120. Number 10

This is becoming silly.  I keep meeting strange women.  Nutter (click to see) & Brief Encounter (click to see) .  I met another two weeks ago but it wasn’t the first time I’ve seen her and on my scale of relationships she is a 2. 

Incidentally, I am a little surprised and disappointed that Wilton's Scale of Relationships, (click to see)  the system I devised for describing the level and intensity of the relationships that we have with each other, hasn’t caught on as I had expected.  I posted it in February 2010 and I anticipated that by now it would have fallen into common vernacular. 

I thought that people would be saying things like,

“Oh him?  He’s a Wilton six to me.  I’ve known him since I moved here and he’s really nice,” or,

“I don’t really know her.  She’s just a three on the Wilton scale.” 

I thought that people would know of me in the same way they know about Beaufort, Richter and Mohs, but they don’t.  I can't understand it because my scale has everyday function.  Theirs don't.  It's not windy every day; earthquakes are very rare and when did you last need to know the relative hardness of a mineral?

What is wrong with people?

I met this strange woman two weeks ago.  I was sitting on a bench at the edge of the lake in the grounds of the estate where we live.  The huge carp in the lake had seen me and six of them were at the surface, close to the edge with their huge mouths gaping open waiting for some fish food.  Unfortunately for them, I hadn’t brought any. 

I heard the noise of a snuffling dog and became aware that somebody was standing behind me.  I turned my head and said, “Hello.” 

It was a neighbour and over the past three years I have seen her several times but I had never spoken to her before.  She is probably in her sixties and, holding the lead of a black Labrador, she was looking out over the lake.

“Have you got a computer at home?” she asked, still staring past me.

“Yes,” I answered, thinking that it was a strange way to start a conversation with a stranger.

“Look at the Internet,” she said.  “I think you’ll find it interesting” and having said that and only that, she turned and walked away.

“What?” I shouted after her.  “What should I look for?”

She didn’t stop or turn her head but carried on walking towards the apartment-block some 70 yards away.  I called after her again but she didn't hear me or more likely, she ignored me.

“Another nutter,” I thought to myself.  “What is it about me?”

As I was driving home on Easter Monday morning, I saw her again.  She was walking with her dog on the long drive from the main road to the houses.  I pulled up alongside her and wound down the window.

“Hello again,” I said.

She stopped walking and looked blankly at me for a few seconds.  I realised that she didn’t remember or recognise me.

“We met by the lake last week,” I reminded her.  “I was sitting on the bench.  Remember?”

“Oh, yes,” she said vacantly, gazing over the roof of the car at the adjacent field where there were about fifty ewes, all of them with lambs prancing about in the bright spring sunshine.

“You told me that I should look on the Internet but you didn’t tell me what I should be looking for.  Do you remember what it was?”

She thought for a couple of seconds.  “No.  I don’t.”

“Are you sure?  It seemed very important to you at the time.”

She didn’t say anything but lifted her head and looked up at the trees for several seconds.

“Was it about potatoes?” she asked.

“I don't know.  All you said was that if I looked at the Internet, I'd find something interesting.”

A lamb had come close to the fence at the side of the drive and it bleated loudly.  The woman turned to look at it and smiled.  I waited patiently while she said the sort of things to the lamb that women of her age usually only say to small babies.

“Oh yes, I remember now,” she said at last, nodding her head and tugging on the dog’s lead to pull it up from the ‘sit’ position it had assumed.

I waited for her to tell me what it was she remembered but she said nothing.  She started to walk on down the drive towards the houses.   I caught her up but she didn't stop and just carried on walking.

“Aren’t you going to tell me?” I asked in exasperation as I drove slowly alongside her.

She seemed to be thinking about whether to tell me or not.  “Yes, it’s number ten,” she said eventually, pointing towards the Coach Houses.

“Do you mean house number ten?” I asked, trying not to sound irritable but probably failing.

“Yes.”

“What about house number ten?” I asked, staying very calm.

"Didn't you look on the Internet?"

"No, of course I didn't.  I didn't know what to look for."

“It’s for sale,” she said.

“Really? Is that all?”

“Yes.  They must be moving.”

And that was it.  She walked on and I doubt I will ever speak to her again.  I’ve mentioned before the differences between living here and living in London.  I realise now that there is another:

The level of gossip here is appallingly low.