Après Work

Friday. Love Friday. The sun was shining, warm afternoon glow. Me and a mass of tourists were hanging in the Southbank. I bought some books in Foyles in the basement of the Southbank Centre and then headed to Los Iguanas to wait for Bails. Ordered a Cuba Libra which unfortunately came as two-for-one. I sat with my two drinks at the window looking across the outside dining tables. Waiting.

As I waited an unseen pigeon that must have been on a ledge of the bridge (restaurant is nestled into a bridge arch at Hungerford Bridge) pooped onto the cutlery laid on a napkin of the table in the corner. Bad table, I thought. I wouldn't want to sit there. Mental note to self.

Later when I was starting my second drink and Bails had arrived we were watching the second group of people on the poopy table. A woman and two male companions. Divided only by a large window it was almost as if we were sitting at their table. They pretended not to notice us. Until the woman, swirling her drink managed to flick a chip of ice into the neck of her shirt. Ooo cold. Attempting to pull it out, all five of us laughed. Shortly afterwards one of her friends was pooped on by a pigeon. Gross. She laughed. He laughed. I thought he took it well. Better than I would have. Bails said at least it wasn't a seagull - from personal experience she says their poops are huge. Double gross.

When we were leaving the woman wrote a note on her phone and showed us through the window: bet you weren't expecting the entertainment. No indeed. Up for a laugh some of these tourists.