Conversations confounding

One of the joys of walking in the countryside, and in certain urban areas, is the frequent, sometimes brief, at other times longer, conversations with strangers. I’ve met some fascinating people. I can’t go into detail as they might recognise themselves, and, worse, others might, but I’ve met a woman who forages for mushrooms, and gives the advice, “You can eat all mushrooms found in England. Unfortunately, some not more than once.”

I was on the Burgess Hill Green Circle and sitting on the conveniently-placed bench with a view towards the stainless-steel sculpture of the record-breaking Bluebird car. I quite like it, but I wouldn’t pay money for it, although, as it had been bought by my local council, I suppose I already have. I have a friend engaged in the restoration of the Bluebird boat and, as I was aware of the local connection, I recognised it instantly.

A man’s voice demanded, “What d’you think of it?”

He had a dog and a brusque way of talking.

I said, “Why do you ask?”

“It’s just rubbish,” he said.

“It’s based on the Bluebird record-breaking car.”

“How’d you know?”

“It’s on the information board,” I pointed it out.

“Expensive crap, that’s what it is. What’s the point?”

“It’s art. Does it need a point? Can’t it just exist?”

“Not if it’s crap.”

“What’s wrong with it?”

“It’s just a load of stainless steel.”

“By that logic, Michelangelo’s statue of David is just a lump of marble.”

“That’s good. This ain’t. Why put it there?”

“Perhaps,” I suggested, “To start a conversation about it between strangers.” (I was rather pleased with that observation.)

“Well, that won’t happen,” he said

I was tempted but, as I was tired, I let it go.

“Nice weather,” I said.

I took out my water bottle, the universal sign a conversation is over. He wandered away.

A water bottle fails in its secondary duty sometimes.

People ask what I’m doing, this despite me having a couple of cameras normally: my Panasonic Lumix and my DJI Action Camera. I assume this is because they wish to talk, and I’m normally only too pleased to humour them, but I’m not to be taken advantage of.

I was again at the end of a walk lasting a couple of hours, and again sitting on a bench, this time in Bedelands. I’m of an age when sitting on a bench is often the better option to not doing so. A woman who’d obviously only just started her walk came towards me. I smiled. She sat beside me without asking, but then it wasn’t my bench.

“It’s lovely here, isn’t it?” she said.

I could hear birdsong in the distance, and the view was into light woodland. She was spot on.

“You are spot on.”

She chatted in a way that demanded little intervention from me; it was just what I wanted, and she as well. She asked if I was taking photographs, the camera attached to my backpack strap giving her a clue, and I told her my purpose in more detail. She sniffed when I mentioned a guide to the nature reserve.

“We don’t want too many people,” she said. Yeah, like I’ll sell hundreds of books.

“It should be shared, don’t you think?” My tone was a little abrupt, but I think she missed it.

“There’s too many now,” she said, this regardless of no one passing while we were talking, and we were quite near one of the entrances. I shrugged, and took out my water bottle, intending to end our conversation, and took a long swig.

As I reached back to replace it in my backpack, she said, “Oh! Can I have some of that?”

I consider myself to be a generous sort of chap, but she wanted to restrict access to Bedelands. Who was she, a Norman lord?

“Better not,” I said. “I’ve got a cold sore just starting.”

I might be generous, but there are limits.

I came across a chap with two dogs in woods near Wivelsfield Green. Nothing odd in that. Mind you, he was playing a jaws harp. I’m no aficionado of the instrument but my assumption was he wasn’t an expert, and in this conclusion I’ll cite his dogs for support as they were maintaining a distance, something that occurred to me as an option. I started talking to him as would anyone discovering a man playing a jaws harp to two disinterested dogs in the middle of woodland. He couldn’t talk and play. Have I mentioned he was barefoot?

I have padded insoles in my walking trainers. I mean, there’re all sort of twigs, stones and pointy things hiding around just waiting to stick in people’s feet. I had to take my dog to the vets when it sustained an inter-digital injury from just such an object. You can’t be too careful. But why did this chap not wear shoes/trainers/boots?

The conversation didn’t reveal a reason, but I discovered in takes between six and eight weeks for the soles to become inured to pain from said items in the new barefoot season. Well, there you go, although, hopefully, not barefooted. He was a very pleasant chap to talk with, even if only for a few minutes.

I discovered something disturbing during a quiet walk one morning.

I had just turned onto a narrow path, one side of which was quite thick thicket and the other a fence with bushes. There was room for two walkers to pass one-another, if one pressed up against bushes or undergrowth. I was on a straight bit, about 100 yards, when a young woman, dressed in gym clothing, turned into the path, took one look at me and stopped. I’m about 6’2″, well built and my appearance, never my strong point, has deteriorated over recent years. I scare me when shaving in the mornings. But I’m old. I look old. Yet this woman seemed frightened of approaching me, or rather brushing past me. I beckoned her on, and turned around, walking back along the path until I came to a narrow, overgrown pathway through thinner bit of thicket. I stopped after a dozen feet into it and half turned, not looking directly towards the path I’d just left. As she ran past, she gave me a slight wave.

I began to walk back to the path, but before I got there, the woman returned and apologised for being ‘rather rude’. I’m not sure why, but I assume because of the implied fear I might threaten her.

“No problem, honestly,” I said.

“It’s that you never know,” she replied, still with an apologetic air.

“I used to be a police officer. I’m aware of the dangers. I am so sorry that women feel at risk, even from old blokes.”

She laughed, waved, and continued her run. But I’m right. It’s terrible that women are at risk, or at least in fear, of men, yet there’s nothing I can do about it, other than bring up my boys to respect women, which I’ve done. I feel guilt, even though no woman’s at risk from me. Just the reverse as I’d intervene in any attack I witnessed, even at my age. But it’s just so sad for 50% of the population.