Hey, You! Get off ...

If you're a Rolling Stones fan, the significance of my title will become a little less obscure as you read on.  I've been reflecting today on friendship.

I've had encounters this week with two particular friends.  One was on line, the other face to face.  I have no wish to embarrass either, so 'no names, no pack drill'.  The first encounter was spread over a number of days, with messages flowing to and fro via social media.  The topic is a common one at this time of year: 'what are you doing for Christmas?'  It was quickly established that, if things stayed as they were at that moment, each of us would be 'home alone'.  The exchanges then became more nuanced than forthright in both directions and it was only eventually that a proposition was made that we should meet for some hours during Christmas day.  This was turned down, and apologies were exchanged each for misleading the other.  It was all rather messy in a distant sort of way.

The second encounter took place in the street.  This week, our church has seen the annual burst of community activity to acquaint some 4,000 parishioners with details of our Christmas services by means of a special church Christmas card delivered through every door.  As one of the active newly-retired, I have enjoyed taking part in the campaign, since it gave me a good deal of exercise with more motive than just the exercise itself.  I readily admit, however, that - in contrast to my usual walking habits - these walks were topped and tailed by a car journey from my home in the neighbouring parish.

I had just finished my deliveries in one road and was almost at the point of getting back into the car, when a familiar figure rounded the corner. I walked over to exchange a greeting, and was met by the question, "What are you doing on my patch?"  By way of response I gestured to the remaining cards in my hand.  In some consternation, the ensuing conversation revealed that we had each delivered cards, within the space of only a few hours, to the same 31 houses.  Having determined how this had come about, through no fault of either of us, we parted company.  As I walked to my car I heard a shout of mock anger from across the road, "Now, get off my turf!"

That final word has been rolling around my mind.  It's one I've only heard before in connection with horse racing ... with one exception.  A few weeks ago, I spent some time helping in the Liberal Democrat campaign office at the Witney by-election, where I found that the software with which they were monitoring the canvassing uses this word 'turf' to specify a particular street or area where printed materials are to be delivered.  My friend had engaged to deliver cards to all the roads on her estate, and so was using the word in exactly the same context.

Yesterday, another by-election took place in Richmond Park, Surrey.  Up to this point, I have felt much more distant from this campaign than the one at Witney.  I quickly decided that, although this constituency is closer to my home than Witney, the fact of having far more to do on the home front as Christmas approaches, together with the unwelcome thought of the journey there - whether through or round London - made helping there a non-starter. It wasn't until I saw a picture on line this afternoon of yesterday's winning candidate surrounded by some of her campaign team, and recognised two faces as having been at Witney, that I had considered any of the folks I'd met there as 'friends' ... and I suppose, on the strength of only twenty or thirty hours, that term is still a little closer than would be accurate. Nevertheless, it was warming to see those familiar faces once more.

But, continuing my line of thought, I ask myself how close someone has to be in order truly to be a friend.  In the case of those two encounters I described at the start, I've known the first lady some fourteen years and the other little more than one.  One I haven't seen for some years now, and our recent contact has been by the annual exchange of Christmas cards and on line, while the other I probably see two or three times a month, and we exchange a few words on about half of those occasions.  Over all, I suppose my level of intimacy is the same with both.  And yet, I fear, the need for that exchange of apologies has slightly damaged one friendship, while the apparently harsh dismissal that ended the other encounter has, if anything, deepened that one.

Many years ago, I met the new Rector of my village church for the first time outside the church door on a weekday morning.  As he struggled with his key in the lock, I chided the clumsiness of his unfamiliarity, got out my keys and let us in.  In the following years we became firm friends, and I have often quoted that incident and suggested a definition of a friend as 'someone you can offend with a smile without causing offence'.  I'd say that's still true today ... what do you think?