Table Talk

          I should have known what to expect when my Other Half invited a couple of her Extinction Rebellion pals to dine with us after one of their meetings. Ever the gregarious host, I had prepared the meal, raided the wine cellar, pimped up the table and braced myself for the additional company of the small dog and ‘rescue’ parrot that would accompany one of our guests. My efforts were rewarded with warm words of appreciation, but it soon became apparent that conversation thenceforth would be dominated by the intricacies and intimacies of their particular group and its interactions with the wider movement.

          I endured it for a while, then made a few determined attempts to divert talk in a more general direction. But the urgent vitality of their topic had an unstoppable momentum, so I quietly abandoned the project and focussed my attention on filling glasses and clearing plates instead. Eventually, I wandered over to hear what the parrot had to say, but I soon discovered the pertinence of the expression “to parrot”, so I patted the dog on the head and retired, unnoticed, to the study, where I caught up on the latest news and commentary.

          By the time I rejoined the company, they had moved on to the topic of polyamory, a behaviour that one of our guests had enthusiastically adopted since the recent breakdown of her long-standing mono-amorous relationship. I could have told her that, in the sixties, we called it ‘free-love’, but it seemed she had just discovered it and was in full proselytising mode. It would have been unkind to steal her thunder. We passed the rest of the evening in alcohol-fuelled babble.

          My earlier tactical retirement from the table had been possible because nobody was offended. In fact, they probably recognised that I had done us all a favour by absenting myself. Perhaps I should do it more often. I recall the era of dinner parties with contemporaries when, having just established ourselves as adults with ‘permanent’ partners and mortgages, we used to entertain each other at our respective homes. This was a lot of fun, though there was a rocky patch during the period when cute little offspring came of school age. At that time, we childless couples had to feign interest in what often felt like an eternity of talk about child development and schooling. Leaving early was an option, of course, but thinking of a plausible reason to do so was tricky. It’s not as if we had to go and relieve our baby-sitters. You will have gathered by now that when it comes to prolonged conversation, I prefer an exchange of ideas, not a litany of anecdotes.

          But entertaining guests needn’t be all about sitting around eating, drinking and spouting off. Going for a walk together is another way, one that includes the bonus of physical stimulation. It so happens that there are plenty of good walking routes from our doorstep so, weather permitting, guests are easily persuaded to take a stroll. And those of our visitors who are not familiar with the vicinity soon discover that I am eager to tell them all about it. As an aspiring Blue Badge guide, unqualified and with only a modicum of knowledge, I like nevertheless to point out the historical marks left on the surroundings – most of which are the legacy of the Royal Navy, from its founding as a state-sponsored pirate fleet to its latter-day glorified role in the defence of the realm. Some listeners find the subject just as interesting as I do: some, less so; and others, I suspect, don’t give a toss. So, I need to remember to change the subject from time to time, lest I become the walking equivalent of a dinner-party bore.