The cheerful man from Veolia who helps people lift their bags of garden waste into the crushing machine remarked to me that I must love my garden, then on my next journey from the car to the crusher with another two bags demanded to know why I wasn't at work, and what I did anyway. He might have suspected that my frequent visits with a car full of weeds meant that I was in fact in the garden maintenance business, illicitly bringing trade waste to the domestic tip, but I think he was just being friendly, in a nosy sort of way. I told him I did love my garden, and that I worked in a plant nursery because I loved plants, and he seemed happy enough.
Mid-morning I remembered to check my phone, and discovered a text left over from yesterday afternoon. I never even looked at it then, since I came in from one thing only to go out again almost straight away to another. A friend wanted to arrange a time for a nice chat, which was lovely of her, but looking at the weeds, and the sunshine, and the forecast of rain later, I replied asking if five would suit. I felt mean, and ungrateful in the face of such a kind friend, but terribly reluctant to lose my planned time in the garden.
I'm not good at telephones. When I was a child, my mother used to make me talk to my uncle on the phone. I found it quite awkward aged nine, and am not a lot better at it forty years on. I don't mind ringing somebody to make a practical arrangement. I don't get embarrassed answering the phones at work, even though it could be anybody asking about practically anything. I am just no good at talking for the sake of talking. I don't think I've ever understood the point of it. It isn't the same as being with the person. I can cope if they have lots of news, and I just have to make encouraging noises and ask the odd question, but asked what I've been doing, then, my mind becomes a blank. I know I've been doing lots of things, but explaining them over the telephone seems awfully difficult.
Sometimes nowadays if I'm speaking to my mother on the phone she will ask Do you want to speak to your Father, to which the correct answer is Yes, but as my father is even worse at chatting on the phone than I am the result is generally excruciating, Alan Ayckbourn meets Harold Pinter. Maybe that's where I get it from.
My friend turned out to be on a BT package that lets you have an hour of talk free each day. She was astounded that I knew nothing about any such scheme, and even more baffled when I said that we didn't need it because we almost never rang anyone up. We don't. Some time ago when our old boiler was playing up very badly and BT were running their 'Friends and Family' scheme, we looked at our phone bill and discovered that the boiler repair company was our best friend, or at least the number we'd rung most.
A recent Ofcom report found that time spent talking on the phone was falling, while texts were rising. Some newspapers reported this along the lines of We Prefer Texts to Phone. I'm not crazy on texts either as a method of communicating anything at all complicated. They're great for logistics. The train's now an hour late. I'm in the food hall where are you? They're handy for indicating simple affection. Lovely 2 c u last nite, thnx again 4 flowers. That sort of thing. I wouldn't use them to try and discuss anything nuanced or complicated. Even a telephone would be better.
e-mails are great. You can have as many words and characters as you like to express yourself, and the other person can read it when it's convenient, instead of having to sound delighted to hear from you until finally obliged to mention that they are in the middle of cooking supper and that this is really not a good moment to chat. Letters are almost better, if you aren't in a hurry for a reply and don't need to embed the address of some marvellous Youtube clip you were telling them about. Actually seeing people is best.
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