, we were told. He will fine in two days. Sure enough, we would never see him the next day, but the day after that, we would again seeing him going to the shops.
I kind of like the idea. Get 'orribly pissed for a day. Call all and sundry for the c's they are. Recover the next day and the day after, all is back to normal.
We expected the ultra middle class neighbours to our left with their young blond children. We almost expected the nice man the other side with the wife who was always reading and smoking at the same time. She never left her house and if we visisted her or she called on us, she would continue reading, peering down through her look over glasses. I doubt she would have been fifty years old. She did not exactly converse. More make statements or respond. For only the shortest of times would she look up from her book.
Must say, in the middle class suburbs, we had quite 'interesting' neighbours, unlike where we live now.