The Lost Art of Conversation

We went for a brew in a local cafe the other day. Which prompted this piece. The experience felt strange compared to sitting in a cafe years ago. 

We walked in, ordered our brews and found a table. Silence. All around us. Everyone stared at their rectangles of illuminated glass. Not that long ago, to enter a pub or a cafe was to step into a distinct noisy environment. A room that was best described as vibrant, loud, and conversational.

Today, a strange silence has settled over public places. It is not the silence of contemplation. But the hum of ambient synthesisers and the relentless tapping of laptop keyboards. We’ve given up the craft of conversation. All in favour of the rapid exchange of functional digital signals.

I remember when standing at a bus stop meant entering into an impromptu, three-way natter. Usually with two total strangers about how crap the local timetable was. A queue in a Chippy wasn’t an isolated experience. It was a chance for collective, therapeutic moaning.

In the pubs, the craic was mighty, as the Irish say. You’d hear men slagging each other's character with surgical skill. Family groups chuckling over ruined holidays. While the kids drank fizzy pop and crinkled crisp packets. And in the corner, an old miserable bugger nursing a single pint of mild. Mind you, if you bought him a second pint, he’d a deliver a masterclass in local history.

In a greasy spoon cafe, you could hear four separate debates conducted within six feet of the toaster. The merits of the local football club, the rising price of eggs, the state of the roads, and why a Coventry batch is a batch. And definitely not a bloody bread roll.

None of it was earth-shattering rhetoric. Loads of it was inane banter and daft rambling waffle. But it was human. It was the clear routine of people being people.

Take the modern Coventrian. Most of 'em walk the high street with white plastic pegs plugged into their ears. Cocooned in a private broadcast. If you attempt to make eye contact on a bus? Well, you are no longer viewed as a fellow traveller. But as an uninvited stranger in their private digital sanctuary. Or, they’ll call you a weirdo.

We have given up on the joy of human debate. Now, it’s all WhatsApp messages, text alerts, and social media feeds. Tons of ways to avoid looking another human being in the eye.

I’m not a technophobe. Technology is a great. And I am as curious as anyone to see what brilliant gadget we invent next. All I ask is that we now and then, have a chat about it. And with a person who’s standing in the same room.

So if you happen to be in a Coventry cafe and see a bloke of mature years? Good chance it’s me. I’ll be sitting without a screen. Looking up and ready for conversation. Don’t panic. I don’t bite. Step forward and moan about the weather, the buses, or the price of tea. We will both leave the room feeling more alive. I bet we will.