Rich Mix

Walking out if the cinema two women are sitting in a window sill talking about one of their relationships. SH said When you hear people talking they are almost always talking about relationships. We pass a man on the phone, that's not what I said, that's not what I said, he is saying. See? It's familiar, that's not what I said, ok I did say it but that's not what I meant. 21st century angst.

Meat-eating Vegetarian

I became a vegetarian aged 17 (I'm 42 now) because we learned about intensive farming in Geography and as a moralistic teenager I decided enough was enough - I had to make a stand on behalf of animal husbandry. Didn't touch it, or even really crave it, again until Christmas 2012. I had been debating it internally for a bit - felt like I needed it. Then I had some. Bacon. A mouthful. It was full flavoured and a fantastic texture in the mouth. Then after that a burger. Beef. Succulent. And this weird head clarity. At Christmas dinner my dining companions nearly fell off their chairs in shock (many of them I hadn't told) - which came on top of me wearing purple and extremely high heeled shoes - it was all a bit much for some of them to take in at once.

I still basically think of myself as a vegetarian though. Just one that eats meat with great delight. I am especially fond of beef. It's the best in the visual clarity stakes. And steaks are probably my favourite. I have even had veal escallop for old times sake. As a kid we used to go to an Italian trattoria near my father's office where that was what I always had. With lemon squeezed over. I used to love it. Cruel but delicious.

I have recently discovered I am slightly anaemic and have low ferric acid levels - which might account for the cravings. Not feeling guilty yet despite there being some ardent veggies in my ceramics class at the moment.

Liberty

There is something satisfying about clacking around the beautiful wooden floors of Liberties on a Friday evening looking at clothing too expensive to buy made of impractical diaphanous fabrics that are tied onto rails with security tags that chirrup like birds when they are stretched too far (overly sensitive I'm told by a shop assistant).

In shoes a man sits and reads a paper. I try to decide which woman browsing around the shelves at the edge of the room he is with. Quite uncertain. From the balcony upstairs I spy a shop assistant having a brief intimate chat with him whilst looking furtively over her shoulder and toying with her hair. Waiting for home time then rather than bored on a monster shopping spree.

Help

A man offers to help a woman carry her buggy down the steps from the platform. He is gone long enough that he probably helped her all the way to street level (Peckham Rye has no lift or escalator access and is a high rail track). He returns to the platform slightly breathlessly from bounding up the stairs. The first thing he encounters are two cute young women dragging three huge suitcases between them. They are looking for a lift. He catches my eye, because we both were watching them. We laugh. He sees his train approaching and then chivalrously offers to carry one of the cases down one flight because his train is coming. You're a star one of the girls says at the bottom. He bounds back up in time to board the train. Breathless again. I'm still smiling. Gentlemen exist - always ready to help damsels in distress, or at least discomfort.