I don’t know why – and maybe it happens to everyone, but I get into conversation with a complete stranger and they just about tell me their life story… Being a writer and a teller of stories you’d think I would be the one wittering on, telling tales, so to speak…
At the weekend we were visiting the home of the Evelyn family, John Evelyn being the most famous, writer, gardener, tree expert, and best known for his diary. His family home was Wotton, in Surrey, a most wonderful place, now a hotel and venue for weddings, christenings and other celebrations.
We were wandering in the grounds, taking photos and got into conversation with another couple; we were just casually chatting admiring the view when she began to tell me all about herself, where she had come from, where her family moved to, where they lived now, why they were staying at Wotton House… and much, much more. It was interesting and she was a very friendly person; we wandered away from each other and continued around the beautiful parkland… and I reflected that although I knew so much about her, her other lovely children, her anxiety as a mother, where she went to University… she knew nothing very much about me at all, except I know the city where she once studied quite well.
My stories are totally imaginary, the characters just my own creations, which is probably why some of them are a bit weird, so I won’t ever tell the stories of the people who I meet, the strangers who tell me about their lives, but it just strikes me as interesting that in conversations with people I don’t know, I more often seem to be the listener than the teller!
Have a look at how beautiful Wotton is… I’ll write about it again, but in the meantime, here’s a link: