Saturday Bus Journey to Angel

Mangled iron fencing bent and twisted by the impact of the front end of a jeep with massive bull-bar. Strewn remains of an accident involving a little silver car full of women and children, a centre-island and this huge green jeep.

Way in the distance a plume of blue smoke gently rises from a barbecue that someone is having in Clissold Park far across the first field.

A teenage boy folds himself into a helicopter ride outside a local supermarket. Those sorts that are designed for toddlers and have just enough motion to warrant having to pay for the privilege. A vague rocking to and fro and perhaps a horn to honk. His mates hang around eating chips out of newsprint.

Later in Borders, Frank Skinner is following a woman around the magazine section talking to her in a low voice. He is short and in droopy denim. Grumpy looking. Or perhaps not grumpy but in a non-performance mode. My Dad once told me about Mia Farrow coming to his tap class (way back in the 70s) she was sort of plain, non-descript until you spoke directly to her and then she lit up, eyes sparkled and became the Movie Star - performed. Perhaps if I had said, "Hi Frank!", he too would have clicked into performance mode and sparkled for a moment as we expect celebrities to.