Interesting humans.

Yesterday, I wrote about my quiet, small, ordinary life. Today, I went out of the house and met remarkable, interesting humans. One old friend drove me to see other old friends. We went to do a job, but we had many minutes of antic and delightful talk too. It was that kind of talk where you jump about from subject to subject, thought to thought, laughter to laughter, in the way you can with people you really, really like.

Then, my good deed for the day done, I went up to HorseBack and saw two of my familiar veterans who are dear to my heart, met a whole bunch of new ones who had arrived for the first time, was introduced to the head of Riding for the Disabled who had come for a visit, and said a happy hello to a member of the American Special Forces who comes to see us from time to time. 

I never quite know whether, officially, he is allowed to exist or not. ‘Can I take your photograph?’ I always say. ‘Or are you under deep cover?’ He has grown some tremendous facial hair since we last met, and was twirling his moustaches like Terry Thomas. ‘That is one hell of a moustache,’ I said, in awe. He twinkled his eyes at me, then assumed his most deadpan look. ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘I just woke up like this.’ Clearly he is about to go on a secret mission that requires him to look like Hercule Poirot.

Then I went back to my desk and drank a lot of strong coffee and wrote one thousand words about the power of words. This is my favourite subject and I enjoyed myself vastly. Although I was back in my small, ordinary day, my known, regular routine, the galvanising effect of having talked with interesting people, old and new, known and not known, lived in me. The ordinary was illuminated, and made extraordinary.

I always like getting back to my quiet room. I need my quiet room. I crave solitude like a drunk craves whisky. But it’s lovely to know that I can still go out into the world and get a dose of the absolutely fascinating from time to time.