I’m rushing my daughter to school, pulling her scooter while simultaneously carrying water bottle, rucksack and gym bag (making a mental note to do some back stretches later). I peek at WhatsApp. There’s an update from my sister on the family group. A school friend wants sponsoring to run the marathon. And there are 50 unread messages in the street WhatsApps.

‘Does anyone want this A4 ring binder folder?’ – a picture pops up of a decidedly knackered-looking folder. I scroll further… ‘Did anyone hear the helicopter last night?’ A few people have commented, ‘No, I didn’t!’ or ‘Hope it’s nothing serious…’ and someone has posted the ‘alarmed face’ emoji. My annoyance levels rise. I drop my daughter off and tell her to: ‘make good choices’. It’s unfortunate I can’t seem to take this advice myself. Because I’m choosing to look at my street WhatsApp, knowing full well it will tip me over the edge today.

I love my street. I speak to many of my neighbours as I rush up and down ferrying my kids about. I do NOT, however, love the street WhatsApp. People meddle. They catastrophise. They try and get rid of a whole heap of old crap instead of carting it off to the local charity shop.

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My older daughter will often pick up my phone and shout, ‘OOH THERE’S AN OLD CLUEDO SET AT NUMBER 47! CAN WE GET IT?’ I’ll nod but internally I’m seething. My house is the equivalent of a too-tight polyester shirt with a tummy sticking out the bottom – it’s about to explode with unwanted stuff. ‘Does anyone fancy this box of plastic rubbish I emptied out of my drawer?’ someone posted recently. I was lucky that my kids were at school or they would’ve nabbed it (soft toys are also a concern; we are at maximum soft toy capacity).

Another common thing is people taking photos of well-fed, happy cats and saying they’re worried that they ‘may be lost’. One good friend of mine ended up taking her neighbour’s cat to the vet because of this. The neighbour was not impressed as he had to pay 60 quid to cover the vet’s fees.

Oh, and the neighbourhood watch. WhatsApp keeps us all locked into fight or flight mode. Random messages alert us to ‘the person who just walked past. I certainly didn’t recognise them!’ Then someone else: ‘Yes, I heard someone had their phone stolen a few weeks back, so watch out!’ Once someone messaged, ‘There was a strange boy at my door just now. Luckily, I didn’t open it!’ (The ‘strange boy’ was actually another neighbour’s son dropping off an Amazon parcel delivered to the wrong address.)

Also the meddling. We used to do this thing called ‘Play Street’, when the local council closed the street on a Sunday afternoon so the kids could play in it. I very much enjoyed it until it was my turn to organise it. Queue a tsunami of unsolicited advice. I needed to post on Facebook, needed to design and print up posters, needed to post it on all the other street WhatsApps in the entire universe. Instead, I closed the road with the street barriers and four kids came out, twiddled their thumbs and went back inside. ‘It was disappointing to see Play Street was so poorly attended today,’ one of my neighbours posted. I felt my face turning red.

My main bug bear however, is the unwanted junk. The broken washing lines. The tin of prunes that has been opened but smells okay. One flip-flop that could be used as a fly swat? The bath cubes given as a present in 1987 but never used. Occasionally, though, something pops up that everyone wants. In that moment, if you’re the one first to claim it… well that makes up for ALL the other times your kid came home clutching a soiled cat bed or deflated football. I once got a lovely Emma Bridgewater plate.

I saw my neighbours staring as I walked triumphantly past. I’d won! I’d actually got something nice! ’When is she going to run another Play Street?’ one of them whispered under her breath. When I got home, I discovered a massive crack in the plate, patched badly with peeling sellotape. ‘Does anyone want a cracked plate?’ I typed immediately. There was total silence. Then a new message popped up – ‘I saw this ginger cat miaowing in my garden. I think he may be lost’.