I've had a few days off from my day job. It's been nice: played a bit of piano, did a little poetry, met up with some people, went for a walk round the village.
A girl jogged past me in the twilight. She smiled at me as she ran by, her pony tail bouncing behind her, matching the rhythm of her trainers. "Hi!" she said, smiling, without missing a beat.
"Hello!" I said, and she was gone.
People are much more friendly in the countryside. It's always been the way. Once, in the Lake District, I passed two hikers in the woods, an older couple. They were arrayed in the standard anoraks, shorts and hiking boots, with matching walking poles. They smiled and commented on the weather as they passed. I agreed with them (because that's what to do with the English Weather Conversation) and then they carried on with their rambling down the path which I had rambled up.
Later, in Kendal, I saw the same couple in the High Street. Kendal is basically a town that's slowly being taken over by camping shops. Brightly coloured mannequins glare from large glass windows, urging you to buy a tent and some thermal socks. This couple ought to have felt right at home, walking down this wide cobbled avenue of anoraks.
It was odd then that they blanked me when I smiled at them. Out in the woods, they'd been gregarious, care-free, hiking types. In the town centre, they clearly trusted no-one.
I think that's really sad. If I meet the Beautiful Girl Who Runs again, will she remember me?
Seems unlikely doesn't it? I suppose life is full of those little encounters. Some last longer than others; some are packed with Instant Chemistry and some are Bound to Change with the years of knowing.
So, it's been a good day off.
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