It is a real pleasure on most days, even when it is raining, because the world, while recognisably the same, is also subtly different each day, and the dog's renewed enthusiam for life is encouraging.
The joy of being out and about in the countryside at any time is that there are lots of other dogwalkers to meet and greet. In addition there are the other regulars; the local farmer on his way to get his paper down in Acton, the dustmen, the regular commuters. All are there with a friendly wave, a 'good morning'; sometimes there is time for a conversation.
Every so often I meet 'the jogger'. Lycra clad, she ploughs doggedly on, earphones in place, oblivious it seems to the outside world. I sometimes attempt to greet her with a 'good morning', or more, but she does not recognise the attempt.
She has been a feature of my morning walks now for over a year, and I find her failure to connect depressing; depressing to such an extent that my heart sinks as I see her approach.
I know that she is a woman who works in London. We can see her home from our house. She has done a deal with her company whereby she can work at home in Suffolk so many days a week. I do not blame her for that. She also covers an impressive mileage every day. But all the same I have to ask: is it due to her intrinsic urbanity that she cannot recognise a fellow human being with a nod, or a 'good morning'? Or am I just old fashioned to expect the rural courtesy of recognition?
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