The Hello Project

My hometown is Brisbane, the capital city of Queensland, Australia. Also known as Brisvegas, Brisboring and Brisneyland. When I worked in advertising in Brisbane, colleagues from the ‘big smokes’ of Sydney and Melbourne would sometimes comment that it was more like a big country town than a city. Certainly from the vantage point of having lived in London for 8.5 years, I can see their point. We have skyscrapers and busy streets in Brisbane, but the ambience is not that of a big city. Thank goodness.

One of the things I love about Brisbane is that people say hello to and smile at strangers. Not just in the suburbs, but in the heart of the CBD too. Not all the time and not everywhere, but it happens. It’s one of the things I miss most about home – the friendliness. I really enjoy walking through the streets of the centre of town and smiling and saying hello to random people, it gives me a real buzz and makes me feel connected. Maybe if I lived in a small community like a village in the UK it might be similar, but the big city vibe of London is certainly not friendly, and rather isolationist.

Which is why I started to say hello to strangers here, on the streets of North London (even I’m not masochistic enough to try it on Oxford Street, on the rare occasions I venture into that hellhole). I’ve had many and varied reactions – from surprise, a quick smile and muttered ‘hello’, through complete shock and a look of disgust, to blank looks and being completely ignored. I invariably walk away with a broad smile – sometimes because of the look on the face of the person I’ve just so completely discombobulated, other times because they’ve responded in kind. I persevere, if only because it amuses me to make some people realise that the figures passing them on the street are real live human beings who might (shock!) actually want to interact with them.

Hence the Hello Project. My most successful venture so far has been saying hello to a little old guy I used to see almost every weekday morning on the way to the train station. He’d be coming back from the corner shop with his newspaper, and I’d be walking to catch the train for work. That first morning, just before he passed me, I said ‘hello’ and smiled. He was completely taken aback and kind of choked, staring at me. I smiled to myself and kept walking. The next morning, I did it again, and he tentatively murmured ‘hello’. I kept at it for weeks, occasionally using the rather more British ‘good morning’, and before long I could see him registering my presence from the end of the street: he straightened up and a little bounce came into his step. He would say ‘hello’ cheerfully with a big smile in response to my greeting, and we would both continue with our day, at least one of us (me) heartened by our contact. I haven’t seen him for over a year now, and I miss our ‘hello’s’.

The poet and I are so close to booking our flights to Australia for 2007. I can’t wait to be back in the land where not one person gives you a dirty look for smiling at them.