Open Writing

‘OK’ I ventured and stood back, waiting and watching for the give-away ‘body language.’

Signs that according to writer, zoologist and monkey watcher Desmond Morris, would tell me exactly what my spouse thought about my paint daubing activities on the three cupboard doors he had grudgingly allowed me to undercoat. A promising step up from my regular position as sand-paper pusher, I might add.

His face was a picture of non-expressiveness (so he’s been reading it too!) as I looked for the tell-tale indications of his inner feelings. But no – he did not scratch is nose, tap his feet or flutter his paint-spattered eyelids. I observed his fingers neatly stuck to the paintbrush handle – no, his grip did not tighten, thereby signifying a suppressed longing for his mother. All he did was bravely force his mouth into an upward curve and nod slowly. So how did I know that his inner thoughts were unprintable?

It’s all in the eyes, and I didn’t need a sneak preview of Desmond Morris’s new book ‘Manwatching’ to tell me this.

Recently he bewitched Michael Parkinson on TV (Desmond Morris, not my husband!) by hinting that our hand-clasping and finger-sucking habits imply a deep and insecure yearning for ‘Mum.’ When we are toddlers mother’s hand is the last thing we want to hold but as we mature it seems to be the support we most need.

So the eminent professor has turned his binoculars towards human behaviour. Something I suspect most of us have been doing less lucratively for years and we can probably translate what we see without his specialised help, thank you!

For instance we don’t need to be told that foot-tapping and shifty eyes are the outward signs of a liar.

His statement that intimacy increases the length of time that couples gaze at each other should certainly revolutionise the Christmas party season. He labels ‘long-looking’ as a sign of loving. It seems we can only stare into each other’s eyes at length when we are, or want to be, on intimate terms with each other. ‘The man who finds a beautiful colleague unusually arousing’ he writes ‘may not show his feelings in other ways, but when their eyes meet, holds her fractionally longer than usual.’ Oh really? We’ll see about that.

I foresee a festive season scene of foot-tapping wives, with one eye on the clock and the other on him and hands clasped rigidly together – and it’s all his mother’s fault! Wondering if I practised this ‘long look’ often enough I tried it out with my partner the other day during conversation.. He was indulging in his basic insecurity of pulling hairs from his nostrils at the time, which did prove a little distracting, but he returned my gaze for at least half a second the inquired in intimate terms ‘What’s up!’

Instead of reading the paper during his breakfast time quiz, I tried looking into the deep red eyes of our son. He pursed his lips, fluttered his eyelashes, rolled his eyeballs until they disappeared then accused me of pinching his pen. ‘I can tell it’s you by your eyes,’ he said.

When I tried it on our youngest she did an exaggerated squint back and in best schoolyard style branded me a ‘stare-cat.’

But we can all easily recognise our nearest’s warning signals. My husband can convey disapproval, resignation or distaste, simply by breathing out through his teeth. No other complicated body or eye twitching is necessary.

Clothes have a language all their own. At a local school meeting the interesting guest speaker amused us all with a few anecdotes concerning an old Slaithwaite family who dated back to 1700. The mood of one member could always be determined by the tilt of his bowler hat. When worn straight all was well, the more his temper deteriorated the further back it was pushed. If it reached the back of his head, everybody ducked!

I must confess anyone who translates the message my clothes convey must be severely astute. I dress according to mood; on average this consists of baggy trousers, red knee socks (no one else will wear them) and whichever comfortable sweater my groping early morning fingers find first. Unfortunately as visitors never call when I am in my ‘little housewife’ mood adorned in frilly pinny and nylons, I do most of my entertaining in baggy pants.

When couples meet, eyes are supposed to centre upon three points: eyes, hair and mouth. This has not always been my experience.

We once had an insurance agent whom I swear could never pick my face out in a crowd, but would recognise my ‘C’ cup anywhere. I didn’t need a Desmond Morris to analyse his thoughts, perhaps he just couldn’t bear the sight of my face!

An unexpected visit from the clergy had me in animated conversation one afternoon. I was particularly thankful for his visit, it detained my planned and much-detested cellar overhaul. His three focal points were the five empty beer cans I would keep absently resting my foot on, the two crates of empty whisky and wine bottles just resurrected from the cellar, and although he did his best to ignore it, a gaping void in my under arm area.

But here up North it’s not so much the facial expression and arm-waving that reveals feelings. Yorkshire people don’t go in much for that sort of language anyway. We believe in speaking our minds.

I remember one toothless old ‘pot and rag’ man who used to ride into our village regularly on his horse-drawn cart. On one occasion we instantly recognised his appearance had changed somewhat. Overnight, by courtesy of National Health, he had acquired a brilliant smile, which we couldn’t help noticing, threatened to become permanently fixed. His new teeth were so large his tight lips couldn’t hope to conquer them, and with forthright Yorkshire veracity one customer gleefully informed him – ‘He lad, tha looks just like thi ‘orse.'

Needless to say there is a lot of this ‘body language’ about these days. Our weekly Yoga class tells a painful story, which translated spells ‘Aaargh’ ‘help’ and ‘ooer’ and it’s all coming from my direction.

Yes, Mr Morris, good luck with your ‘Manwatching,’ we don’t waste time with intricate sign language up here lad, we say exactly what we think.