Day 13 - A drink

Near St James Park Station is what appears to be a quiet pub, quiet because it's not yet 4 o'clock. I think of ordering something moderately heathly but am won over by a greasy platter featuring homemade fishfingers in homemade batter, homemade onion rings in homemade batter, tortillas with mozarella, duck spring rolls and garlic bread with homemade butter. A meal made in heaven that'll send you to purgatory.

After an hour the place starts to fill with workers from public service officers nearby. A woman in a group of four casts glances towards my table - there's four of them and one of me, and I'm at a table that could fit four.

I make eye contact then say, "I can see you want this table."
She replies in the negative.
"Please take it, you're four and I'm one."
"Are you sure? Please join us."

And so I get talking to a group of police officers, or should I say, office policers, because they have desk jobs and wear suits. Maybe they're the type you find in British crime drama. We don't talk much about their work - the men live together although they appear to be married .. and not to each other. I think they live out of town and share a place during the week. They like the stability of a nine to five public service job, although like a lot of public service jobs it can get hectic from time to time, contrary to popular belief. They believe I'll like London if I move here, and they seem to lead happy, steady, quiet lives (but who knows what the facade veils).

I accept some of the wasabi peanuts offered me by the woman, and take my leave to let the civil police enjoy their afterwork drink, an almost daily occurrence I am lead to believe, although usually for only one or two, and maybe three, beers.