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Tales of the Commune: Why Wear Clothes When You Have No Neighbors? Front Cover. Lawrence Kroll. CreateSpace Independent Publishing.
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Never seeing another coat on the stand or shoes kicked on the doormat. Instead of downsizing or moving into a care home as he enters his twilight years, Neil has upsized by buying a small working farm near Chard, in Somerset, and setting up a family commune. Neil Dowding, 71, pictured third from right from Somerset explained why he believes a family commune is a good thing at a time when many are suffering from isolation and loneliness, pictured from left: Ione, Andrew Marsh, his wife Melissa, Annelise, Neil, Sandra and Aaron.

Under this roof live Neil, 71, Sandra, 69, their year-old daughter, Melissa, and her year-old husband, Andrew Marsh. The family live cheek-by-jowl with 60 sheep, 13 horses, four milking cows and a Hereford bull called Prince. Added to that are seven dogs — Millie, Pip, Bella, Travis, Spud, Rupert and Malarchy —seven Gloucester Old Spots pigs, a rescue calf called Rosie, 11 ducks, three bantam hens, two rabbits and a couple of fish.

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These are some of the best years of our lives. Neil rents a further nine acres. Neil is converting the loft and a garage to add three more bedrooms, which, ideally, he would like to offer to two more like-minded pensioners to join his project. Neil pictured revealed each of the family members have their own role - Sandra is the family cook and their daughter Melissa helps with domestic duties. But his story is food for thought given that the UK is facing a surge in the number of people aged over 65, and people are living longer than ever before.

The average cost of residential care rose by nearly 10 per cent between and On top of that, soaring property prices have pushed younger generations out of the market, and childcare costs for those who want to work while raising families are crippling. But the Dowding clan say their system works: each family member has his or her own role and responsibilities. One in four UK adults aged 20 to 34 lives with their parents, says Civitas — one million more than in , when it was one in five.

She is the family cook and takes care of all the catering and most of the housework. Sisters Ione and Annelise, who both studied animal care at Bicton College in Budleigh Salterton, Devon, are in charge of 13 horses, including four miniature Shetlands, two wild ponies and a rescue pony called Nugget. Right now they are bottle feeding six orphan lambs three times a day, as well as Rosie the calf.

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Sandra pictured right says living with younger family members is mentally stimulating and stops her from becoming isolated. One of the attractions of this way of life, he says, is that while no-one is ever lonely, everyone is given space to be on their own if they wish. The one house rule is that everyone sits around the large kitchen table for dinner each evening — and that phones are switched off during meals. The family has even managed to find a way around the tricky matter of family finances, despite the fact each of them has a vastly different income.

Neither Ione nor Annelise receives wages, for example, although once the farm business comes into its own, they hope that will change. For now, Annelise is subsidised by Aaron, while Ione turns to her parents if she needs cash for anything. Neil pictured right recalls generations of families living together in the past and believes its the way that things should be.

We bicker like a normal family. We also discussed driving lessons for the younger members of the family, and how they would be paid for. Such an arrangement might not suit everyone.

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Like so many twentysomethings, the younger members of the commune would struggle to get a foot on the property ladder in the current economic climate, so the arrangement works well for them. Above all, Neil and Sandra have peace of mind knowing that if they become frail or infirm, they will always be looked after. This is how families used to be and how I believe they should be. After Neil's parents died he put the empty rooms to good use by inviting two elderly patients that he had met during his time as a district nurse to share the property.

Born and raised in Sidmouth, Devon, he was 17 when he volunteered in the Royal Engineers and was posted to Nicosia in Cyprus. Three years later, they returned to the UK and married, and they will celebrate their golden wedding anniversary in September this year. He ended up with a nursing degree from Plymouth University. Sandra worked as a home help and nursing assistant at Sidmouth Hospital.

He dyed his hair with shoe polish because it would drip like in Death in Venice. He had a dog, Sputnik, who had an infection and wanted to scratch his ear. So he wore one of those big Elizabethan collars. I would do things like get him food or cook, and he would eat dinner at my apartment. He already had an assistant, so I was just a gofer.

One of the traits of genii is they dare the world to understand them. Many of them are belligerent and stubborn and unpleasant. We used to send notes to each other. He was a private guy—I never saw him. He was mad as a hatter.

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I had no idea how famous he was. One night Charles was at a booth with me in the back room and someone sent over a bottle of champagne with a glass. He turned the glass over on the bottle and told the waiter to take it back. Which was rather interesting considering that he came from the Midwest. The Chelsea then was bizarre and wonderful and strange. It was just coming out of its super drug haze.

I remember there was a guy who sold grass.


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He had a five-foot-high pile of grass in the middle of his living room with roaches running out. It has always been a place where, because of Stanley, you could do virtually anything short of murder, though that took place too. There used to be a murder, a suicide, and a fire every year. Somebody had committed suicide by jumping down the stairwell and, on the way down, lost a shoe.

My boyfriend and I lived across from an apartment that always had young married couples who fought bitterly, screaming and slamming doors. I came out one day and a man from one of the most vociferous couples was leaning against the wall, drinking a can of beer.


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He looked flushed and weird. He said, Hi. I said, Hello. I approached the elevators, and 20 policemen came rushing up and grabbed him. The man had just shot and killed his wife, you see, and he had been waiting for the police to come. Many people became drug addicts here—including me for a period, when my partner died of AIDS—because you can do anything.

The atmosphere encouraged outrageous adventures. That was because of Stanley. The ambulance came. Something else happened that I always will be grateful for. She changed the sheets and I never saw the underclothes again. That was a beautiful, incredible thing. He lived there like a graduate student. He had a wonderful, six-room apartment, in its original condition from , but it had been part of an room apartment. So he built a makeshift kitchen in the linen closet.

I met Virgil when I was working as a cook. I need to see if you can put things together and turn them into something else.

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So our relationship was mainly about food. He had just died. The idea was to leave the apartment in its original state. Virgil is present in this place. Like a benign, gentle ghost. He died right here. Sometimes, though, I would actually give them the number they wanted. I would look it up for them. My next-door neighbor was Neon Leon. He had a white girlfriend and a black girlfriend and, I think, children with each. They would take turns fighting with him and setting fire to the mattress. One night, a guy from a floor above us landed on a metal table in the courtyard—on his head.

The very next day another guy jumped out the window onto the synagogue next door. It was just after John Lennon was shot. He was being carried down the hall on a stretcher. The atmosphere was palpably different. What was happening was that there was a fire on a lower floor and enormous billows of smoke were coming up the stairwell.