THE rain was hammering on the roof, my shoes were ruined and the contents of my handbag were a sorry little pile outside my front door. I couldn't believe that I'd chosen this night of all nights to lose the keys to my flat.
In desperation I reached for my mobile to call for help – only to find the battery was flat.
I was almost crying by the time I knocked on my neighbour's door to ask to use her phone. We'd only met a few times on the stair, but as soon as she saw m
e she invited me in and offered me a cup of tea. She brushed away my apologies for dripping water on the carpet and the sofa.
She then even offered to drive me to my sister's flat, which is half an hour's walk away, to pick up my spare keys.
We're often hearing how nobody knows their neighbours anymore, and the fast pace of city living means there's no longer a sense of community.
Well, this certainly isn't the case in Edinburgh . . . or Leith Walk at least.
I was slightly nervous about moving out of my home in Musselburgh, where my family has had the same house all of my life. Everyone knew everyone on my street, although they did tend to get me mixed up with my sisters a lot of the time. I was sure I would be lonely living in a tiny, one-bedroom flat in the city.
But I couldn't have been more wrong, and was amazed by the warm welcome I got.
My neighbour who lives opposite me was one of the first to greet me when we were struggling up the stairs with dozens of heavy boxes. She gave me a house-warming card to brighten up my empty shelves.
And when my new kitchen took two weeks (instead of two days) to install, my neighbour kindly allowed me to "borrow" her oven when I invited friends round for a dinner party. I remember the look of surprise on their faces when I popped next door and came back with a quiche just out of the oven.
There's also nothing like a crisis to bring people together. When rain started pouring in through our windows, the couple on the other side of the stair decided to put their rock-climbing skills to use. They hauled themselves out of their top-floor window, climbed on the roof and tried to unblock the gutters.
We did still need to get the council round to sort it out, but it certainly got everyone talking to each other.
Even my street seems like a little village. There's the friendly newsagent across the road, who didn't mind when I forgot my purse and had to pay later for my carton of milk. I also like practising my Italian with the Sicilian bakers at the other end of the street.
It's all a far cry from the lives of many of my university friends in London.
Hardly anyone knows who lives next door, and they certainly wouldn't invite them into their flats.
I loved reading Alexander McCall Smith's Scotland Street books, but always thought they were a bit far-fetched, with the little community of characters all living under one roof.
But now I live in Edinburgh, I'm sure this isn't so unusual. In fact, if he feels like writing a sequel, I'd recommend setting it in my street. He can even pop in and borrow my phone or my oven if he likes.
