Love thy neighbour

It's true they share a love of football, but they also share a love of poetry. I wouldn't be entirely surprised to hear them shouting bits of Tennyson over the garden fence.

'People still seem amazed when I like anything remotely arty,' muses Skinner, who has a master's degree in English literature. 'In the past six weeks, I've seen ten Akira Kurosawa films. I actually use Wordsworth's She Dwelt Among The Untrodden Ways as a sound-check. That's made a few fat men in black T-shirts look surprised over the years.'

Baddiel is more widely seen as intellectual, possibly because he has a beard. Technicians are less flabbergasted when Baddiel uses Gerard Manley Hopkins' The Windhover as a sound-check, although 'I was doing stand-up once at a church in Edinburgh, and during the sound-check someone shouted: "Get that Jesuit crap out of here!" Which is such an incredible heckle, I had to applaud it.'

Among the novels, autobiographies, sitcoms and stage shows, poetry is one thing that these boys have never offered to the public.

'I do write sonnets sometimes,' confesses Baddiel, 'but I would never publish them. Poetry is the one thing you really can't get away with. The only people who read my sonnets are the people I write them to.'

'You've never written one to me,' says Skinner, wistfully.

It's time for the quiz. Baddiel and Skinner are keen quizzers, regularly appearing at the Atlantic Bar trivia night hosted by Jeremy Beadle. I've set them an easy one: how well do they know each other? Or rather, it seems easy. The fact is that far too few people in London know enough about their neighbours. Can Frank and David, old friends in next-door houses, buck this trend? Or do they, in fact, live with the same urban detachment as the rest of us? Let's test their neighbourly knowledge...

Question one David, you're playing music too loud again. But what kind of music will get Frank thumping angrily on the wall?

'Jazz,' says David at once. 'Frank's tried with jazz, but he really hates it.'

'It's listened to by w*****s,' explains Frank. 'Dave's correct, and I'd be knocking on the wall for his own good.'

Question two David is having a Christmas party for the neighbours. But which key hosting mistake has he made? Insensitivity with the guest list? Too few sausage rolls?

'No, he'd forget he was having it at all,' says Frank. 'We spend our lives going back to various places for bags and jackets that Dave has forgotten. It's only a matter of time before the tabloids get a story that Dolly was left in Budgens.'

'Completely correct,' says David. 'I normally wear a silver bracelet on my right wrist, and I said to Morwenna the other day: "This is the only thing I've never lost." I lost it immediately.'

Question three Frank is not at home, so the postman delivers a package to the Baddiel house for safekeeping. Is it most likely to contain: a) six new books from Amazon; b) an interesting new gadget from the Innovations catalogue; c) uncertificated foreign pornography?

'Frank doesn't read novels,' says David. 'He does like gadgets, but I don't think he'd use the Innovations catalogue. I'll say Amazon, but the books are non-fiction.'

'It's touch and go,' says Frank, 'but I'd say the gadget. I really love gadgets. I've just bought one of those watches that takes photographs.'

What an incredibly male purchase. Who needs a watch that takes photographs? Just get a camera. 'Oh, but if it's on your wrist you can take photos anywhere,' insists Frank. 'When you get to my age, you have to photograph everything or it's gone forever.'

I ask David (a fan of Updike, Roth and Austen) whether it annoys him that Frank doesn't read novels.

'I find it slightly odd,' says David, 'but it doesn't annoy me.'

Frank raises an eyebrow. 'You do often mention the fact that I haven't read yours.'

'Yes. That annoys me a bit. Frank has an incredibly Luddite idea about novels, which is that they're not true so there's no point in reading them. Doesn't seem to bother him when he's watching a film.'

'Film is a joyous experience,' cries Frank. 'I've never sat down with a large bag of popcorn and a Vimto to read a book.'

Question four Oh look, there's David in the garden, hanging out his washing. It seems to be mainly pants. Are they: a) standard M&S three-pack briefs; b) Yves Saint Laurent jockey shorts; c) sexy, European-style thongs?

Frank guesses Yves Saint Laurent, but David reveals the correct answer is a). He even unbuttons his fly to prove that he is currently wearing plain white M&S Y-fronts.

'I do have some posh pants,' Baddiel admits, 'but they're left over from when I was single and thought I might possibly pull. That's the only time I wore boxer shorts, which I find uncomfortable. I don't like uncradled genitalia.'

'What about a hammock?' suggests Frank.

At this point, David volunteers a little-known piece of childhood information. 'When I was younger, we didn't have separate pants in my family. There was just a big pants drawer in my parents' room - basically my dad's pants drawer - and all three boys had to go and get them. I know, it's a bit strange. And as a result, I still feel most comfortable with old man's big Y-fronts.'

This nugget could keep a shrink busy for the best part of a decade.

Question five David, you're bringing legal action against your ex-friend Frank after his unneighbourly behaviour. Has he: a) grown an enormous leylandii hedge; b) bought a rooster; c) run a secret extension cable into your garage to power his entire house from your electricity supply?

'The rooster,' guesses David, 'because I always imagine Frank having livestock of some sort or another.'

'Yep, that's the right answer,' agrees Frank. 'I grew up with chickens and pigeons. My lifestyle now isn't conducive to pets, but I'd really like a Staffordshire bull terrier. You can hold them under your arm and feel that heart pounding in the canine breast.'

Question six Much as David loves fatherhood, it has brought on a terrible mid-life crisis. Peering through his letterbox one day, you find that he has plastered the hall with posters of women. Do they feature: a) Jordan; b) Kylie; c) Sophie Ellis Bextor?

Frank guesses c) on the grounds that Sophie Ellis Bextor is the most unsere. So he speaks Yiddish now? These guys have been friends too long. He's guessed wrong, anyway.

'Jordan is actually a very pretty woman,' says David defensively. 'She's done silly things to herself, but of those three she's by far and - this is a strange thing to say - the most naturally beautiful.'

And no, I can't translate unsere. Learn the language already. (All right, it means something like one of 'us'.)

Question seven David, you're moving out. Who would Frank most like to see moving in? a) Jeremy Paxman; b) Steven Redgrave; c) Fran Healy?

Frank feels obliged to inform David that he recently met Jeremy Paxman on a plane. Frank was returning from a corporate gig in Seville, and Paxo - Frank was deeply impressed to hear - had been trout fishing in Chile. But the trout is a red herring: David guesses Fran Healy and is correct.

'I knew it wouldn't be Steven Redgrave,' says David, 'because Frank's not interested in rowing. And they say that Jeremy Paxman's got a very big knob, which I thought might be somehow threatening.'

'Yes,' agrees Frank. 'It would cause the same sort of problems as the leylandii hedge.'

Question eight Frank, you're moving out. Who does David really not want to see acquiring the property: a) Eugene Terreblanche; b) Chris Evans; c) his own mother?

Frank opts for Terreblanche.

'No,' says David, slightly shamefaced. 'I've gone for my mum. Slightly for comedy reasons but... much as I love my mother, my relationship with her is more complicated than my relationship with Eugene Terreblanche. I feel guilty for saying it now. I do consider my mother to be a better person than he is. I just think it would be difficult to carry on a normal life with your mum next door.'

A shadow falls over the table. It's Peter York, the celebrated style commentator, who's been dining at a nearby table. York's own neighbour, he reveals, is none other than Sol Campbell.

'Oh dear,' mutters Frank. 'I'd rather have Eugene Terreblanche.'

'Hmm,' muses York. 'I have to take my courage in my hands, go round and ask him what he intends to do with the house. I know what he should do, of course. Turn it into three smaller houses.'

'He could have one up front and two at the back,' suggests Frank.

York bids the pair goodbye. 'I wish I had my photographic watch,' says Frank. 'I could capture this moment forever. But I'm wearing another one today.' He shows me his watch. It bears a picture of Nelson Mandela and Mandela's arm is the second hand. It looks like he is waving goodbye.

'He's watching Eugene Terreblanche moving out,' says Frank.

'Stop it,' says David gloomily. 'I retract that answer.'

But it's too late for retractions. The scores are totted up. It's 3-1 to Baddiel. So it's Skinner who hasn't made enough effort to get to know his neighbour. Shameful, really, because Skinner is the one who grew up in the closer-knit community of the West Midlands, while Baddiel has spent his whole life in the crowded isolation of the capital.

It's Skinner who complains that nobody in this city pops next door for a cup of tea because 'In London, you have to phone for an appointment'. And yet not only has Skinner failed to read his neighbour's two novels, he doesn't even know what pants the man wears. Maybe they just haven't been chatting enough lately, keeping the subjects fresh for Unplanned. They set off together, Skinner still shaking his head over the score. I hope it won't take the shine off the neighbourhood barbecue.

Baddiel and Skinner Unplanned is on Thursdays at 10.30pm on ITV1