AFTER almost two years of attending my weekly Pilates class, I finally have class ‘friends’ to talk to.

It has taken that long for some of the people I stand with (outside the studio where it takes place), week after week, to finally succumb and offer a few words of conversation.

We who attend alone – without a pal to lean on – have endured 10 minutes or so of waiting to go in, for all of this time, but we have never proffered a verbal hand to each other, or anything other than a nervous half-smile.

We’ve stared at the floor, the wall, the door, our phones, the preceding class or anything which isn’t each other.

I have always found it a nightmare to endure as, in Northern Ireland, where I am from, I have no doubt in saying that we’d all have been firm friends after a few weeks. We would have known the names of each other’s family members and maybe all met up for a cup of tea.

It’s that kind of a place, where practically everyone talks to people they don’t know every day, and where anyone could conceivably have a conversation any time they come into contact with other humans.

Chat is part of our way of life, not something which interferes with daily existence but is simply a natural part of it.

I mean no offence to the English people among whom I live and work. But I have noticed that my chatty tendencies have diminished in my decade of residence here.

That’s why I didn’t make the first move at Pilates, because I know people here ‘aren’t like that’ and I have learned my lesson.

I no longer attempt to meet the eyes of those people I pass while out walking to anywhere, or feel the need to say hello, as I did it too many times when I first moved here and was rebuffed by an averted gaze.

When I do go home on holiday, I am astonished by the cheery nature of the greetings given as dog walkers pass, and by how much nattering is done by shop assistants and the like.

Restaurant staff work for their wages in the sense that they are friendly and obliging to customers, preparing to go the extra mile while not expecting tips. My husband is always incredulous at the level of approachability there, something he, being a chatterbox when prompted, absolutely loves.

Perhaps Basingstoke has been affected by its proximity to London, where you risk being labelled as a loony bin/someone selling something if you smile at strangers or attempt to engage them in random conversations?

I don’t know. But I’m very glad someone has finally spoken up.