On a recent journey, a smiling stranger apologised as he took the seat next to me. ‘Busy, isn’t it?’ he said.

Then he pulled a Daily Mail from his coat pocket.

I put in my earphones and looked out of the window.

A screaming toddler ran in front of me – his mother yanked him back by the arm and her voice echoed round the square: ‘How many times have I said? Gee’or crying at fucking nothing.’

My hometown hadn’t changed that much.

I said hello, which momentarily confused him, and carried on walking.

‘Who are you starting with?’ he said.

‘Not you,’ I replied.

‘I’ll fight you!’ he shouted at my back. I knew that if I turned round he probably would, so I kept moving, wondering which of the two things I was carrying would make the more effective weapon – the baguette or the tin of beans.

‘Is that the book that Molly can’t put down?’ said the man.
‘Yes,’ replied the woman.
‘Have you read it?’
‘Yes,’
‘And is it interesting?’
‘Parts of it, yes.’
‘Even for blokes?’
‘Mmmm, yes, I suppose so.’
‘Would I like it?’
‘Maybe.’
‘Can I borrow it from you then?’
‘If you want.’
‘Thanks.’

There was a long pause.

‘You know I can’t read though, don’t you?’ the man said.

Ahead of him there were floats and lorries from Coca-Cola, Lloyds Bank, Samsung and McDonalds. Big screens showed adverts and people handed out flags with company logos on. When our milkman ran past, it was difficult to see him behind the squadron of bodyguards dressed in uniform grey running gear.

In the middle of that there might have been something good, something capable of bringing people together, but it was utterly lost behind the corporate sponsorship and security.

‘Kah-mon Sweden!’ he kept shouting. Then ‘Kah-mon Ikea!’ and ‘Kah-mon Volvo!’ He tried singing Knowing Me Knowing You but they were the only words he knew.

Hilarious.

When two old ladies came in, the Cockney moved people out of the way, found a path for them through the crowd and called each one ‘darlin’’.

The Cockney stereotype: loud and obnoxious but respectful to old ladies.

When the women were out of earshot, he turned to his mates and said ‘Don’t fancy yours much, she fackin’ lavs it!’

I was sitting by the river enjoying a sunny drink when there was a bang overhead. A seagull and its severed wing plopped into the water in front of me.

A friend who works in one of the offices says that this is quite a common occurrence. When a bird flies into the turbine that overlooks the nursery, the children in the play area below are showered with blood, feathers and bits of seagull.

Prostitutes. If you visit one of the women, we would like to remind you, they are not always women. Do not take pictures of the women. Out on the streets, do not shout or use bad language towards these women. Show some respect. If you have any problems with a girl or a pimp, do not hesitate to ask a police officer. We know why you are there and you can hardly surprise us. So have fun, enjoy our city, and respect this neighbourhood.

‘Those chairs are taken. All of them,’ the woman said.

I watched the table for an hour. The chairs stayed empty.

At the end of the night I saw the woman again. She was on a different table by the dancefloor, four empty seats next to her.

‘Run!’ he shouted to her. ‘Come on, run! Run!’

I got level with the man at about the same time as his wife did. I was near enough to hear him when he leaned close to her ear and said in a low voice: ‘You can’t run can you? Look at the state of you.’