Pub ding-dong

It's weird how easily a minor issue can turn into a major slanging-match - or worse. Quite often both sides dig their heels in and refuse to budge an inch.

Tempers flared when Jared Dunn, landlord of the Blue Bell pub in Conwy, Wales, asked 30 or so customers who were singing in Welsh to leave the pub because they don't allow singing and other customers found it disturbing. People were leaving the pub and in some cases not even finishing their meal.

That seems to me a reasonable response to the singing, but there was an angry reaction from some people who contended there was nothing wrong with singing in a pub and thought the landlord was wrong to put a stop to it. Some Welsh speakers thought it was an example of the language being marginalised.

Mr Dunn said "The pub is for everyone's enjoyment, and they didn't conform to a reasonable request. Many pubs have this rule in place, to enable their customers to have some peace and quiet while they're eating. It's the same reason we don't show sports or allow any kind of football chanting."

He has nothing against the Welsh language as his wife is Welsh and his children are learning the language. As it happens the family are moving to nearby Prestatyn in a few weeks, so he will soon leave the absurd row behind.

Jenny and I don't like having to listen to loud background music when we're eating or just chatting in a café or restaurant, so we have every sympathy with Mr Dunn.

Short of chums

It's curious how some people have a natural talent for friendship, making friends effortlessly wherever they go, while others just never get the hang of it and potential friends come and go like ships in the night.

Being one of the latter, I'm always bemused by the friend-makers. I study them carefully, trying to work out what they're doing right and what I'm doing wrong, but I'm none the wiser. They just have an instinctive way of connecting with others that I seem to have been born without.

There's been no shortage of possible friends-to-be, people who on first encounter I seem to hit it off with. But after a few promising chats, the initial spark flickers out and it goes no further. If a friendship lasts six months, it's a miracle. Is it their fault? Is it my fault? Who can say?

It still bothers me that I'm so crap at making friends*. In a society where virtually everyone seems to have an impressive retinue of devoted buddies, my visible lack of them is embarrassing. I could of course fake a gang of bosom pals I'm gossiping away with every night of the week, but I don't think I could keep up the pretence for long. Why would I want to anyway?

I can tell myself a lack of friends has its advantages. Plenty of peace and quiet. Nobody ringing me in a state of hysterical despair at 2 am. Not having to sympathise with some course of action I secretly find idiotic. Not being expected to explain every domestic row to a dozen people.

But it's not very convincing. The fact is I'd quite like to soothe someone's hysterical despair or share my latest marital upset. I'd quite like to be that close to someone. It's not going to happen though.

"There is nothing better than a friend, unless it is a friend with chocolate" - Linda Grayson.

*With the notable exception of my long-time partner, of course.

Teeming beaches

Holiday bliss for many people is soaking up the sun on a foreign beach absolutely jam-packed with other holiday-makers. But for me that would be unmitigated hell.

My idea of fun is categorically not being in the middle of a seething mass of humanity, dropping their ice cream on me and tripping over my legs.

If I want hordes of people, I can pop down to the local shopping centre any day of the week. I don't need to seek them out on some exotic stretch of sand.

My image of an ideal holiday is peace and quiet and stunning scenery. I want to go somewhere where I can purge my mind of the everyday hurly burly and the bustling crowds. I don't want more of the same.

What is it about a beach that's so magnetic anyway? It's only a pile of sand with water washing over it. Yes, very pretty but so are lots of other beauty spots. And you don't see much of the sand when it's covered by human bodies.

I think the attraction is a sort of unconscious territoriality. Historically it's beaches that are often invaded by enemy forces, so we like to swamp them with people now and again as a symbolic act of ownership and defiance.

Unfortunately the popularity of beaches has led to hundreds of hideous identikit resorts with their soulless promenades and high-rise hotels. You have to check the plane ticket to remind yourself where you are.

No, forget the beaches, or at least the crowded ones. My idea of rapture is just me and my shadow on a deserted mountain top somewhere. Jenny's welcome too, of course, but that's quite enough company, thanks.