Hard to say

Social anxiety is a bit of a bugger, isn't it?

There I am at another routine social event, confronted by some total stranger, wondering what the hell to say to her or him. And my mind goes completely blank.

I search my mind for suitable topics. The strange turn in the weather? The political crisis? The price of olive oil? Electric cars?

For some reason no subject seems suitable.

They'll think I'm weird if I talk about something obscure.

But they'll also think I'm weird if I say nothing at all.

I'd love to be one of those natural chatterboxes who can not only effortlessly start a conversation but keep it going for a good half hour.

How do they do it?

My tongue-tied stance comes from my family. Almost every one of them is and was fiercely taciturn. Speaking is only permitted if there's something very important or urgent to say. Otherwise lips are sealed.

So I'm just very out of practice at this chattering lark.

I need one of those ear-phones TV presenters wear, so someone can feed me suitable comments and questions.

Or maybe I just need a badge that says "Ask me an awkward question".

Still shy

I've been shy ever since I can remember. At the age of five I hardly said a word when my mum and I met the headmaster of my first ever school. She had to convince the head that I wasn't normally so quiet and I would open up once I attended the school (which I did, once I was used to the teachers and the other pupils).

There's a difference of opinion about shyness. Some people say it's just selfish, leaving the conversational effort to other people and not offering anything yourself. But you could equally say that chatterboxes are selfish because they hog all the conversation and deter others from speaking.

Is shyness selfish or is it an inherent personality trait that you can't overcome however hard you try? You may really want to gabble away, but you just can't manage to?

Perhaps it's partly that the outgoing types hold opinions and beliefs so passionately that they just have to explain them to other people, while my own opinions are more flimsy and provisional and I'm not confident about airing them?

Perhaps also I'm much more interested in other people's lives, which are full of surprises and fascinating revelations, while my own life seems far too humdrum and routine to appeal to anyone else? Listening to others comes more naturally than talking about myself.

Then again, I'm often rendered shy by anyone who's intimidating or overbearing and doesn't seem to respect me.

Being shy isn't the same as being introverted of course. Shyness means not having the confidence or the ingenuity to chatter away easily, while introversion means enjoying your own company more than the company of others.

So if I enjoy both, what does that make me?

The silent type

I've been shy since I was a small boy. It's something that's not easy to change. So many things are involved, it's hard to disentangle them and overcome them. What would be the result anyway? Morphing from a shrinking violet to a bumptious loud-mouth?

Attitudes to shyness keep altering. Once it was just seen as an endearing though awkward personality trait. Then it became a dysfunctional, embarrassing failing to be treated and cured. Now the endearing but awkward view is back in vogue.

The shy but famous have gone to extreme lengths to avoid agonising social contact. It's said that Emily Dickinson would only speak to visitors through a half-closed bedroom door. I'm not that bad, but I find it hard to talk to anyone I don't know, or who looks unfriendly, looks bored, or seems smarter or more knowledgeable. I become painfully self-conscious, my mind goes blank, my confidence plummets, and I stand there in helpless silence like the village idiot.

Blogging has been a godsend, as I find it easier to spill my thoughts when I'm not actually face to face with someone, and when I can safely assume my regular visitors will be interested in what I'm saying. And of course I have all the time in the world to rehearse my thoughts, without the need for an instant comment or an instant reply.

Shyness is sometimes seen as a virtue - speaking only when there's something worth saying and not blabbering on pointlessly simply for the sake of it. But without the compulsive chatterers, social life could grind to a halt amid a sea of taciturn faces.

Nobody suggests manic chatterers should be treated and cured. It's accepted they have their function, however tiresome it is if you're buttonholed by one of them. But it's very tempting to sit back and listen rather than try to interrupt the relentless flow of words.

Smart or smarting?

I'm pretty paranoid about seeming stupid. I dread the possibility that I'll inad-vertently say something so clueless that those listening will inwardly wince or titter at my idiocy.

All those attentive faces that were assuming I had something intelligent to say will suddenly freeze and conclude I'm not the sharpest knife in the drawer and they can safely ignore me.

Which I guess is one reason I tend to be shy in company and say as little as possible. I'm not one of those people who gabble away non-stop and couldn't care less how others judge their remarks.

I'm assuming of course that people are mean enough to gloat over my inanities rather than being sympathetic to an unintended blooper they could as easily have made themselves. I assume they're privately guffawing rather than feeling a twinge of friendly recognition.

I guess the root cause of my paranoia is the sneaking belief that most people are more intelligent than I am. I suppose it goes back to my failing the 11 plus and then leaving school with disappointing exam results. Not to mention those deeply flawed IQ tests.

But at the end of the day it's just the nagging suspicion that what I think is an intelligent, perceptive remark is actually half-witted but I just haven't realised that. So I keep the remark to myself and say nothing. Better to look opinion-less than gormless.

It's rather galling though if ten seconds later someone else comes up with the exact same thought, which is greeted enthusiastically, and I kick myself for being so self-doubting.

Okay, stop tittering at the back. And stop giving me those funny looks.

Lost for words

People sometimes say that my shyness, my tendency to be tongue-tied with other people, is due to my being too self-conscious.

I don't know about that. What exactly is "too much" self-consciousness anyway? If anything, I think I'm probably not self-conscious enough. I'm more than capable of blurting out something stupid or insensitive without realising, or of saying the complete opposite of what I'm really thinking or feeling.

To my mind, the more self-conscious people are, the better. The more aware we are of how we're behaving, how we're affecting other people, what sort of impression we're making, the more likely we are to treat people decently rather than nastily.

Even if we're talking total self-absorption, that's not so awful either. Okay, so the person might be jabbering away about themself, but at least they're not planning a shooting spree or a mass beheading. The worst they can do is bore you to tears.

I think my shyness is due more to the assumption that other people won't accept me for what I am. If I just gabble away freely, sooner or later someone will object to something I've said and there will be an unpleasant exchange. People take offence at the strangest things, and I can't predict what they will be. So I find myself listening rather than talking so as to avoid sudden umbrage.

My shyness is probably also a reaction to wasting so many hours of my life listening to people confidently holding forth on things they know absolutely nothing about, or things that have already been dissected ad nauseam by all and sundry. I hesitate to add yet another ill-informed or superfluous opinion to the surrounding hubbub.

And at the end of the day, I'd just rather be a shrinking violet than a pompous windbag.

Attention please

I've never been an attention-seeker. I'm quite happy to be invisible, out of the limelight, hidden away. I don't need other people to validate me or confirm my existence. In any social gathering, I'm content to be hovering somewhere on the sidelines while others gather a crowd of people around them.

I'm always intrigued by those who need a constant audience, the bigger the better, and whose every waking moment seems devoted to keeping themselves in the public eye. They'll wear the most outrageous clothes, tell the most appalling stories, divulge the most shocking habits, simply to keep other people watching. I really couldn't be more different.

It seems to me that courting attention is hazardous. I wouldn't mind all the praise and appreciation, but it would come with a side order of abuse and hostility that wouldn't be so pleasant. I find it hard enough to deal with abuse from one person; mass abuse from all and sundry would have me weeping in the bathroom.

Of course some attention-seeking is just a cry for help. The flamboyant, extrovert, loud-mouthed windbag who seems totally self-confident might secretly be chronically insecure and desperate for love and reassurance. Who can tell?

No, if you went to a big party I happened to be attending, you might never notice me at all. I'd be the shy, nondescript guy in the corner, possibly having an intense conversation with some equally shy, nondescript person, or possibly just nursing my drink and scrutinising the other guests. Far from seeking attention, I might be so unobtrusive that you'd leave two hours later without having even registered my existence. Which is just how I like it.

Just a splash

My taste for alcohol has always been limited. I enjoy a glass of wine, possibly two, but that's more than enough. I've never understood those vast hordes of people who like to drink as much as possible.

I watch them reeling out of pubs and then collapsing or vomiting or shrieking obscenities and I wonder for the umpteenth time what the attraction is. Especially when the next day they'll also have a crushing hangover and be struggling to function normally.

As a twenty something, I fell in with a crowd of heavy drinkers and started to drink as relentlessly as they did. But after several appalling hangovers, when I felt at death's door and ready to top myself just to end the misery, I resolved to be more sensible and limit myself to what my body could cope with rather than beating my liver to a pulp.

Of course heavy drinking is so common that the drinkers seldom see anything wrong with it. They think heavy drinking is completely normal, if anything more normal than a strait-laced, priggish refusal to keep gulping it down. I know what they're thinking - I'm a wimp, a girlie, an abstemious nerd who doesn't know how to let my hair down and have a good time. Well, each to their own, I guess, and all I can say is that their meat is my poison.

Heavy drinkers have no trouble justifying their habit. What could be more natural? They just enjoy drinking to excess. They enjoy being drunk. They need it to drown their sorrows, to escape the agonies of daily life. It loosens their inhibitions, relaxes them. It helps them to socialise. It's sexually liberating. So many good reasons for knocking it back.

I suppose my attitude is that I want to experience life as it is. If life is difficult, then I'll find ways of making it easier. I'm not looking for an escape, a way of blotting out reality so I don't have to deal with it any more. If I'm shy or nervous, I don't want some artificial Dutch courage to feign a confidence I don't have. I'd rather admit to my shyness and overcome it in my own way.

Whenever someone says "Go on, have another. It won't kill you" I just think, "But what's the point?"

Hidden faces

The face mask has mysteriously become the fashion must-have for Japanese teenagers. But they're reluctant to explain why.

Many Japanese wear face masks to protect themselves against flu germs and bugs in general. The masks are a common sight when you're walking down a street.

But now teenagers en masse are wearing them, even if they couldn't care less about flu. It's become a cult accessory you just can't be seen without.

Because they don't want to explain themselves, social commentators are busily trying to interpret this strange phenomenon.

The mask-wearers, they say, are so shy they want something to hide behind. It's a way of retreating from society even when they're in a crowd of people. They want to be anonymous, they want to look just like everyone else.

Or maybe they're simply poking fun at all the germ-obsessed individuals who insist on wearing face masks even though they offer little or no protection.

It wouldn't happen here. The British are far too self-conscious to go around wearing face masks, even if they were terrified of catching flu.

And if they want something to hide behind, their preferred option is a thick layer of make-up or a voluminous beard.

Face masks are strictly for Nurse Jackie. Or bank robbers.