I love ear-wigging conversations. I know it's naughty but I can't help it. My guilty pleasure began as an exercise from a tutor on a short story writing course I took several moons ago.
The tutor cunningly justified this rather nosey practice by saying it was a great way to learn how to write authentic dialogue. Homework was to discreetly jot down an overheard conversation word for word, and notice the natural ebb and flow, errs and umms of conversation.
As homework goes, it was great fun. Some of the things I heard were hilarious. In fact, the results of my earwigging could possibly create a blog in their own right. It certainly entertained me.
That's why I still love listening in. And occasionally I do write choice quotes down. (for research purposes, obviously. One day I will write that novel. No really I will.)
This week I heard a corker while rummaging and wrestling in the Monsoon sale, hoping against hope that they didn't only have size 18s left in the dresses I'd been drooling over for months.
With my my head wedged firmly in a rail of large skirts, frantically reading every label in the hope that a size 12 had been carelessly flung onto the wrong hanger, I heard the plummy tones of a very posh young girl talking to her mate. Here's what she said, word for word:
“oh my god I hate looking for clothes when I absolutely don’t need anything. It’s just so hard. Sigh!”
I had to laugh. I felt like turning around and saying well no-one's forcing you to be in here! Go home and admire your fully stocked wardrobe and give the rest of us peasants a chance to get a desperately needed outfit for their tired looking collection of last year's rags.
When I did turn around I noticed she was a probably a size 8-10 - so she had no chance of a bargain in here. So the poor little, hard done by lambkin could go home, and relax after the stress of being forced to spend Daddy's bonus on something she won't need or ever wear. Ever. Phew!
More ear-wigging later in the blog I feel.
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