Listening

 

Nell the Poo’s and my daily walk usually lasts about an hour and ten minutes. That is unless, like yesterday, I find myself being stopped by people who want to talk. It happened twice on yesterday’s walk, meaning we were out for over two hours and by the time we arrived home, Nell was puffing because it was a hot day and she is covered in fur, and I was weary because a) I have picked up a mild cold and b) listening to people (even though I have been trained and have a diploma in the practise) is hard work. 

Firstly, I was stopped by two villagers who had seen the notice on the village WhatsApp group chat regarding the charity coffee morning that we on the village hall committee are running at the end of May for Dementia UK. We are holding a plant and cake sale and a competition to grow the tallest sunflower, which means I currently have 58 pots with freshly sown sunflower seeds in my greenhouse and I am keeping my fingers crossed that most of them germinate and put in at least three inches growth in the next four weeks. ‘Can you make sure that the best plants aren’t all nabbed by the committee people?’ said the two villagers. ‘Last time there was a plant sale, all the best plants had gone by the time we arrived.’

Well, I did my best smile and nodded, but in my head I was thinking, just turn up earlier, then, because in these events the early bird WILL catch the worm and as long as people are paying then I don’t care if they are committee members or Uncle Tom Cobbly and all. 

Thereafter, the outward bound part of the walk was uninterrupted, but coming back I was stopped by a couple on a boat who were from New Zealand, in the first instance to tell me how lovely Nell was, and then to tell me all about their boating plans for the rest of the year, the cost of living in New Zealand (pretty similar to Britain from what I could gather), the impending arrival of their first grandchild, their daughter’s corgi, their son’s BMW something or other model which cost an exorbitant amount to fill with petrol and, in their opinion, was a car he didn’t need, and their astonishment that ‘everyone in England seems to have a dog.’

Eventually, I wished them well on their journey, and continued on mine only to be stopped within a gnat’s whisker of the road bridge by another lady who proceeded to tell me her entire life story including the death of her older husband, her education, her artistic tendencies, her eating habits, and how incompetent the Social Services were in dealing with her benefits claims. And how she’d given up her council flat to live in this boat which needed a lot of work done on it, goodness knows where she was going to get the money from. It turned out she was only a year younger than me, and I did wonder how people can get into such a pickle with their lives. There but for the grace of God etc etc blah blah blah go I. 

Anyway, I was cheerful and encouraging and told her she was being a strong and independent woman and ‘Hurrah!’ for her, and she said it had been nice talking to me, and I went on my way with a prickly neck because I’d been standing with my back to the blazing sun. 

The same happened today. One of the villagers stopped me to tell me about her clematis (not a euphemism), her rampant hay fever, and her husband who had sustained a head injury when the loft hatch collapsed on him, and then another villager waylaid me to regale stories of her current house renovations, her succession of lurcher dogs and her garage persistently flooding because the drainage pipes were all wonk. 

It’s all very well that people like talking to me and telling me all their stuff, and usually I am very happy to be that listener, but sometimes I think it’s nice when someone listens to me. So this afternoon I visited my darling daughter and we spent time talking and listening to each other in a proper conversation. And it was good.