“Does anyone live a life of quiet despair these days? The question struck me with some force, one Sunday evening last summer, when I found myself on the Leatherhead bypass. These proud detached villas, still with their net curtains and tidy front gardens, were exactly the sort of houses where people sighed in Betjeman’s poems over missing the fun. Brief Encounter territory. But our modern world is one of clamour and din. Everyone is busy shouting into their mobile phones, or chanting the name of Jeremy Corbyn, or sobbing on telly because their cake didn’t rise. Extroverts have taken over. Quiet despair has been all but forgotten, like headscarves or sardine-and-tomato paste.” (Cressida Connolly in The Oldie)

As an introvert myself I too crave quiet and stillness, time to contemplate, to think. Some people simply cannot tolerate silence. They have to chatter on, endlessly putting you “right” about this, that and the other. You go out for a romantic dinner with your wife and you can barely hear your own voice, so great is the din (apparently this noise is what young people want). You are deluged with political ads and requests for your feedback on the toothbrush, or whatever, you purchased last week or how an employee had handled a problem thst should never have been a problem in the first place. You feel like an island among this noisy humanity that craves your attention and seems to feel that life is not worth living without constant, opinionated chatter. I think modern Epicureans should set an example by conducting give-and-take, quiet conversations where people listen to one another, ask questions and make thoughtful comments; not pursue lengthy noisy monologues. Genuine interest in others is the key.