The comfort of strangers

Yesterday, while out for a walk in Longleat woods, I stopped to talk to two elderly ladies, accompanied by their 3 terriers. It’s not particularly unusual to talk to strangers while out walking; there is an unspoken etiquette whereby you always acknowledge an approaching walker in some small way. You might say hello, good morning or good afternoon, but if you fail to say anything, or god forbid they don’t reply to your greeting, it’s the equivalent of a driver not thanking you when you’ve given them the right of way on a narrow road. What was unusual yesterday, was that I ended up chatting to them for over 40 minutes. 

I realised as I approached them it wasn’t going to be a quick greeting because they slowed down and then stopped in the middle of the path as I walked towards them. They then smiled and told their dogs to sit, so I had no choice but to stop myself a few metres in front of them. I presumed one of two things at that point; 1, they were lost and wanted to ask me directions, or 2, they were just a bit bored of each other’s company after 6 months of the pandemic and fancied a chat with someone different. It was number 2. 

Conversations with walkers always seems to start with the weather because we’re on safe ground there. And much to popular opinion, it’s not just the Brits that are obsessed with weather. I’ve travelled the world and it’s always the go-to subject to kick off a chat. So here’s how it went;

Them: Gosh, aren’t we lucky with the weather today?
Me: Yes I know. I even bought my waterproofs with me because I thought it was going to rain.
Them: Yes, we did too, but I think we might escape it if it carries on like this. Isn’t the light divine?
Me: Yes it’s gorgeous. Beautiful dappled light as the sun comes through the leaves. But then again, I love the sound of the rain as it falls through the leaves so I really don’t mind either.
Them: No, we’re the same. Love walking in the sun, love walking in the rain. What’s that expression about clothing and weather?
Me: There’s no such thing as bad weather, just unsuitable clothing.
Them: (Laughing) Yesss, that’s it. 

So, you get the picture. I won’t relay the entire conversation because it might put you to sleep, but it was a joy. After the weather we talked about walking, the woods, local walks, dogs, knee surgery, the weather again, the woods again, hedgerows, deer, the weather again, and then there was a pause and I took that as a sign to carry on with my walk. It can sometimes be a little awkward to leave a conversation in any situation, when you know the other party might want to continue, but I think I have perfected a number of excuses that work rather well. If you’re at a social event or party and you are stuck with a total bore, just say: Gosh, I’m so sorry, I just need to nip to the loo. If said with some urgency, there’s simply no response to that. With walking, and the excuse I gave these ladies yesterday, I simply said: Well, we should really most of the good weather. Have a lovely walk. By saying “we” instead of “I”, they almost have to agree.

I’m completely at ease talking to strangers and I know exactly why that is. It’s because I have grown up watching both my Mother and Grandmother perfect the art of interacting with people they don’t know. My Grandmother and her third husband Stevie, were fortunate enough to live in a stunning 14th Century moated gatehouse, and they loved nothing more than to fill the place with musicians and artists most weekends. Granny, at almost 6 feet tall, would infamously clench people tightly to her breast when she said hello or goodbye, many of those the very musicians or artists she might have only met that day. They would then be invited to stay and could be there for months. We never knew who’d be staying when we went to visit until we sat round the lunch table and there was one or more unfamiliar faces. 

My Mother Anne has also perfected the art of talking to strangers and her approach has become an inside family joke… until now. It always begins the same way. We will all be on a walk together and then suddenly my mother won’t be with us anymore. We halt the group, do a collective sigh, and one of us will go back in search of her. It might be a natural distraction: looking at a bird, finding an unusual stone or spotting an amazing view, but invariably it will be someone, not something, that distracts my mother. By the time one of us has located her we will hear the oft repeated line, “Hello, I’m Anne” as she rapidly passes the fine line from stranger to acquaintance in a matter of minutes. My Mother sees it as educational… “I have learnt so much over the years talking to strangers” she says, and I have to agree. I’m always the one cornering a gallery curator to talk about the exhibition or quizzing an unsuspecting volunteer in a stately home. In fact, it’s talking to people who have a passion or a story, whether that’s a minicab driver or an electrician. My poor workmen have all ended up telling me their life stories (not necessarily voluntarily), because I’m curious about how people end up doing what they’re doing. 

I also feel safe talking to strangers because I know I’m not stuck with them. Maybe it’s my terrible fear of commitment kicking in but knowing I can walk away at any time means I often open up more. I’m not judged, I can just be myself, and if they don’t like what they see or hear, that’s just fine because I’ll be gone in a mo. On the other end of that spectrum you can also be anyone you want to be. On holiday in Egypt, a slightly lecherous man who’d been staring at me as I sunbathed, finally approached and began talking to me in English. I instantly got the creeps and to get rid of him I pretended I didn’t understand English, put on a terrible thick French accent and said, “Je m’excuse, I no unerstan the English very good”. He then proceeded to talk to me in French which was most unfortunate (even though it means my accent was convincing), so I motioned that I needed the loo instead and disappeared. On the plus side, I’ve also pretended to be a travel writer, an actress (no you won’t have seen me in anything), a food critic and a librarian… just a few of the jobs I’d love to have if I wasn’t a designer. It’s just a little fun and doesn’t hurt anyone.

Talking to strangers is comfortable, especially at this moment in time. Nothing deep or intrusive or upsetting. A small interruption in a day that can feel endless… and saves me wittering on about the bloody Coronavirus all the time!