If you live in London, experience tells you not to engage in conversation with anyone you don't know. Because if they want to talk to you, a stranger, then the only explanation is that they are mental. It is a sad state of affairs, but one that I participate in as willingly as the next man. It is so accepted by everyone that it has actually become true. Only the eccentric will speak to you when they don't have to.
In Sainsbury's yesterday there was a sweet, small old man. Both he and his suspiciously black hair were thin, he had the bizarre, gnarled giant ears that come with age, but he was dressed in a suit and tie and he was "chipper" personified. He was one of those fellas who fake tap dances everywhere. He was chatting to everyone and everyone was signalling ignoring him. Some people out of his eye-line (like me) smirked at his antics, but anyone he addressed ignored him.
But he wasn't mad. He was trying to be friendly in a slightly heavy-handed fashion, and possibly had a couple of marbles missing from his collection, but was more like a slightly batty grandfather, than a menace. If anyone had replied to him I doubt that he would have cut their throats.
"It's good to be young," he laughed to a little boy, "I'm old now. I look it, don't I?" Not complaining. Enjoying life's ironies.
He tried to pass down the queue but an Asian lady with a pram was in his way "Make way for a little one," he chirruped. And as she stepped aside, not looking at him or acknowledging him in any way, he nudged her lightly and with a twinkle in his eyes said, "We are ships that pass in the night." She didn't get it. She didn't laugh. But I think he was aware of the ridiculousness of him flirting with this woman, as he was of the ridiculousness of him being old. Yeah, OK and he was a Nectar point short of a reward, but not someone that the rest of us couldn't have humoured, if we weren't all complicit in this London no-talking rule. Or if the sane amongst us started to act like normal human beings and communicated. But we won't do that. Because we are afraid of a tiny, weak old man with gnarled ears.
The extent of Londoner's fear of communication is high-lighted by a tiny incident that happened minutes earlier. I was approaching the chilled cabinet with the "Be Good To Yourself" microwave meals for one in (willingly and with some anticipation which is the sad thing! They're quite good, they're easy to make and they're low calorie. And I am digging the hole of my own sadness even deeper) There was another bloke on his own, about my age, looking at them, trying to make a choice. I thought "Ha. Saddo! I got engrossed in deciding whether I would be having Chiang Mai style chicken noodles or possibly chicken biryiani that night. Suddenly he asked "What's the date?" Out of no-where. Now that's not a ridiculous request. He obviously wanted to know so he could work out how long it would be before his chosen dish had passed the sell-by date. But I still felt a bit shocked that he had talked to me, just like that, in London. I looked up to see that another bloke, presumably his friend had joined him. They were shopping together. So even in this trifling case the stranger hadn't even been talking to me. That's how stupid it gets. But I told him the date anyway, (it was the 2nd, so was the sell-by date. "I'll have to eat it today!" he joked. It was the kind of joke enjoyed by blokes who eat "Be Good To Yourself" ready meals).
I walked away feeling slightly jealous that he was going to be eating his meal for one with a friend. That's against the "BGTY" spirit of loneliness.
