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.