My friend, Patricius, can talk for England Ireland. But when he’s silent, its not uncomfortable.

Companionable silence my nan used to call it.

Today we went to Longstock’s garden event, just north of Stockbridge on the Test valley. The road is winding through beautiful picture postcard villages. Patricius chattered the whole way. His stories are often funny, but he can listen when the need is there. I am not going to tell him to shut up because I enjoy listening.

Parking up, we walked across to the barn because it was still early, and had a coffee and some more chat.

After coffee we walked through the garden centre to the gardening event. We stopped at every stall and thoroughly examined the plants. They were a great many that I had never seen before. Beautiful Japanese ferns, cottage garden flowers, antique style blooms. The shapes and colours were often exotic, but I wasn’t aware of the scent of anything.

We were amongst the youngest there. If I tell you that I am nearly 52 and he is 66, then you get the drift.

The old dears could be surprisingly forceful in their jostle towards the plant trestles, but they were friendly and informative and would talk about what we were looking at. Patricius is quite knowledgeable about plants, but he often had to bow to their superior knowledge.

We did buy a few items. I bought some herbs to go in an old sink in the garden.

After a bite to eat (a scone, a cup of tea, and the crunchiest chips (remember, I am English and what I call chips ain’t what others call chips.).

We walked down to the water garden through a beautifully curated tree garden. Trees of all kinds, and most that I hadn’t seen before.

The water garden occupies an area of land around a chalk stream. There are islands, accessible by plank bridges. All around are exotic trees, or unusual versions of trees that I knew.

And the plants around the water! The colours! The unusual shapes!

The sound, sight, and smell of running water.

The smell of damp earth on a warm day.

The pinks, purples, oranges, yellows, and blue flowers.

The familiar smell of wild garlic, the exotic scent of strange blooms.

In the stream we saw sticklebacks, and a pike, a rudd, and an eel.

There were birds singing all around us. And in the distance a cuckoo.

It was an intense emotional experience, but what was the emotion? I cannot name it!

Time slowed – hours passed without our knowledge – or care.

And, far away, the hum of traffic. On this crowded isle one is never far from a car.

<sigh>

But this was a little bit of paradise.

We still talked, but much less so. And were often silent.

Companionable silence is friendship at peace with itself.