Paul, a real Old Kent Road type with no inhibitions, and I, are standing in the yard with our trucks at dawn, wearing our new high-visibility jackets. A jumbo jet approaches from the south, over Brixton Prison, when it should be approaching from the east. We call out and wave our arms. Catching sight of us, the pilot executes a steep turn, just in time to line up with the runway at Heathrow. Job done !
Two old customers, big hotels sadly missed for the last year or two, begin to order from us once more. Especially cheering because each has a charming, intelligent, personable individual doing the “goods in” job.
New potatoes, boiled in their skins, then chilled and smothered in garlic mayonnaise. Enough calories for me to run a marathon, were I so inclined.