How to be a Brit by Mikes George

Author:Mikes, George [Mikes, George]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

ON THE ART OF CONVERSATION

The main and the most glorious achievement of television is that it is killing the art of conversation. If we think of the type of conversation television is helping to kill, our gratitude must be undying. The trouble is that it has not yet killed enough of it. Some of it is still alive and flourishing in Britain.

A few days ago I was observing two sisters and their brother at a seaside resort. The sisters — around sixty years of age — lived at Bexhill and their brother, a few years younger, at Folkestone. These three — because of the great distances involved, amounting to something like fifty miles — had not met for over ten years. The reunion was a happy and uproarious occasion. They had so much to tell each other that they often stayed up chatting till after midnight. I could not help overhearing a great deal of their conversation. It went like this:

brother: It struck me when I was out before supper, that the wind is going round to the south...

its sister: Yes... definitely. What do you think, Muriel?

muriel: I couldn’t agree with you more. Yes. Southerly. Definitely. Yes.

brother: I don’t like south winds. Not in these parts. Do you, Grace?

grace: Oh no... Heaven forbid. No south winds for me. Not in these parts. What do you think, Muriel?

muriel: I couldn’t agree with you more. No south winds. No, thank you. Oh no. No, no, no.

brother: Get a lot of south winds at Bexhill, Grace?

grace: Not a lot. A fair amount. We get our fair share of south winds. You know how it is. One has to take the rough with the smooth.

brother: I like west winds, personally. West winds are fun.

grace: Oh yes. I do enjoy a good west wind. We often get west winds at Bexhill, don’t we, Muriel?

muriel: Fair amount. I couldn’t agree with you more. Not too much though. But we mustn’t complain, must we?

grace: No.

brother: Yes.

grace: Yes.

muriel: Oh yes... definitely. I couldn’t agree with you more. grace: No.

brother: Oh no.

muriel: Yes.

And so on, and so on. I listened for another hour or two, then I jumped up, went to the television set and shouted:

‘I am thirsty for the pleasures of the pure intellect I Dotto for me! ‘

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