|Moments later the rule book was in shreds|
I was just tucking in to the first act of my mega-sarnie - chicken salad, toasted ciabatta, mayo on side - when this old woman marches up and sits down opposite me. And to make it clear she wasn't marking time she whips out her own paper, forcing me to move mine right to the side and rearrange my food and beverage. There were seats available at more ample tables.
Now I'm all shoved in the corner like an immigrant in a shipping container while she unfolds her Daily Express and takes delivery of a full roast dinner if you please. On a Thursday! The raised eyebrows of the woman on a neighbouring table were but a whisper of the full horror that was unfolding.
I had to eat part two of me sarnie trying not to catch the eye of my companion, lest her withering glance turn me to stone. She probably thought as she'd made it this far in life - at least 80 - there's no point wasting time with excuse mes or general niceties, and I salute her for that. Not a single word was exchanged between us during the 10 l-o-n-g minutes.