In my job as a community newspaper journalist, I'm obliged to put up with some stuff that West journos wouldn't even think twice about dismissing.
Things like the local stamp collecting or gardening club making abusive phone calls because you didn't put their community diary entry into the paper this week and so now no-one's going to go to their meeting and the world's going to cave in and it's ALL MY FAULT.
Other times, I might go out on jobs and have little old ladies insist on making me cups of tea and sitting me down and telling me their life story.
Most of the time I don't put myself in a position where something like this can happen but, every now and then, if I can, I'll say yes to the offer of a cuppa.
Take today for example.
I get a phone call this morning from a lady who is visibly distressed, having had four out of the five wheelie bins in her unit complex set alight last night.
She offers me a cuppa and, because it's a good story and I want to get a feel for it, I accept.
Now, the upside of doing something like this and listening to someone's life story is that, perhaps because I work in Rockingham, the stories always make me realise how grateful I am for the life that I live.
This lady today started telling me about the vandalism to her bins, but i ended up listening to her stories about how her husband's dead and her son disabled, her son's crazy ex-girlfriend who bashed him until he left her (that's right, bashed him) who may have been responsible for the bins.
Or it may have been the kids around the corner who have been egging the house, breaking windows and damaging gardens ever since they were chased away on Halloween while on an eggingn expedition.
Or it could have been the girlfriend of the ex-neighbour who (allegedly) attempted to rape two of the elderly woman in the complex, this lady included, before they called the police, took to the witness stand and put him away.
And I listened to all of this, not because I'm a sucker for punishment, and not because of some misguided intention to make myself feel better about me, but because I realised that most of these people are just lonely.
All they want is someone to sit down and listen to them. You don't have to say anything, don't have to offer any advice, but just being there is enough.
3 months ago
3 comments:
Aw bless. Yep it's the old dears that melt your heart. I interviewed a schizophrenic woman this week and was nearly blubbering by the end of it... I think I had uh dust in my eye or something...
And how awkward is it when they break down? You kinda want to hug them but kinda can't really touch them and it's just... weird
poor things. They're everywhere. I hope I never get so old and lonely the only person I can think of to talk to is the local rag.
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