When we got off the boat this guy said hello.  Name of Tom (names of course have been concealed to protect the innocent).  Who had a wee pony tail, grey hair, academic stoop, wire rim glasses.  Lived on a meditation retreat in the hills near San Francisco where he welcomed people with problems.  You know the sort.   Walked with us. Nice guy.

Except.

He talked.

Now some people go into the bush to listen to the boidsong and look at stuff – mountains, flowers, clouds.  All that.  ie me.

Others just like talking.  ie him, and Sally, as it happens, who has been clocked at 10 days solid talking in USA (to our mate Sue in the back of a 4WD) without pause (either of them) except possibly to eat – or swallow at any rate.

Very soon it became obvious that something had to be done.  I did it by changing gears and zooming far enough ahead to leave the noise of the human voice far behind.  Peace, no talking.

Finally I got to the top of the ridge where I met this little fella.  Who didn’t say a thing.