I think I just wrote a feel-good story... Here it is:
He never really was a small talker. He talked BIG. Whenever he meet people, at the bus stop, the pub, or out in the countryside, his long and complex sentences and loud voice gave people head aches. He mainly talked about metaphysics, chemistry and English folklore, and even the simplest sentence reminded him of something that had to do with these three topics - and to be fair basically everything has to do with one of these three topics when you live in a small village in Cornwall. To make it even worse he had become a pensioner the previous year and was now abound in all hours of the day.
One day the village people had enough. They met up at his home, and with them they had brought Lily Longabarton, a self proclaimed witch that lived in a village nearby. She said she had a Wicca certificate and had attended several certified sabbaths, but in reality they all knew that she was just a sad, old hippie. They were just desperate was all. Lily had promised Miss Bonyard, who was the organiser of the flower arrangements at the church and ran the music festival which was held every year in the meadow south of the church yard, that she had a potion that could stop him. Stop him for good.
So now the whole village, sick and tired of getting their small talk spoiled, stood eagerly waiting to see what would happen. Lily took a step toward his house, looked around, met people's eyes and enjoyed the attention. Then she opened the gate at the exact movement that he came out of the door in a tweed jacket and a scarf.
"By the ancient powers of the pixies - I command you to drink this drink of ..." Lily shrieked.
"OH! I TAKE IT YOU MEAN THE PISKIES!" the big talker roared.
One hour later most of the villagers had left, and after one and a half hour the two - Lily and the big talker - had taken the discussion to his kitchen. But it really did help. After that day he was not seen outside his house as much as before, and he had become much less talkative. In the pub he mostly seemed in a hurry, only buying a pint and saying a few lofty word so that people should not see that he went to the corner where Billy sat to buy amphetamine, acid, ecstasy and viagra. His neighbours still did complain about the noise, but the villagers simply had to admit that hiring a hedge witch had worked.
Now they could again indulge in the senseless art of small talk.