It occurs to me that there used to be more to conversation than just being irritating, but I can’t quite remember how it all worked. I think: stick to what you know – birds and flowers
I am in the Lake District. It’s the first time I’ve left London in months, and I’m one of a line of six people, old friends, plus three dogs on short leads, walking along a narrow lane bordered by high hedges. It would be fair to say I am not used to this.
At the bottom of the hill, we come across a large lorry plugging the road like a stopper at a three-way intersection, unable to proceed. Cars are backed up along the other two roads as far as one can see. The lorry driver faces a reverse journey of about a mile before he can turn around, and his first stab at it does not inspire optimism. We press ourselves into the hedge as he crawls past us, directed by a volunteer. After only a few feet he has to brake when a new car comes up behind him.
