I don't much like it. Or maybe it's fairer to say that, especially since I moved out of London to a small village, I'm a bit taken aback by the level of gossip, of local interest in and talk about me and my (entirely ordinary) family and our visitors, and the kind of minutiae that elicits gossip.
It's not that I'm not interested in other people - I'm a novelist, so by definition I'm interested in people, and I've worked as an oral historian - but I'm not interested in X's new car, or the fact that the Ys are fighting with their neighbours over some Leylandii. That's just dull. I wasn't even interested when we bought a new car - it goes, right? You put diesel in it, right? OK. I don't get why that's interesting to anyone.
And I definitely don't want to hear something personal/sad/embarrassing that the person in question wouldn't want generally known. If someone passes on something like that, I do think it says more about them than the person being gossipped about, and I wonder why they can't resist the cheap thrill of telling.
I did quietly get rid of a cleaner who, with zero encouragement from me, used to start telling me things about the other people she cleaned for in the area. I could only assume she would do likewise with any information gleaned from our house. I mean, God knows what she could get that would be of any interest, but if there's anything that living in the country had taught me, it's that nothing seems to be too minor for gossip, and people seem obsessed with getting inside new people's houses as if their kitchen flooring somehow says something crucial about them.