by Antony J Waller

Created on: June 26, 2009

A Stranger in the Park

I would like to share a story with you. A conversation I had with a lady, or rather one she had with me one day whilst sitting in a park in Dublin. I will go as far to say that the conversation is my entry for the next 'Conversation of the Year Award' or even my nomination for best 'Stranger in the Park'.

It was late one afternoon and my wife K and I had gone over to Dublin for a short break. It was our first time in that fair city; the weather was warm and sunny, fantastic for the time of year. We had enjoyed a nice lunch and K was keen to pursue a bit of retail therapy. Now being a typical bloke when it comes to shopping, I said I was more than happy to buy a newspaper, sit in the local park for an hour or two and watch the world go by.

For anyone who knows Dublin there is a large park, a popular thoroughfare just off Grafton Street. As I mentioned it was a warm sunny afternoon and finding a seat was proving difficult. Anyway I eventually found one, sharing a park bench with a student and a couple eating their lunch. Nearby there was a water fountain. The type where water shoots out of a central feature, in this case from a statue's mouth, and falls back into a raised pool surrounded by a low wall.

I settled back to read and watch the people scurrying by, the sound of the splashing waters tinkling in the background. Now after a while it became noticeable that the noise from the cascading waters was increasing. A glance across in the direction of the fountain confirmed it. The level of the water was rising and flowing over the low wall, onto and across the path. A park keeper stood by holding a long handled rake which he kept sweeping over the surface of the water, further flooding the path. He was also scratching his head.

Just then a shadow fell across my opened paper. I glanced up. A tall, well-dressed lady wearing a long raincoat stood in front of me. A complete stranger. She smiled. I smiled back, as you do.
Then she spoke, in a very articulate way and with a rich Irish accent.

"Would you just look at the feckin' state of that," nodding towards the fountain and the park keeper. And the feckin' eejit who calls himself a park-keeper. Now what's that all about. I feckin' ask you. Jesus, what is it about men and water that makes them go so gaga. They spend their time either playing with it or pouring it down their feckin' throats and rolling around steaming drunk. The eejits, the lot of them. And does n't it just sum up the sad state of this country of ours. I ask you. If I had me feckin' way I'd be on the next plane out o' here and off to somewhere else. But I'm not. I can't afford to. And that's another thing ......."

She continued in this vein, hardly stopping to draw breath for a good five minutes or more. Waving a finger at me and going on about the state of the economy, men, water and the park-keeper before she suddenly stopped, drew a breath and said,

"Well as nice as it's been talking to you, I can't stand here all afternoon. I'm particularly busy this afternoon and I've still got lots to do now."

And with that she smiled, turned on her heels and disappeared off across the park. I sat there watching her go, absolutely speechless. Which was probably just as well, for in the whole conversation I had not managed to utter a single word!

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