Open Writing

Saturday morning is a good time for a cup of coffee at our local pavement café. Well, actually, there are several local pavement cafés — run by Greek, Italian, Indian, Chinese, Japanese and Australian folk — but let's focus on the clientele of just one of them.

There's Theo, for example. He assumes that his English will be understood if he turns up the volume. The problem lies in his unfinished sentences, and a chat can lose its way rather quickly. Not to worry.

Old Jack tends to rumble rather than shout, but in an Aussie accent. He has a twinkling smile and it doesn't really matter if neither of you knows what the conversation is about.

You might meet Rich, armed with his daily newspaper and magnificent bunch of keys and key-tags. His conversation is as eclectic as his wardrobe, and intellectually stimulating too. His son Ben is sometimes with him, perhaps at the same table, perhaps at a separate table, maybe hidden in his hoodie.

It's always a pleasure when Norm turns up with his dog. He (Norm, not the dog) modestly conceals or brushes aside the fact that he has some formidable academic qualifications. He much prefers to chat about the weather, family, work, dogs, whatever. But such a chat is never humdrum or boring. He has a real interest in people.

This morning, Rich had his newspaper open at a page with a report on a tennis match. He was probably reading about something more important but we began with tennis. That led to cricket, football (soccer), rugby football, Australian Rules football, hockey, shinty, baseball, the lot. Ben joined in when he heard Aussie Rules being mentioned. Everyone in these parts will join in if they hear Aussie Rules being mentioned. It's the ideal time to play Devil's Advocate, of course, and laud the virtues of real football, which is played with the feet.

We were more concerned about what people wear when they play sports. Being male chauvinists, we had to compare notes on the, er, bottoms revealed by certain lady tennis players and their choice of costume. A young Russian came immediately to mind. A certain American, we agreed, is best ignored. However, not really being male chauvinists at all, we wondered why on Earth the ladies who play beach volleyball find it necessary to wear the skimpiest of bikinis. All very silly. Perhaps someone should tell them that grown-up males are more interested in the game than in their bottoms. Or are they?

Old Jack joined us, having unsuccessfully tried to have a two-way chat with Theo, who was laying down the law about something or other. At that point, Norm arrived with his dog, which greeted us like old friends. That dog greets everyone like an old friend. Whereupon Old Jack shared his sausage roll. With the dog, not with Norm. There are ways and means of cementing friendships.

Ben was quietly reading a book. It's so good to see young people, or anyone, reading books in this era of electronic gadgetry, isn't it? No batteries needed; no wires; no USB connections; no backlit plasma screens. A good one has two non-electronic search engines. They're called a "List of Contents" and an "Index".

Naturally, on a day when the temperature was climbing towards the upper 30s, and Norm had made his usual longish walk from home, we had to talk about the weather. It was only 17° when I left home. A couple of hours later, when I went back to my car, it was 27°.

I gave Old Jack a lift home. He finds it difficult walking down and up the hill. He also finds it difficult to wrap the seat belt round his body and clip it in, but I insist that he does so. If he doesn't, I'm the one who will be fined. Apart from the safety considerations, of course. Close proximity also has its risks. When he turned to say something, I received a splash of his saliva on my arm. Not to worry. One makes allowances.

Where cross the crowded ways of life, it's good to have Saturday morning friends.
© Copyright Brian Barratt 2010