High Street Conversation

          On a bustling High Street, a passing stranger stopped me and said, “Excuse me, do you mind if I ask you a question?” One has learnt to be wary of such encounters – since begging, hustling, pickpocketing etc. often start this way – but she was a young(ish) woman, un-threatening, well dressed, well-spoken and perfectly polite, so my street-smarts told me it was unlikely that this would be anything more sinister than a request for directions and although it did cross my mind that she might have been a consummate con-artist, that was a risk I was willing to accept. “Of course not. How can I help?” I said, primed to point her to the station or some such facility. But her question was, “What do you feed ducks?”

          Sometimes, a question leads to more questioning. Did she mean what do I feed ducks or, what does one feed ducks. Assuming the former, I told her that I don’t feed ducks; as far as I know, they feed themselves. She clarified her meaning, however, by explaining that she was planning to take her child to the park later, to feed the ducks, but that she was clueless about what food to take. It seemed, to me, unlikely that she had never before been to a park or seen people chucking chunks of bread at ducks but, if this was the case, she clearly needed advice. So I volunteered my opinion that, if I were to feed ducks, I certainly would not give them bread as this is not part of their natural diet. “No, I suppose not,” she said, looking concerned. By now, I was beginning to think she might be mentally disturbed or on drugs and that I had better tread gently. So, when she asked what I would recommend, I said, “Seeds, perhaps?” “What, like birdseed?” she said, perking up. “Yes,” I said, confidently and hopeful of a conclusion. She looked pleased, thanked me and went off to find a stockist. I hope birdseed is suitable. Ducks are a species of bird, aren’t they?

          The incident may seem trifling, but it continued to occupy my thoughts for quite a while. Had I been sharper, I might have asked her a few questions. Why did she not prepare for the child’s outing by consulting Mumsnet? Why did she leave it so late that she had to ask a random stranger, when she could have Googled it earlier? Well, she may be one of the few humans left who is unfamiliar with the internet but, why pick on me? Do I look like someone who hangs around duckponds? Or like a walking encyclopaedia? Or do I just seem, as she does, unthreatening and approachable? If so, does that make me a mug, someone susceptible to being conned? And was she, after all, a con-artist, one who gets their kicks out of asking silly questions of strangers and then posting their silly answers on Facebook? Was she laughing behind my back as she set off down the street, looking for someone else to torment? Does she even have a child? But then, on the other hand, she might have been one of the city’s alienated, lonely people, desperate for some interaction with other human beings. The possibilities are numerous: nothing can be taken for granted.

          In the end, I like to think that it is normal, natural and desirable for people to engage in public, sociable interchange – if it falls within the range of politeness and sensitivity that is the accepted norm. We should not have to rely on our institutions alone to inculcate tolerance – the antidote to divisive, destructive sectarianism. Viewed on that level, the duck-food enquiry was far more affirming than a prosaic exchange about the weather: and it got me Googling.