Walking and talking

And a gratuitous excuse for a flat sandal round up

Waiting for my coffee at Edinburgh’s coffee barge on Union Canal

I’m not quite sure when I became addicted to walking and talking. I certainly had the habit before it really took hold during lockdown, when the coffee shops were allowed to reopen for take away only and “meeting at the coffee van for a socially distanced walk” became the height of sociability. If I’m honest, I miss those days. Like other introverts, some elements of lockdown played right into our hands. But I was hooked before that. My last office job (on The Pool) involved a succession of too-small offices with no space to think let alone meet and talk – or even take a phone call (remember those?!) – with any degree of privacy. Nearby coffee shops weren’t much better. It was only logical to get the coffee and go. 

Whilst I can’t pretend this has absolutely zero connection to my Fitbit slavery, and the self-inflicted minimum of 12000 steps a day, there’s something about walking, wandering, meandering, ambling, strolling (pick your own pace) beside someone that makes conversation far more relaxed and easygoing. Like sitting alongside someone in a car, chewing the fat on a long journey, it’s both intimate and yet not. Not that I’m an eye contact avoider (or as Barbara Kingsolver’s wonderful creation Demon Copperhead would say, one of those city people who don’t want to give you their juice! Clue: I am!) Difficult conversations become easier, while idle chat just becomes rhythmic, ebbing and flowing in time with your feet.