Madrid me mata

'¿Donde Ibas?'

The imperfect tense is continuous action in the past or action which hasn't yet finished and some other things which I ought to know if I had been paying better attention in evening classes.

'¿Donde Ibas?' I believe means something similar to 'where did you go?' or 'where were you?' in (Castillian) Spanish. It might rightly be something which could be addressed at Everyday Eavesdropper himself as he kept all his fans hanging on during 2006. But no. On this occasion it was said in exasperation by an unknown woman to a man in Plaza Mayor in Madrid.

When learning Spanish you spend about five years learning how to ask for directions, another five years trying to work out the difference between estar and ser (both sort of mean 'to be') and the difference between para and por (both mean 'for') and then in year 11 you turn to the Holy Grail of the Spanish language - the subjunctive (don't even go there). Round about year 9 you add the imperfect tense to your toolbox. This was, therefore, a golden moment. EE actually understood a phrase in real life in a real Spanish city about a real situation .. in the imperfect tense. Okay, I know ... it was only two words. And someone is bound to point out that EE has translated it wrongly.

Anyway, Plaza Mayor is a wonderful square in the middle of Madrid. On Sunday mornings they have a coin and stamps market; the highlight of the week for enthusiasts no doubt but to an outsider rather, well, dull. Admittedly, I did have a phase as a child when I collected stamps, but I was put off by the fact that the 'stamp hinges' never worked properly and the stamps kept falling out of the album.

There was exasperation on this woman's face as she asked, nay demanded, where he had been. I'm sure it must happen frequently all over the world. You agree to meet at an appointed place and time or maybe you just become separated; on one side the person all agitation, anxiety, annoyance and the other seemingly oblivious to the situation - 'what's the problem?' Anyway, this guy had obviously spent too long in his antique world.

What a wonderful city Madrid is. It probably features in one of those books about places to visit 'before you die' (it's generally easier to visit places before you die unless you have some haunting planned). And the art, well ...

Guernica by Picasso, which hangs in the Museo Reina y Sofia in Madrid. You must see this picture in real life (before you die) - reproductions do not do justice to its overwhelming power.

And could someone explain to me the real story about when Spanish people sleep? I thought I'd done pretty well staying up till 4 - well past most British clubs kicking-out time but I'm sure things didn't quieten down outside my window until 7am. But then everyone was up again about an hour later. I don't get it. Actually, I was talking to someone from Barcelona about this (I hope you are impressed with the international multi-lingual nature of this blog) and he said there is an expression in Spain which goes 'Madrid me mata' which means 'Madrid kills me' but then he added - it's nothing compared to Barcelona.

Elevenses

Don't you just hate those blogs that start up for a month or so and then filter out? You know - the ones where there are only five posts and then nothing. All it does is clog up the online world with un-needed stuff. In the time while Everyday Eavesdropper has been 'away' a family relation has uploaded 75 or so posts - and interesting they are too! In fact, the Americanisation of Emily even carries a lovely record of a visit to Cambridge and London in the summer to celebrate a birthday. Everyday Eavesdropper can be spotted trying to eavesdrop in Westminster and in a London taxi.

So many lovely conversations ...

Okay, so Everyday Eavesdropper got distracted by work. Not much of an excuse I know, but new ventures into self-employed-dom carried EE to South Africa, the Netherlands, Edinburgh and Luton.

And combining two of those places in one thought; it was in Edinburgh when Everyday Easedropper was sitting in The Pleasance Courtyard waiting for the play to start when an eccentric man in spectacles handed a little leaflet to EE called 'Elevenses' and said

"Would you like one of these?"

"...erm, yes ..."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, thank you very much."

It was the great John Hegley, with one of the best pieces of promotional print I've ever seen (whoops - going in to work mode). The leaflet itself was actually a tiny book of poetry, advertising his eleven o'clock show.

Here's one from the leaflet:

Zanzibar (in part)

Here we are alfresco
underneath the mango
nearer to the Congo
than we are to Tesco,
playing with the combo
I am on my bongo
but I am no Ringo
Starr

Interesting that both John Hegley and Lily Allen (another great blogger of course) rhymed Tesco and Al Fresco. Now surely, there is a thesis to be written about that!

There was a little old lady who was walking down the road
She was struggling with bags from Tesco
There were people from the city having lunch in the park
I believe that it's called al fresco

By the way, John Hegley is from Luton (meanwhile Lily Allen's father is the Sheriff of Nottingham ...)

So, the point I was trying to make is about it being a busy year. Sorry. Rubbish isn't it? EE did collect a few conversations along the way though, so normal service will be resumed soon!

Strangers on a Train

"Perhaps it would be better if we all stood up"

Every now and then you hear people say that we should be 'encouraging more people to use public transport'. Hmmm.

Have you seen those pictures of trains in a far flung place which are bursting at the seams? With passengers not only inside but on top and hanging out of the sides? I can't say I've been to the places where this is supposed to happen, so I've no idea whether we are talking cliche or reality. However, I feel sure I've seen it on a Michael Palin documentary so it must be true; 'say no more' - as he once said in a different life.

Well the 6.15pm from London Kings Cross to Cambridge is just like that... and the 5.45 and the 6.45 .. okay .. okay .. you get the picture. As we've mentioned before; it's one of the great benefits of privatisation.

Last Wednesday, Everyday Eavesdropper was on a short round trip to central London.

It all seemed so comfortable on the way down. Mid afternoon. Laptops out. Competing well; EE's the newest and slickest lappy and of course his work by far the most important. Yes, EE was saving the world from the dangers of social and artistic isolation, whilst those around were only dealing with such trivia as engineering and technology.

Three hours, a game of table football and a project design later it was time to head back.

One of my most distinctive memories as a child, was our first hearing of the new stereo system my Grandad bought. So significant an event was this, that the entire family sat around one evening and listened to an LP (how quaint that sounds now) which demonstrated the wonders of stereo sound. I remember there was a track of an underground train coming into a station. Sitting between the speakers, we listened in awe as it appeared to move right through the room.

This was all the more remarkable for my brother and sister and me because we only had an old mono record player at home. And we only had three records: Hey Jude, These Boots Are Made for Walking and Je T'Aime (the comic Je T'Aime by Frankie Howerd and June Whitfield, not the naughty original). Funnily enough, Hey Jude had been stolen by my father from Auntie Fran - and actually the record player was borrowed too. You might think that we were deprived as children, and we were ... but this has nothing to do with poverty - because we were actually very affluent (but let's talk about my parents' ascetic materialism on another occasion).

That early fascination with the London Underground has continued with Everyday Eavesdropper into adult life and it seems he's not the only one: check out Annie Mole's excellent 'Going Underground' blog for everything under the ground.

These days, not everyone feels positive about the Underground. After 7/7 you can't help but wonder if you are about to be blown to bits by a padded stranger or shot by an over-eager police officer and it was only a couple of years ago that EE was travelling with a companion who had a panic-attack when stuck in a tunnel near Oxford Street. Great.

Anyway, the Underground part of the trip worked okay on this occasion. It was the overfilled 6.15, which travels over land which was the main problem.

****

Everyday Eavesdropper (EE) was relatively early and careful to choose the least crowded carriage: least crowded - but with no seats left. As water finds its own level, so the carriage filled up, until there were four standing and two sitting in that little bit at the end of the carriage by the doors.

As everyone jockeyed for position, one of the standing men commented: "perhaps it would be better if we all stood up" - addressed at the floor sitters - and very reasonably in my opinion - but seemingly unheard by them. The train set off on time, which was good because it stopped anyone else attempting to get on.

In that situation it really is very difficult to do anything. EE tried to work out how many people were on the train (about 700) whilst listening out for interesting bits of conversation. There was the usual inconsequential mobile phone chatter: "I'm going to be in at Cambridge about 7 and then I've got to get a train to Ely and change there for Peterborough .."

Some had managed to get their reading materials together: The Turn of the Screw, some kind of report on housing development (difficult to read upside down) and a rather intriguing looking self-help book with a chapter heading which said:

Honesty + Enthusiasm = Success

That sounds like a strange equation to me. Does it mean that

Success - Enthusiasm = Honesty?

Meanwhile, from the same man who had been giving advice to the floor sitters, came this snippet on the mobile phone:

".. I'm afraid my father is dieing."

Are we now so used to the idea of hearing the intimate affairs of strangers in public? EE was standing right next to him - yet the bloke would probably have found it rather weird if people started offering sympathy and talking to him about it. Isn't it Interesting that EE would be seen as the weirdo for asking, rather than he for divulging his family matters to strangers on a train?

On arrival in Cambridge, EE did feel like saying something - probably flippant - like 'phew .. thank God we got through that unscathed' and it probably would have generated a few smiles of bon homie, but EE didn't and everyone filed out in silence. Next time though ...

The Day Today

"I have no idea what time or day it is."

It's been a disappointing week for your eagle eared reporter. Just when it seemed that Everyday Eavesdropper (EE) couldn't step outside the front door without someone revealing a fascinating insight or two within earshot, it all dried up. There were promising moments. In an arts centre in the East Midlands for example, two young women talking about clothes (I think): '..and then when I got over to the car, I could tell it was virtually see through ..' which sounded good and only this afternoon in The Pickerel (a pub), someone was to be heard bemoaning the fact that 'you just can't find a good place to have a secular wedding.'

There was potential here, yes, but they moved away so we heard no more.

The good news is that this means EE has been able to spend quality time dedicated in the pursuance of establishing his small time arts consultancy business this week. Work which, at one point, took him to WH Smith (a slightly untrendy sort of newsagent come stationers) to buy a couple of notebooks (one for work and one for jotting down interesting conversations - naturellement) when a couple of University students were catching up with each other - very loudly - at the end of the row.

What is it about students these days? Nay, what is it about Cambridge University students that makes them so damned confident? And here, I would like to let you into a little secret: when I was a student, I dedicated a great deal of energy trying to cover up my middle class background. You see, I studied sociology .. so it was necessary. And that was why I wore the donkey jacket.

Anyway, these (female) students didn't have the same bashfulness about their backgrounds. No, that was there for everyone in WH Smith to appreciate.

"...how are you anyway? I can tell you how I am. I'm all over the place. I've no idea what time or day it is! and I haven't even had breakfast or lunch and I was supposed to be meeting Andrew ... " Of course, EE didn't know for certain that they were students, it was just a hunch.

"... so I decided it was time to get a diary." EE was struck by the quaintness of the approach. New technology was not to be deployed on this occasion.

There's nothing to beat a good paper based diary, and I feel this is a wonderful excuse to let you know about the 'datada' thing. According to my father, and one of his sisters (Auntie Janet) the 'datada diary' was something they bought each year (at the turn of the year I presume). We're talking the 1940s or '50s here and I believe these were the kind of diaries which, in the US, they would call a 'journal' - which people used to use in the olden days to write down their innermost feelings about a day's events before blogs were invented. The manufacturers of The Datada Diary probably put a great deal of thought into the title - datada - the idea being that it would be pronounced 'day to day'. For years though, this obvious fact did not dawn on my father or Auntie Janet who, apparently, insisted on calling them - 'duhtardah diaries' (I'm sorry I can't write phonetically - I hope you get the idea!).

I've always thought that that was so lovely and so like life. I am a bit naive sometimes and frequently it takes me ages to get the point of obvious ad campaigns and puns - 'we won't make a drama out of a crisis' etc.

The 'datada effect' then, for me, serves as shorthand to describe those things we think we understand, but really we don't - which, when you're listening in, happens all the time.

I left the students to find a better way of organising their lives. I hope they do, because they'll probably be running the BBC/Government/City (delete as appropriate) in fifteen years time ... and yes, I suppose I'll probably still be writing about them!

The Datada Effect

"He was a big stocky fella with short legs"

When Everyday Eavesdropper (EE) dumped his car a few years ago it was supposedly all about getting fit, saving money and preventing global warming. He hadn't, though, counted on the excitement of public transport.

Let's define our terms. When I say 'public transport' I really mean trains and buses and the underground. 'Public', of course, referring to that lovely old fashioned idea that this is transport provided for the public out of the public purse. In the UK this changed with privatisation and de-regulation in the early 1990s, although in reality a large chunk of the public purse still subsidises the sector and Railtrack (the bit that owned the tracks and signals and things) was brought back into state ownership as Network Rail in 2002. I digress.

For me, public transport means being transported together with the rest of the population in a shared space, as opposed to a mostly private space like a car. I hasten to add that EE had used public transport prior to dumping his car (and let's not forget those three months as a bus conductor), it's just that it brought a new attention to the delight of catching snippets of other peoples' lives.

Travelling on trains was the original inspiration for this blog - particularly the bizarre one-sided conversations you hear from people talking into their mobile phones: "I'm just arriving at the station now" or "... you know how some families have these big rows? They were having one of those rows about what was he doing with his life ..." This latter conversation happened somewhere between Peterborough and Leicester a couple of months ago. I say, 'somewhere between Peterborough and Leicester', though I actually mean 'the entire journey between Peterborough and Leicester'. For anyone who doesn't know this part of the UK network, it takes about an hour, and I personally think an hour is a long time to be on a mobile phone ... but I am a boy.

So, you can imagine EE's excitement last week over the prospect of a whole three hour trip to Birmingham and back. What delights there were bound to be.

Nothing.

Well, not much.

There was the story of an interview which promised much but didn't really live up to expectations - although EE gathered there was a group test involved. Then on the way back there were four students who looked like they had good potential but spoke to quietly, thus contravening one of the key Datada Principles. No, it looked like six hours on the train with no interesting eavesdropping to be done.

Stamford is a beautiful town in South Lincolnshire. I suppose the sort of place that people around the world might think of as a typical English town. The exterior of Stamford Arts Centre was used in the recent Pride and Prejudice film starring Keira Knightly and the bloke from Spooks for example.

Anyway, the train passes through there on the way from Birmingham to Cambridge.

"Do you mind if I sit down here?"
"No, I love a good gossip"

Bingo!

Two women had alighted at Stamford and sat down behind EE. They evidently knew each other, but not well - passing acquaintances you might say and were probably in their 50s.

Gossip, or indeed dialogue in general, implies an exchange, but this was one of those conversations in which one person talked and the other listened - the occasional 'ooh' and 'oh yes that is a problem isn't it' being proferred as occasional encouragement. On hearing the tale, though, EE could understand why the talker might want to 'unload' on an acquaintance's shoulder. There was the mother with alzheimer's who used to be a teacher and had had such a sharp brain and the husband who has to have all his food laid out before she can leave to look after her mother because 'he doesn't even know where the bread is'. Then there were the children, all prospering in London, apparently, including one 'who doesn't really have a girlfriend' and 'always has his nose in a book' but is also 'very popular' (though it wasn't clear with whom).

This sounded like plenty to cope with, but there was more.

"I had to time the painkillers so that they took effect when we went for a walk. He was lovely - a big stocky fella with short legs."

EE's head was beginning to fill with visions of a rotund John Bull kind of chap - perhaps her father?

"Do you know, I've still got his bed made up in the corner in the kitchen? Silly isn't it?"

This was beginning to sound tragic. It was obvious that the big stocky fella was no longer with us.

"It's heartbreak when they go. Mind you, he was 15 - he'd done well."

You probably guessed what they were talking about straight away, but it took EE a while to cotton on and meanwhile his thoughts had gone down many avenues - trying to imagine the detail which was missing from the story.

This again is a good example of the Datada Effect.

'What is the datada effect?' is a question which was asked of EE last week.

For this blog was the subject of at least a minute or so's discussion last Friday lunchtime. A wonderful regular outing, a little but noisy group of people - colleagues and ex-colleagues - come together in The Salisbury (traditional English pub) in Cambridge each Friday lunch to be entertained by a Mr Parker of Landbeach. As well as entertainment, there is also plenty of opportunity for philosophy and naturally, the subject of the Datada Effect came up.

So, basically, the Datada Effect refers specifically to the case of not knowing exactly what people are talking about and having to add in (guess) the missing links. In the case of the train conversation, EE had evidently missed a key point about what/who they were talking about. I'm not sure how, because EE had been concentrating very hard.

... and why 'Datada'? That's also a very interesting story, but it will have to wait for another time.

There was more about how she had to look after a cat for Christmas and how a fifteen metre piece of string was used so that the cat could go down the garden and 'do its business' without getting lost, but unfortunately, before EE could hear the end of the story (and the full plan for new dogs), it was time for them to get off.

Breakfast at Tiffanys

"They let me in on the agnostic ticket"

Everyday Eavesdropper (EE) dropped into the Cambridge Arts Picturehouse (CAP) Bar for lunch on Saturday. This is the place where the artsy Cambridge middle class hang out in force; some think it is scarier than the binge drinking which goes on at the establishment below: a huge drinking emporium – which typically chucks out its customers at just the point the main feature is finishing.

I love the way these two different sets are frequently thrown together onto the pavement (sidewalk) at the same time. Once you’ve enjoyed your wonderful Scandinavian three hour epic about the difficulties of love in the fjords you come tumbling out to catch the difficulties of love on a Saturday night in Cambridge: ‘stoppit, he’s not worth it’ being the sort of phrase which accompanies a little rough and tumble on the street.

Anyway, the CAP bar sells crepes at lunchtime (crepes are, of course, exactly the same as pancakes but that's another story) and the fillings are named after films. For example, 'A Bout de Souffle' has garlic in it or something. My favourite is 'Breakfast at Tiffanys' which is mostly bacon and egg. The only problem is that it is probably the slowest service in the entire world - as each one is made with the most incredible attention to detail (by a chef with an impressive set of dreadlocks). There is absolutely nothing that will put this man off his stride. If the building was burning I'm sure he would carry on with his cooking, applying exactly the right amount of pepper and salt. EE orders with the expectation that it will take three quarters of an hour to arrive and then is pleasantly surprised when it turns up after 40 minutes - a good perspective for life I feel.

More importantly, EE found himself seated between two wonderful conversations. On one side was a young woman reading The Independent (there are free copies available) and tearing out interesting excerpts to take home for later analysis and on the other were two young men who seemed to be discussing the link between religion and politics."... it was a debate about European neo-liberalism ... some kind of Jewish Christian forum which x told me about."

"but you're neither Jewish nor Christian are you?"

"I got in on the agnostic ticket"

"So it was a Jewish Christian Agnostic forum then really?"

"Something like that"

What followed was one of the most involved discussions about the connections between religion and politics I have heard for some time. I found it hard to follow to be honest, because it required real concentration and I was attempting to read the paper myself. And I was further distracted because my other neighbour was now on the mobile (cell) phone.

"It really is absolutely outrageous .. I've torn it out for you."

She was evidently on the phone to a loved one / partner and I had missed what it was she was outraged about (so damned inconsiderate of her not to make that clear!). Interestingly, this is a very good example of the 'datada effect' which I shall elaborate on in future blogs. It is partly this which makes eavesdropping so much fun.

What was it she was outraged about? Well, about 95% of the time you can be sure it is Tony Blair that has upset the Cambridge middle class, and there's a possibility that it could have been his support for nuclear power that was the problem. EE's impression however, was that it wasn't the Prime Minister this time. The other candidates were articles on laughing gas, sweat shops in China or an article on 'Gorgeous George'.

George Galloway's (GG) appearance on Celebrity Big Brother (CBB) has been one of the most bizarre political stories of recent times. I don't want to go over the debate again here. However, EE has been most shocked, not by the 'feline antics' of GG, but that there are evidently so many people who have absolutely no idea who he is (including about half of his fellow 'celebrities' on CBB itself). Perhaps this shows that EE has lived in Cambridge too long and has cut himself off from the rest of the population. Maybe we have believed GG's own publicity or could it be that we all only know our own little corner of interest (one of my colleagues was disgusted that I had never heard of the basketball player that is in the CBB house for example).

GG is not a wise or nice man in my view, but perhaps there's something to be said for the idea that his involvement in CBB can bring politics into the living rooms of Britain.

With this important business out of the way, woman on mobile phone went on to debate how they were going to transport their son to swimming lessons as well as get to the film they were so desperate to see that afternoon. Over on the other table, we had reached the Polish government and its links to the Roman Catholic Church - and all this before my pancake had arrived.

Sometimes, when EE goes home to South Derbyshire or to watch Derby play he indulges in thoughts of 'oh, how refreshing that everyone here's so down-to-earth - not like in Cambridge where everyone's so up-themselves', but after a while, EE finds himself wondering whether there are any good French films coming up at the CAP and even starts hankering after that forty minute crepe.

The thing is, EE feels so at home there.

At the counter

"You realise that was a very large tip you left me last night"

On my first visit to New York I learnt very quickly that you can't get a 'table for one'. Being single, I do occasionally eat on my own. I don't see it as anything I should be embarassed about, although I must admit that I do sometimes start fiddling with my phone and texting people - just in case onlookers might have mistaken me for a sad loner

In fact, eating alone is a great opportunity to indulge in one of my favourite pastimes - eavesdropping on the 'private' conversations of others.

I use 'private' in inverted commas because it's my opinion that these conversations are conducted as if they were private, but are, in reality, spoken with the full knowledge that others are or could be listening in. I will go further and say that some of these conversations are full-blown peformances - made for the delight of those lucky enough to be nearby.

Anyway, in New York, if you ask for a table for one - they will usually ask you to sit at 'the counter' (in the UK I think we would call this sitting at the bar).

So, I was sitting at the counter of The Corner Bistro in West 4th Street - which I went to with the double recommendation of The Rough Guide and a friend who had lived in New York for a while - eating one of their chilli burgers (excellent) when a man of 40 or so sat down next to me. After a few niceties of recognition with the barman (is that the right word? - sounds a bit Rik in the Young Ones doesn't it?), beer and food was ordered before the Barman ventured:

"That was a very large tip you left me last night"

"Well, I appreciate our conversations" replied the customer

"Okay, I just wanted to check it wasn't a mistake [pause]. I'll be able to pay for my daughter's music lessons now."

Just how large a tip do you fancy it was? One of the great things about eavesdropping is that you never know the whole story. It's the backfilling which is the fun bit. Tips in New York are already higher than anywhere else in the world - so this must have been significantly higher than the usual 15 - 20% [the last episode of Series 4 of 'Curb Your Enthusiasm' made great play of this].

The other thing that amused me was that the tip was being put towards 'my daughter's music lessons'. There's nothing unusual in this as such of course - just that to my (admittedly narrow) mind, the Barman didn't immediately seem to be the sort of person who would be taking his daughter off to violin lessons every Tuesday night.

They chatted on happily for the rest of the evening. Did the Barman feel obliged to show extra interest because of the tip? I can never make my mind up about tipping - although I do it - restaurants, taxi drivers, porters ... My mother always made me give the hairdresser (Hazel) a tip when I was a child and I never knew how to do it properly - I think I have carried my embarrassment over into adult life too.