Organ recital, anyone?

Do you know anyone who gives ‘organ recitals’? I came across this term in a book I’ve been reading this week. (The only problem is that, since I’ve read three books already this week, I can’t remember which book it came from.) Anyhow, giving organ recitals involves giving everyone you meet a blow-by-blow account of your latest illness, operation or stay in hospital.

There’s an old man in our village (I’ll call him Jim) who gives organ recitals and, to be honest, people dread meeting up with him. On warm, sunny days, he sits on his garden wall and, whenever anyone walks past, he tries to engage them in a conversation which very quickly turns into a litany of his various ailments, his trips to hospital, the amount of time he has spent in the I.C.U. and a verbatim report of what the doctors said to him.

Now I really don’t mean to sound unsympathetic – this man has, undeniably, suffered a great deal and, during the 3 years since he moved to the village, he has probably spent a year of that time in hospital. What I am attempting to do is point out that the kind of result that this man is probably hoping to achieve, (which I imagine would include an alleviation of his loneliness and boredom, the receipt of time and attention from his neighbours and maybe some recognition of and sympathy for his undoubted suffering) is being withheld from him. Because the first time you engage with him, you listen to his sorry tale and feel sympathy and compassion for him, but then, after you have listened to him for about half an hour, you realise that he is showing no signs of running out of steam, he is still very much ‘on topic’, that you (genuinely) have things that you need to do and that, without appearing rude, you need to make your excuses and go off to do them. Eventually, with difficulty, you manage to make your exit and you go home and tell your partner about how much the old man up the road has suffered and how ill he has been and isn't it a pity that he seems so lonely?

The next time you meet Jim, he greets you like an old friend and so you stop for a quick chat with him, and before long, you realise that you are having exactly the same conversation with him that you had before and that, once again, he is showing no sign of ‘drying up’ and that, once again, you could be in for an extended conversation (except that it isn’t really a conversation because a conversation usually implies more than one person taking part).

So, what happens next time you see him? You either turn around before he spots you and take a different, more circuitous route around the village that will get you home in twenty minutes, rather than the five it would normally take you, or you put your head down, speed up your pace, pretend you haven’t seen him until the last minute and then say, ‘Oh, hello, Jim. I’m sorry I can’t stop for a chat, I’m expecting a caller…’

So what is the answer? Would it be kinder to gently explain to him the effect that he has on people? Or would that just be too devastating for him to cope with, coming from a virtual stranger? Should I just stand and talk to him for as long as he needs me to, whilst, at the same time, ignoring my own needs and the things that I have to do to keep body and soul together? Or do I, like everyone else in the village, try to dodge him and politely ‘shortchange’ him whenever I can’t avoid running into him?

I suspect that I will plump for the latter and live in hope that when I get to the same age, I will remember Jim, his attempts to engage with people and the fact that, not everyone enjoys organ recitals.