A thoroughly post-modernish conversation

En route between late-opening smoky jazz pub drinking after playing football, and cheese-bacon burger at the Van of Life (for we have no food at home; I had a slice of cheese and cup of tea for breakfast) just around half midnight I was cycling apace down Chesterton Road. Walking on the pavement in the opposite direction was an old man, quite baldy, who was looking at me. I returned his gaze, when, much to my surprise, he smiles and says "Hello!" in a genuinely hearty and happy way.

I barely had time to collect myself and return his greeting with an "Alright mate" before shooting off into the night, towards cholesterol. I hope that he got a sense of the joy and gratitude I felt.

Thinking about it, it could have been a thoroughly post-modern conversation, devoid of any real meaning except that it happened at all. But interestingly it wasn't. It was a thoroughly pre-modern conversation - back to a time before modernist cynicism and mistrust invaded the community spirit. It mirrored in post modernism the emails sent by people who don't know me and generally dont want to, but it was not spam... there was an essential difference. He was a real man, who really wanted to say "Hello". And that was all he wanted. He didn't want to sell me anything or ask for change, which is the only time other strangers greet me in the street. 'Just a quick "hello" and off to bed.'

I was genuinely happy. Such things happen when I'm back home in the country, but not in central Cambridge. Maybe he was a madman. Maybe a Loch Ness monster from times gone by when people innocently believed in community. Or maybe a freedom-to-say-hello-to-whoever-I-want fighter, rebelling against the cold lack of soul in the city.

Maybe I imagined him. I hope not.