Admittedly, the grand, remote-controlled gates were only slightly open – enough for a person to pass through – and perhaps the house seemed formidable, standing as it does like a big fortress at the end of the cul-de-sac… A wind was blowing (still is) through the screen door of the side entrance to the open-plan kitchen-dining area where I was sat (writing to Oss’m) at my computer. Aside from the sound of the wind howling there were other noises that emanated from the neighbours’ surrounding properties and my own – a whinging cry from a tired baby, the scrunching of feet on stones, a heavy ceramic pot scraping on cement, the repeated efforts of a rusty bolt being forced open and the hollow, tinny sound as, at last, the door opened and fell back against the aluminium shed, a vertical blind clacking together in the breeze, and my washing whirring away at spin phase; all these sounds I found not unpleasant because they were the little sounds of life around me as I tapped away on my keyboard. But they were peripheral sounds that barely intruded, not like the tiny knock, hardly audible, that sounded quite close.

I looked up in the direction of the main front door, the view of which was obscured partially by a pillar, but I reckoned that if anyone was there I would probably have seen a shadowy figure through the frosted glass; and I glanced at the side doorway, open but screened. There was no sign of callers. I decided the knock must have come from a stick that had been propped against a wall and which had blown over in the wind, therefore I saw no reason to investigate further and I resumed typing.

A few moments later my eyes were drawn to a movement outside – it was a smartly dressed couple walking out from my driveway and through the open gate. At the same time I noticed several other well-dressed couples walking down the driveways of some of the houses up at this end of the street; I continued to watch as, without speaking to one another, all the impassive callers rejoined on the tarmac, turned around and walked back down the road. The scene reminded me of various film-makers’ impression of heaven at the point when someone has died and he or she is met by a host of people who have already passed over.

Yesterday morning two young American gentlemen rapped loudly upon the same front door – my front door – and I greeted them with smiles and apologies because I was going out, and anyway, “I don’t live here” and “Why not come back when Sue and Glenn are home?”. They gave me their card before they left and then I left (I was genuinely on my way out and was pleased to be able to tell the truth on that score).

Today I felt quite differently. It seemed to me that the knock was too timid if the mission was to spread ‘the word’. I suspected that the couples were fulfilling a call of duty and perhaps even dreaded meeting wary householders. I imagine that expectations are very low nowadays. Nevertheless, the knock was heard and I gave the matter a little more thought than I might otherwise have done.