The Listening Servant, Hubertus van Hove,
image courtesy of the Victoria & Albert Museum
I hooted over Joanna’s post last week. It made me remember a couple of earwigs of my own.
In the first, I overheard a memorable exchange. It came out of the blue, in truly exceptional circumstances. I’d use it in a book, if I could write one good enough.
In the other I was, as it were, earwigged. But I bet the earwiggers remember it. Both cheered me up enormously.
So I thought I would share.
Times are difficult, scary even, for all of us — especially the older or vulnerable ones — so I thought I’d add a bit of light-hearted distraction. To wit: earwigging.
I do it. Don’t you?
Doesn’t everybody?
Especially authors…
I was in a pub, on my own, having a quiet meal. There were four elderly gents — nattily dressed, clearly ex-military — sitting across the way, drinking various beverages and gossiping. They were not trying to keep their voices down, though they must have known other drinkers could hear every word.
One of them was even louder than the others, very keen to be heard. All The Time. And even when the others were trying to hold a conversation about something else.
Must admit that I took agin Mr Loudmouth.
Anyway, Mr Loudmouth told a joke Continue reading