First came the chicken. She needed to go to that butchers in Holland Park to get it, he said. No, no, Waitrose wouldn’t do. He was as adamant as an Old Testament prophet on that score. A Waitrose chicken won’t cut the mustard. Oh and it has to be cooked breast down. The breast meat stays moist that way. She sighed. He harrumphed. I looked at my shoes. It was like a crap Alan Bennett play.
This performance was given to me, free of charge, on the 18.01 Overground from Hackney Central to Highbury & Islington. Well, I say given, it was actually imposed. I was, for a while, unwillingly conscripted into the lives of Chicken Man and Chicken Woman. How could it be otherwise? This conversation was conducted, in its entirety, through an iPhone’s loudspeaker. Oh did I mention he had just sold a two-bed flat in Islington? He demurred at revealing his bank balance, which surprised me.
