Writers as Human Hoovers - Andrew Crofts
“You’re like a human Hoover ,” my wife complained as we drove home from the dinner party. “That poor woman…” “What poor woman?” I truly didn’t know what she was talking about. I had been basking in the afterglow of what I thought had been a pleasant evening out. “The one you were cross examining about her love life.” “I wasn’t cross examining her,” I protested, “I just pressed the button and everything poured out. She was a human Nespresso machine.” “You do it all the time. You’re like the Spanish Inquisition. Some people like to preserve a little privacy, you know.” She was right, of course, I do it all the time, but in my experience most people love talking about themselves, and those who don’t pretty quickly clam up or tell me to mind my own business. It was a secret I learned at the age of seventeen when I was heading for London in search of streets paved with gold with virtually no social skills at all. How, I wondered as I watched those around me so...