Only yesterday when I was helping my boyfriend make dinner, his flatmate (who I’ve met just a few times) and I were the sole occupants of the kitchen. We were both busy with our separate culinary preparations – in silence. Then out of nowhere, presumably interpreting silence as awkwardness, the flatmate informs me that he had spent the morning attempting to make various phonecalls.

‘…you know, the obligatory weekend calls to mum etc.’

(I make receptive but non-committal noises).

‘…and not one person answered. Either no one was home or they’re all ignoring me,’ he concludes.

I observe that Sundays are usually stay-at-home days, unintentionally implying that his second asumption is correct. But if I were one of the recipients of his calls I think I would have ignored him too, since this little insight to his life doesn’t set a promising precedent for future conversations. Harsh perhaps, but fair.

So rather than embracing the companionable silence we were working in, the flatmate instead chose to show me how utterly boring and friendless he is. Oh well. It’s no wonder there are so many adages along the lines of ’silence is golden’.