My colleagues and I touch on a variety of subjects to get us through the working day, (when we’re not discussing urgent T&A business of course), and the other day we found ourselves discussing our collective love of gawping.
We’ve all done it - walked past a house and gawped through the window to see what it’s like inside.
My mother always said the real reason I wanted to be a journalist was so I could look inside people’s houses. When I was a child and we visited someone it became a standing joke that I’d always make a point of going to the loo, just so I could have a look around their house. I’ve been a nosy parker ever since.
And I’m not alone. Our office discussion revealed that most of us like a good gawp now and then. One colleague says the best vantage point is the top deck of a bus, while another, who lives opposite a bus stop, finds herself gawping out at people in the bus queue gawping into her home!
One colleague admitted to slowing down in his car to gawp into houses while driving past them. Now that’s just reckless gawping. Gawping should really be done on foot, preferably at dusk when it’s starting to get dark and people put their lights on - but often haven’t got round to drawing the curtains. That’s the ‘Gawping Hour.’
As far as I’m concerned, if you don’t pull your curtains on you’re fair game for gawpage.
There are some lovely big stone-built houses near me - the kind of home I’d have if house prices these days didn’t require a deposit the side of a rollover lottery win - and I always make a point of gawping into their kitchens and lounges whenever I walk past.
I was gawping while stuck in traffic the other evening. Someone had left their Christmas tree up - with flashing fairy lights and everything - and I was having a good gawp at it when I noticed a woman standing on the doorstep having a fag. She was gawping at me, gawping into her front room.
"Well, don’t leave your curtains open then. And don’t leave your Christmas tree still up on January 10," I muttered as I turned away and pretended to fiddle with my radio buttons.
Gawping is addictive. Before you know it you’re finding excuses to go out in the early evening ‘Gawping Hour’ to get some gawpage in while it’s still twilight. If you’ve got a dog to walk, you have the perfect excuse to go a-gawping.
I’ve found a good gawpage point in Bradford city centre. The Gatehaus building flanking Little Germany is fabulous and looks like the bow of a ship as you’re driving towards it - but when you get up close there’s some good gawping to be had through those tall apartment windows.
Of course, I’m not condoning the idea of standing outside someone’s home and staring in for hours on end. That would be sinister and probably illegal. Gawping is done on the hoof, casually glancing through a window as you walk past and having a bit of a nosy at someone’s interior furnishings. Gawpers don’t tend to focus on the same house - there’s always new gawpage to be found.
I’ve looked ‘gawping’ up in the dictionary and it says ‘gawp: gop (gaupe) to gape in astonishment.’ According to Google, a gaupe is also a big wild cat.
We gawp at road accidents and we gawp at people arguing in pubs and restaurants. If someone falls over we’ll gawp at that. I suppose gawping brings out the voyeur in us, but no more than watching Big Brother or any other reality TV show. Human beings are natural gawpers and journalists are, of course, the biggest gawpers of all.