Sometimes I think I take after my Dad in that I don’t really like people.

And then I remember that I am also utterly fascinated by people and their lives, and that there are some people I could listen to for hours.

There are of course, some people whose mouths I’d like to stuff with sponge so that they can’t actually utter another word.  I think that’s the Dad part.

Sometimes people stop and chat to me and Mr R when we are out walking together, but this weekend I noticed something really interesting:  Alone (with Percy on guard, obviously), other walkers chat to you more.  It’s a weird thing because in day to day life – at the supermarket say, or walking through a town – I feel utterly invisible.  But on footpaths and through fields, people share a few words, or sometimes even have a conversation.

This weekend I met the two men (one runner, one cyclist) who convinced me I’d be fine walking through a field of cows with Percy and if not, they would come to my aid.  I chatted to a bloke running with six dogs on his harness.  None were his.  He doesn’t have a dog as he lives in a one bed flat with his wife, but he wanted a career change so left his corporate job to work for a dog running service and takes out dogs twice a day, and is loving every minute.

And then I met Ray.  And just typing his name makes my heart lift.  Ray was walking through a field of buttercups that Percy was doing mad circles in, having the time of his life. ‘He’s happy’, said Ray to me.

We stopped and watched the chaos monkey do another lap, and Ray told me that he really misses his dog, Benji who he recently lost.  He’d tried everything he could to get another dog, but nobody would let him.

I need to show you the photo I took of Ray at this point.  He let me take it – I said it would go on my blog but not many people would see it.  He said it was fine as long as he didn’t see it next week in the Sunday Times.  I think we can consider ourselves safe there…

So, this is Ray:

He’d ‘only done 1.5 hours of walking so far’ and from what he said I estimated he had at least another 30 minutes to get home.  He goes out every day to walk the hills.  Doesn’t have a TV; would rather be active.  He proposed to his darling wife Kathleen on a very muddy Woolstonbury Hill over 50 years ago.  He lost her 7 years ago.  He misses her every day.  We sttod and admired the hill.  Top of the world for him too.

Ray’s career was as a professional diver.  I asked what that meant.  He said insurance and things like that.  And that when fancy boats sunk, he was employed to go and fetch the valuables before anyone else got them.  He said he also worked in the Thames too though, and that was not quite as glamourous.

He told me that his nurse wants him to talk to her husband to get him out from in front of the TV and be active like him.  He has the nurse to help with the ‘outside bladder’ he has strapped to his leg because of the bladder cancer.  (He showed me, bless him).  He had cancer in his jaw too, but they took that out and his teeth, so he has no teeth on that side of his face but he’s getting implants soon as the jaw is almost strong enough to take them now.

It was a joy to talk to Ray; so full of life and loving being active.  His sadness over no longer having Kathleen by his side was almost tangible and I felt sad he could not have a new four-legged friend.  I asked why he couldn’t maybe have an older dog, and he said that ultimately it was because of his age.  And then this vibrant man, who walks the hills every day for a few hours, who is on a complex cancer journey, who is full of grief but also light and hope, stunned me.

Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Ray: NINETY years young.