Three ladies settle in front of the Portugese Coffee House in Market Jew Street. I'm glad in a way,they are only taking drinks. A teapot heralds a certain degree of bourgeois comfort, whilst the lady on the left sips her milkshake like a teenager. They seem oblivious to the marauding prospect of seagulls. The effect this sunshine spell on older skin doesn't bother them. Above pound-stretcher a gull stretches his wings. The black and yellow pennants flutter wildly in the in the incipient breeze. A single-decker spreads a cascade of pollutants. The outspread Guardian announces Johnson to be referred to the police by his own lawyers. To me it feels like a temporary delicate interregnum.
penwithlit 