Peace and quiet

I’m sorry for being quiet but it’s been hard to think straight this week as we have had three skilled hardworking men in the house fitting new windows. The work makes a lot of noise - it’s inevitable. And the rooms are in turmoil, one after another, as things are moved away from the windows. The new windows are a success, and will mean Dave doesn’t have to paint them every five years, or replace ones that go rotten because of the harsh weather, because they won’t be going rotten.

And look at this view from our bay window…

It will all be worth it, though at the end of the first day Dave and I were utterly done in. And although we take it in turns to go out on our bikes, there’s a lot of time spent here within earshot of the noise, and it addles my brain. Today, being Saturday, we have peace and quiet. What sweet relief.

The other day I was enjoying some peace and quiet away from home, sitting thinking and drinking coffee mid bike-ride on this bench above Eyam…

when a passer by walking his dog decided to come and chat. I was friendly and responded but his chat went on and on and on, and wasn’t along lines I welcomed particularly - the “fact” that windmills are useless, and we should be drilling for oil,  - and I felt resentful that my peaceful time should be snatched away by someone who then wanted to tell me what Trump should have done, which I could guess was something I absolutely didn’t agree with, so I stood up, and said it was time I got home.

But as I cycled away I thought that actually I should have stayed and put the other point of view, because otherwise he might never consider it.

I usually welcome interactions with people I don’t know. That’s why I always go in the supermarket checkout with someone behind the till. That’s why I talk to people on the bus. I think it’s important to have normal human interactions and conversations with strangers - human connection needs nurturing, particularly nowadays when technology and bots are taking the humanity out of everyday transactions.

I once met a woman from London who said she resented people she didn’t know talking to her in public places: she regarded it as an intrusion on her personal space. I was shocked at the time, but this is how I felt on Wednesday with the man, and it wasn’t only because I didn’t much like him. I was mid bike ride, escaping from noise and turmoil at home, and he spoiled it.

When I cycled up the Monsal Trail yesterday I said good morning or hello to five separate people walking or cycling in the other direction, and not one acknowledged the greeting. I know why: they were tourists, most probably from the south. Locals (unknown to me) would have responded. But later when I stopped my bike and was looking in my pannier to get out my flask of coffee, a man cycled up and said “Everything all right?” because he thought I had stopped on account of mechanical failure. I assured him everything was fine and thanked him for asking. When I’d finished my coffee and was putting the flask away, another cyclist came up and asked if I was OK. I was touched by both of these enquiries. 

Where does that leave me? Sitting in bed, not wanting to get up because it’s cold. But I will, and I will light the fire and get on with my painting in a quiet house with lovely views.