Being a good listener isn’t about shutting up and not interrupting

When I was a young girl, a fabulous woman called Pam who lived opposite would come to do my mum’s hair once a week. Pam was a retired hairdresser and beautician who had been taught partly by Vivien Leigh’s mother.

I knew this because I listened as she and my mother talked. My mum would sit under the hairdryer, and Pam would talk and talk.

Neither woman really listened to the other. My mother would wait for a gap so she could say, “Exactly”, and then launch into her own, often unrelated, anecdote.

I thought of all the information that was missed like dropped balls: wasted opportunities for further exploration. Thus, having observed how not to do it, I resolved to be different.

It was only when I was appointed the Guardian’s agony aunt in 2008 that I realised I still had a lot to learn. Listening, I discovered, wasn’t just about waiting for the other person to stop talking, or asking good questions, or even not interrupting. It was about really hearing what the other person was saying, and why they were saying it. Being interested, but also curious. Sometimes that means looking for what’s not said, what’s left out, which words are used to mask emotions that are hard to acknowledge. Likewise, good listening is about approaching what has been said as if you’ve never heard it before. Put simply, it’s about paying attention.

Listening is a skill that we could all do with sharpening. After all, for the past year, many of us have been conducting friendships and relationships entirely via social media or text message and email. You don’t have to concentrate as much; you can switch off and return to things when you want: it’s an intermittent transmission and, you hope, reception.

Real-time listening is different. For a new podcast series, I revisited trusted experts who have been part of my column for the past 13 years, asking them to distil their wisdom in a series of intimate conversations. At the core of all of the discussions? The art of listening.

The good news is that listening is catching. If you feel listened to, it connects you to that other person, and those bonds grow. They, one hopes, will listen to you in turn. It was only after my dad died that I realised just how much he listened to me, and how valuable that was. He never paid me compliments, but he heard me, which is perhaps the greatest compliment of all. Conversations with Annalisa Barbieri, Series 1, is out now on all major podcast apps

For me, foraging is not just about collecting ingredients, it’s escapism: a walk in the woods with my wicker basket and my adored wolfdog. This is my happy place. I often get asked where to start, and the answer is simple: start with the plants you already recognise. You’ll be pleasantly surprised to find how many edibles you are able to identify: daisies, dandelions, nettles, violets, berries, sorrel, wild alliums … the list is endless.

I have used nettles in soups, deep-fried, in pasta, in cakes and in breads. One of the simplest ways to use this plant, though, is to make pesto. Using gloves, pick the top 10cm of the freshest leaves. To remove the sting, you just need to boil them for a minute. As with any foraged plant, avoid collecting near roads or polluted areas, and do not pick when in flower.

Method

Bring some water to a boil in a small saucepan. Add the nettle leaves using tongs or rubber gloves, and boil for a minute. Drain and refresh under cold running water, then squeeze out as much liquid as you can using your hands (the sting has by now been removed), and set aside.

Put the toasted pine nuts and nettle leaves in a mortar and pound together (alternatively, pulse a few times in a food processor). Add the garlic, cheese and oil, continue pounding until fully combined, then season to taste. Store in a sterilised jar, then cover with olive oil to form a seal. It should keep in the fridge for up to a week, or you can freeze for up to six months.