Lazy Monday Afternoon (unfinished)
“The beautiful thing about London is not the place, but the beauty of the people themselves.”
Ben leaned back in the old, wooden wicker chair, resting the small of his back in the curved seat, allowing for maximum comfort and considered Dean’s statement.
His friend, a five foot four Yorkshireman with curled blonde hair was always making statements like this. but Ben was used to it by now.
He’d met Dean many years ago at a house party in Islington, London and they’d hit it off straight away. A mutual interest in alcohol aside, the two had bonded over a wide range of interests, not least the fact that on days like this, they could sit in the beer garden of the Duke of Cambridge and eulogise over any old topic that came to mind.
There’s little point denying that often their arguments were weak and often grandiose in their nature, but this was rarely the point. The two of them would share a mutual disregard for logic and they liked it this way.
Today was of no exception to their rule. It was a Bank Holiday and the Sun was shining. The pub had been an obvious destination, so when Ben’d received the predictable text from Dean early in the afternoon, the afternoon was set.
This is why, at 4pm, he sat there in the default beer garden chair, lazing in the sunshine and engaged in yet another unplanned discussion. He looked at his beer. The condensation ran down the side of the thin pint glass and shone in the bright sunshine.
On days like this, life felt good.
“What do you mean mate?”
“Think about it,” Dean began. “Just like a human body, a City is nothing but the sum of it’s parts. London is no different.
From the street cleaner, to the office worker, everyone contributes to this thriving metropolis and adds something of value.
Man, woman, child, we’re all helping to make London, that little bit special.”
Ben looked through the partially opened metal door leading from the beer garden onto the street. Dean, was certainly correct in that London was diverse.
Outside the pub, and across the road, he saw the familiar petrol station that he would frequent for the cash point with the faded green cover, or for the overly priced milk and groceries, often bought late at night on route home after a night out.
The pumps were all in use.
There was the family man in a green cardigan, filling up the range rover whilst his wife sat in the passenger seat, attending to the fighting children on the back seat.
The dreadlocked rastafarian, filling up a battered toyota, looking like he didn’t have a care in the world.
The business woman, looking at her watch impatiently whilst filling the tank of a brand new Mercedes.
London was diverse all right, and the people were integral to it’s dynamic. They added this sense of wonder to a place which glowed in the summertime Sun, but which less than 3 months back had looked gloomy and soul destroying in the mid winter rain.
Ben paused for a second, and found himself constructing a counter arguement.