Quiet rural life? I’ll say hello and goodbye...

ONE of the late Peter Cook’s final television appearances was on the BBC’s Room 101 almost a quarter of a century ago. His list of pet hates included Gracie Fields, packaging, domestic rabbits and the TV show Watchdog.

But the one that always sticks in my mind is the countryside, which he casually dismissed as being ‘full of nothing much really’. He was being facetious, I think, but his remarks no doubt struck a chord with many urbanites.

I’m unashamed to say that I broadly share Cookie’s sentiments on this particular issue. When it comes to a choice between the bright lights and the calm rustic idyll, I wouldn’t even have to think about it for a moment. Give me the concrete and the fumes any day of the week.

That said, it is no harm to step out of your comfort zone every now and then. So when my lady wife suggested taking advantage of the unusually pleasant October weather, I was happy to join her on a day trip to Co. Wicklow.

Before we set off from Dublin, though, I was mindful of the potential pitfalls involved. No, I’m not necessarily talking about the dangers of being charged by an angry bull or walking on a cowpat or accidentally straying on to land belonging to a territorial farmer. I suppose I’m trying to say that it is difficult for a city boy like me to know how to behave in a country setting.

It is worth making the point that urban and rural dwellers have more in common than is often accepted. True, it is practically impossible to walk into a pub in a village or provincial town without everyone turning around to stare at the stranger. But that same sort of clannishness exists in Dublin as well. I can think of pubs all across the capital where the regulars will give the old onceover to anyone whose family haven’t been drinking there for at least five generations.

Equally, though, it would be foolish to pretend that there aren’t major differences as well. I’ll make no apology for saying that I would find life in smalltown Ireland too claustrophobic to deal with.

FRANKLY, the sort of place where everyone knows your inside leg measurement and how many points you got (or didn’t get) in the Leaving Cert wouldn’t be for me.

Nor would I want to live in the sort of community where the neighbours feel free to pop around every five minutes to borrow a cup of sugar. Granted, it must be nice to walk down the main street and get a friendly greeting from everyone you pass. By the same token, however, there is also a lot to be said for the anonymity of the metropolis.

But I digress. My main concern as we approached Roundwood and the scenic route around the Upper Vartry Reservoir was the local etiquette for walkers.

Even after all these years, I’m still intrigued at how drivers on country roads will almost always raise their right index finger from the steering wheel by way of acknowledging fellow motorists. But what, I wondered, was the equivalent when you’re on foot? To say a cheery hello to fellow ramblers or not?

It goes without saying that you don’t want to be rude or unfriendly, but equally it wouldn’t do to appear too eager. Nobody likes someone who is trying too hard.

Luckily, we hardly came across anyone else for most of our two-hour perambulation. We were only about ten minutes from the finishing line when I spotted a couple of figures in the distance. Though it looked at first as if they were headed in a different direction, it soon became apparent that they were coming towards us.

This presented me with a problem. Should I wait for them to make the first move? Or will I take the moral high ground and give them a hearty salutation as soon as they’re within earshot? But what if I do that and they blank me? How will I regain face after that?

Talk about a dilemma. Needless to say, I blinked first and muttered a meek hello as I passed them.

I’m pleased to report that they gave an enthusiastic response, as did the three other groups we encountered before making it back to the sanctuary of Mrs O’s car.

But I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t a testing experience. Whoever claimed rural life was less stressful has clearly never been for a walk in Roundwood.