Recently, I went on a walk around the Victorian-era park near to my home, a place that I love and have walked in for decades. I realised, as I passed each couple or family or group, the window I had into the lives of strangers. Through the window, I could hear a few words as I moved closer, and reconstruct a whole drama based just on the words and characters that flashed past me. The idea took hold that I’d share my interpretations of the overheard conversations with you. This gave a new purpose to my walk and I fancied myself as a modern day Alan Wicker, observing not high society but the diverse and colourful residents of Kings Heath, Birmingham.
Like many, I find conversations fascinating, even the hum-drum ones, because of the dynamics, from the quiet rhythm of the couple walking their dog every day, to the moody posturing of hooded teenagers hanging out on park benches and the overheard dodgy deals and angry conversations on mobiles.
Conversations are an opportunity to reveal who we are. When we tell a joke, share our grief or advise a friend, we reveal who we are. When we are condescending, controlling or aggressive, that reveals who we are also. The more banal the conversation, the more it says about the ‘real’ us, because we speak with our own voice, rather than those of others we might unconsciously channel if we are talking about newsworthy issues. That’s what makes filling in the gaps in overheard conversations so interesting.
Earwigging also gives me a chance to think through alternative stories, honing my ability to see things from different persectives and testing my imagination. This is a skill that we grow out of as adults but can revive by extrapolating out from a few overheard words.
Back to my walk. It was early evening but plenty of people were still in the park. I’d already passed the family group playing cricket and the trio of young Asian mums pushing toddlers in baby swings and the kids running on the slope of the end field and the group with picnic chairs and a sound system and black bin bags for rubbish. I’d also noted that the basketball pitch, bare concrete the week before, now had a vibrant purple surface, which I love.
Second circuit of the park and the action happened. When I say action, I mean I overheard the following two snippets.
As I neared the big, white, Victorian mansion that houses the tea-shop and behind the scenes horticultural stuff, I saw a couple of 15-16 year old girls walking towards me, talking energetically. This looked promising. Wearing shorts and a summer top, one stopped in her tracks to emphasise the punch-line to her story:
Girl in park (about another person): “She was like ‘I’m calling an Uber’”
And then she added this wonderful, dramatic indictment of the absent girl:
“Like…, an Uber, for like, 2 bus-stops home!!”
Being an avid walker, I could not fail to be impressed by the scornful attitude towards a young person not willing to walk a few hundred yards. The budget-conscious side to it was another commendable feature that didn’t escape my attention. I smiled approvingly in their direction (fortunately they didn’t see this as it could have come across quite creepy). I imagined the absent friend to be a diva. Yeah, it was judgemental but it was good judgemental.
Of course, this could be way off the mark and the girl in question could have had a perfectly good reason for getting an Uber: maybe she was unable to make the short journey on foot for some health reason, or had a fear of walking in the dark. Perhaps she was the victim of bullying. I’ll never know. Don’t troll me for this.
In a more secluded part of the park, near the railway line, I found a woman in her 20s, sitting on a bench, smoking roll-ups with a bottle of white wine next to her. She was speaking drunkenly on video:
“It’s not just about the sex anymore.”
The call ended. She looked upset and called a second person. I asked her if she was alright. She offered me a cigarette. I talked to her for a while. I think she’ll be okay.
Keep in touch!