Last night I met with my former boss, Linda, for a chat. We had been planning to go to the cinema after having a drink in the pub, but as I wasn’t feeling so great and we hadn’t seen each other for ages we decided to forego the cine.

We took a table near the window of the pub. The pub was quite busy, with a large screen showing the Chelsea v. Liverpool match, our conversation was occasionally interrupted by boos and shouts at goals and near-misses.

So we had a catchup chat, talking about both work and personal matters. If I am totally honest, I could admit to feeling a twinge of rage when she discussed the happenings at the old workplace. I guess it’s not all out of my system yet. Outwardly I remained jovial while inside I was seething.

Then as I was telling her something she saw someone at the window, who seemed to be asking her for a cigarette. She nodded to him and he sneaked into the pub and crouched down beside our table, a can of beer in his hand. She offered him a cigarette and lit it for him with her lighter. He thanked her and said that she was lovely. We waited for him to leave. He didn’t.

“My name is Robert. I am French,” he slurred. “What is your name?” Linda told him her name.

“You are lovely. I saw you through the window and thought you were lovely. My name is Robert, I am French, from Brittany. What is your name?”

And so it went on. He was trying to hide from the bartender, who had seen him and had turned a blind eye. He eventually grabbed a stool from the bar and rejoined us. He told us that he’d been forced to join the French Foreign Legion when he was caught stealing, and that he’d served in the army for 5 years. Apparently he’d killed loads of people… He had been living on the streets at some point too, but he was now living in Peckham. He uttered several random things, and the only one I can recall now is that he said, “We are not f***ing cats, we only have one life.” When he left us to go to the loo we scarpered. The jolly bartender shouted goodbye to us as we left.

We went to a Wetherspoons down the road and continued our chat, it was rather more civilised in there and I enjoyed a cup of tea as we chatted. Another woman asked Linda for a fag, but thankfully she didn’t hang about afterwards.

Then a middle-aged Irish woman approached and asked for a fag. I groaned in irritation, can no-one in Peckham buy their own fags! Linda kindly gave her one, we waited for her to depart, but she didn’t. She started singing! She sang a medley of old ballads, interspersed with tidbits about how her sister slept with her baby’s father, but she forgave her…Eventually I got fed up and left to go to the loo. When I returned I’d discovered that she’d taken a seat beside Linda and some random dude was in my chair!

As I was aware that my train home would be coming soon I told Linda that I was ready to depart. As we left the pub she said to me, “I think I’m a soft touch.” I said something non-commital in response.

As I waited for my train at Peckham Rye station I looked up at the dark sky and saw the full moon looking back at me. Quelle surprise!

Written by PJ | Posted in Uncategorized

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