The neighbour's house extension is a calamity for poor Rosemary

Rosemary thought that by being reasonable herself, her neighbours would be considerate with their plans. That's not how it works these days
House extensions
House extensions can be a cause of neighbourly tension Photograph: Graham Turner for the Guardian Graham Turner/Guardian

Rosemary has just been to visit friends near Geneva. Lucky she. What a fabulous holiday: stunning mountain scenery, invigorating fresh air, creamy goat's milk, home-grown, home-baked everything. She felt like Heidi.

Then she arrived home, and from her back window saw a scene of devastation.

Hell was waiting for her. Because next-door are building an extension. Rosemary rang with the bad news. "My heart's beating," she said. "I don't want to talk about it."

But she did really, because she was scared stiff, especially by a phrase in the party-wall agreement implying that she can never whine about her "right to light or air or any other easement whatever". Whatever that means. Then round came a contractor, musing that she'd be living in a "dungeon". Nobody seems quite sure of the ghastly extension's measurements, although Rosemary has begged for details, and now, while she has been prancing around the alps, the builders have knocked down a chunk of wall, trampled her plants – goodbye lovely hellebores, kerria, roses and clematis – dumped a giant concrete block on her pathway, and put up a monster fence, with yellow notice attached, saying, "Danger, men working overhead", as if she didn't know already, so she hung out some washing, because God knows how long it will be before she can do that again.

And next week she has a leg operation, so she's terrified that she'll come staggering out into the tunnel that was once her patio, and fall over the giant slabs.

Oh why wasn't she nastier in the first place? Poor Rosemary thought that by being reasonable and not poking suspiciously round the plans, everyone else would be charming and considerate. But that's not how it works these days.

"You need to be young and thrusting to deal with this sort of thing," says Fielding, sensibly. "Not 74, and lame, with a heart condition, or you tend to get crapped on. I'd need some 6ft 6in chums, with muscles and tattoos. People tend to shape up when gentlemen like that arrive."

Still, next-door have promised to reinstate everything. Rosemary lives in hope. I don't.