‘We catch ourselves and feel terrible’: The one issue I can’t stop judging you

I am generally a “live and let live” sort of person. I don’t care what people do as long as they generally don’t go about causing harm. There is, however, an exception to this rule. And you could be the target.

Frances Whiting might live in a “fish bowl” but at least it’s a stylish one. Picture: David Kelly

First of all, thank you to the many, many of you who wrote to give me directions on how to tell directions. I was very touched by your collective willingness to help, and can now confidently say that, should I find myself lost in the jungle/desert/Westfield shopping centre, I will be able to find the way out, by either finding midday on my watch, looking at the position of the sun, or asking at the help desk.

I don’t like to brag (well, I do, but a modicum of modesty is always attractive), but I am now also fairly confident I could lead a Scout troop.

So thank you – next week, I would like you to teach me how to fashion a small boat from bark. In the meantime, this week’s column is somewhat of a confession. I am not generally
a judgmental person.

The sound you hear is my children howling with laughter. The other sound you can hear is my husband joining them, and muttering something about Judgey McJudgey under his breath.

But I honestly believe I am generally a “live and let live” sort of person.

I don’t care what people do, who they love, what they earn, or who they worship, as long as they generally don’t go about causing harm, or posting long, origin stories about their recipes.

There is, however, an exception to this rule, and that is when I am walking with my friend Martine around our neighbourhood.

Then, the two of us could have our own television show, Judging Houses Australia. It would be just like that television show, Selling Houses Australia, but with much more dialogue about questionable window furnishing choices.

The judging comes when Frances Whiting and her friend are walking the suburbs, and it turns out they’re not alone, with two women commenting on her own home.

I should say that, when we are not perambulating around our neighbourhood, pointing out poor awning decisions, Martine is the least judgmental person I know.

But put the two of us together, and she’s like Judge Judy going on her morning walk. I don’t know what comes over us.

One of us will say: “Well, I’m not sure I would have chosen that colour for the exterior” and the other will answer, “No, not with that trim. I would have gone for a lighter grey and a charcoal.”

“Exactly, or even a cream and a light olive.”

A few houses further – once we’ve warmed up – one of us will say: “Are they joking with that gate choice? It’s not Graceland.”

Last week, we passed a house with a rather elaborate, wrought-iron fence, and Martine said, “Winter is coming.”

Sometimes we will catch ourselves in full-blown judgment mode, and feel terrible. But not terrible enough to stop.

Or, as I said to Martine just last week: “It is wrong of us to judge, but if people are going to insist on adding a hideous water feature with a concrete goose, then frankly, it’s on them.”

Of course, if you are going to judge, you must also be prepared to be judged, as I was recently.

Two women were walking past our house. They stopped for a good old squiz, and then one of them said to the other: “Oh God, it would be like living in a fish tank.”

This is because we have a lot of glass at our house.

So yes, it is a bit, thank you. But a very, very stylish one.