As anybody who knows me will vouch, I love to talk. I call it conversation. Others, less kindly, say rambling. I particularly enjoy chatting to my sister and daughter because they, like me, go off on tangents before asking, ‘What point was I trying to make?’
Conversation with my son is a
bit different. A sharp wit and screaming
intelligence, he is up to date on all things scientific and political. Can I talk with astuteness to him and others
like him? Not really. I flounder and
feel stupid. My inability to talk about
current affairs is because I deliberately never watch the box or read a
newspaper. Is watching the news or reading
a newspaper an uplifting experience?
No! Consequently I live in a bubble
where the sun mostly shines and, even if the heavens open, there is a rainbow
not too far away. Ignorance can indeed
Thanks to social media, when
really nasty things happen, there is no escaping what is going on in the
world. Twitter and Facebook will suddenly
be ablaze with chit-chat. This week’s
dreadful acts of terror in Paris had everybody saying exactly what they’d like
to do to the culprits and it wasn’t long before hashtags were trending. I logged into an on-line daily newspaper and
recoiled in horror. On Facebook, rather
than posting a funny picture of my cat captioned with an inane comment, I felt
prompted to write a Status from the heart.
My presence on social media is primarily as an author platform, therefore
I mostly remain silent on tricky subjects like politics and religion. But yesterday I spoke. I posted about my concept of God being one of
love…that He loved us all and, in turn, we should love each other. Within seconds the sentence had sparked a
lively thread of debate. Comments ranged
from the sublime to the ridiculous. But
everybody is entitled to their opinions, and I won’t spark another barrage of remarks
by talking about it any further here.
I particularly like conversation
where a gaff is made. For example,
yesterday afternoon we took my parents to see the new house we are buying.
‘It’s lovely,’ said Mother
Bryant as she creaked into the hallway, the floor of which was covered in white
stone tiles. ‘Does it have underground
heating?’ No. Sadly it doesn’t have underfloor heating
Or out shopping. ‘I love this sparkly sweater. What’s this material called? Oh, I remember now, Durex.’ For those still puzzling, Mother Bryant meant
Even better is conversation
where somebody trips over their words so they sound like a blithering idiot. We’ve all done it.
‘What would you like for
breakfast?’ I asked my daughter.
‘I’ll have some pain au
cheu-cheu-cheu-cheu…’ I appreciate it’s
very difficult saying pain au chocolat
before nine in the morning when you’re a teenager with a hangover.
And then there are those who
mishear things and take the conversation down a completely different path. A
friend worked in an art supply store. She sold artists’ canvas by the yard. It
could be bought in two widths – thirty-six and forty-eight inches.
‘Can you cut some canvas for me?’
Friend: ‘Certainly. What width?’
(confused and slightly annoyed): ‘Scissors?’
Even better, is when we read one word but say something
different. I can still remember
addressing a Mr Stipples as Mr Nipples.
Fortunately he laughed, but then spoilt it by pretending to mispronounce
my surname for something too rude to mention here. Gosh…not heard that one before…yawn! Which
What do you call a one-legged
female pirate? Peggy.
What do you call a lady with one
leg shorter than the other? Eileen.
What do you call a man standing
on top of a hill? Cliff.
What do you call a man with
expensive tastes? Rich.
What do you call a man with a
What do you call a man who has
lost his shovel? Douglas…