Lunchtime drama in the City

He sits in his suit and coat on the bench with his dark hair ruffled by the breeze, takes a sandwich from the clingfilm wrapper before briefly examining it, then bites into it. She sits next to him with watery eyes, face inches from his, and she talks quickly with her hands trying to make up for what her words can’t convey. She stops. He utters a few words and she becomes even more animated, the wider gestures causing her long black hair to sway more dramatically with her hands tracing patterns in the air while he gazes off into space, grazing on his sandwich. A few more words from him and she leaps to her feet and walks away with tears flowing down her olive skin, but not too far though and after a minute he puts down his sandwich, stands up and walks across to put an arm around her while she stands as cold as ice, not responding to his touch. They return to the bench, she to talking and gesticulating and he progresses to removing the top from a yoghurt and producing a spoon from a bag, all the while behaving as though nothing at all untoward was going on.

She looks at her watch. They leave.

Just another lunchtime drama played out in front of the City audience. Me? I’d have slapped him.

Love in the Square Mile

Yes it’s that day again when the masses rush off to the card shops while the few try and work out which of the assorted St Valentines is the one we’re actually supposed to be celebrating. Here’s the scene outside Clinton Cards on Cheapside at lunchtime, repeated at many of the card shops across the City of London no doubt:

With St Valentines Day being a relatively modern invention at least you don’t get the same arguments about how to celebrate “in the real spirit of [insert chosen holiday here]” so however you choose to mark the day I hope it’s filled with fun, love and laughter… unless you’re Terry Freeman in which case I probably don’t.