Questions, lies and coughs

I hate the question 'How are you?'

Because, on the whole, I don't like lying. And I'm never short of material when it comes to ailments or complaints. 

But when this inquiry comes as a passing greeting, I simply don't want to get drawn into conversation.

The over-friendly barrista who just made my coffee might be a bit phased if I were to describe the green stuff I've been coughing up all week.

If I were in the office today, the unlucky colleague who made tea at the same time as me wouldn't want to know that my left buttock is quite sore, as that gluteal muscle so often is, because I'm one of those people whose sciatic nerve runs through their periformis. She'd just be killing time while the kettle boiled.

The check-out assistant in Morrison's doesn't want to know that my boobs ache today, for no apparent reason. (Is it a hormonal thing? Is it some sort of lingering protest about my new sports bra?) I doubt this is covered in staff training, even if they do have a go at role play in the customer engagement module.

The school mum whose name I can't remember and it's now far too late to ask, doesn't want to know that actually I had a tummy bug over the holidays, that peaked on Christmas Day, turned into mild pancreatitis, I had to go the doctor, miss my godmother's bread sauce, and although my husband had the same bug a few days earlier mine was obviously much more serious because I have IBS (I really haven't dwelt on that enough recently) and had my gall bladder removed years ago after various infections (helicobacter pylori — I love to remember that name), gall stones, bleeding in my stomach and mild pancreatitis once before, so these things are prone to cause me immense pain.

But the other reason I hate this perfectly innocent question is because it's a really hard one for people with mental health problems. Trust me, it can be the hardest thing in the world to answer, when inside you're feeling total panic and despair because all you know is that something is terribly terribly wrong, yet externally you feel obliged to gaily respond 'Fine thanks!'

Or you're so numb, you haven't a clue how you are, who you are, or how to carry on — 'Good thanks'. Or you've been awake half the night, in a cycle of anxiety, and simply being in daylight amongst other humans now feels so surreal and likely to tip you over the edge it seems bizarre that nobody else has noticed — 'Fine, how are you?'

I mention this today because it was Time to Talk Day yesterday, the big PR day for the mental health anti-stigma campaign, Time to Change. It's a brilliant campaign, and a brilliant aim — to get everyone to have a conversation about mental health on the same day. (I'm late, as usual.) 

Of course, some people are crying out (silently) for someone to ask them how they are, for an opportunity to share their problem, to get some support. Sometimes, in the right context, 'How are you?' is the perfect conversation-opener. One on one, with a friend, I find it hugely helpful to talk about my mental health, and a sympthetic listen can alter the course of my whole day.

So I've just got to tell myself that answering 'Fine thanks' isn't a lie, so much as a foreign greeting ritual. Apparently in Tibet, the custom is to stick your tongue out. I gather that killer whales have entire greeting ceremonies, involving tail slaps and chest bumps (like those American brothers in tennis doubles?) so we actually get off lightly with two harmless words.

Nevertheless, I've come up with a few reply techniques to get round the question:

• Ask, without missing a beat 'How are you?' [For people too thick/in a hurry to notice you didn't answer. Also, don't stop to hear their answer, so as to make it clear this was a meaningless exchange.]

• Say, with as much credibility as you can muster 'You look well!' [Works particularly well on school mums who are wearing make-up, so long as they're one of the ones who don't normally wear make-up.]

• Joke, 'Don't ask!' [but don't make eye contact, otherwise they will.]

• Pause for thought, then in a completely dead-pan way, say just one word: 'Medium'. [This is something I learned from a very clever, Eeyore-ish editor with whom I once worked, and to be honest only works if you're in quite a cerebral environment and can deliver it with the requisite amount of black humour.]

Alternatively you can just summon up your fruitiest, chestiest cough, which serves the dual purpose of providing an answer to The Question, without actually having to speak. Best of all, you're not even telling a lie.