Yesterday as I rushed into Waitrose to pick up some forgotten ingredients for dinner ( and only because it is the most convenient – yours truly is not yet a Waitrose shopper.) I witnessed three men sitting in ‘the cafe’.  It  really is just an open place in the supermarket with a couple of tables and chairs.

Three men, all suited and booted. Sitting by themselves eating their dinner, some roast chicken or ready meal curry, reading a newspaper to distract themselves. From eating or from being alone.  The rest of the world trying to scramble their dinner together in the aisles around them.

It made me a little sad.  I know it shouldn’t, because maybe they are really happy. Trying to avoid the missus and the kids for one night a week or just trying to take a breather from a hectic day. (I do wonder what is wrong with a Carluccio or Wahaca that is just around the corner. If you are going to eat out by yourself, lord you might well make it nice.)

Still I couldn’t phathom the idea of a little boy aspiring to grow up, make lots of money, wear a suit and eat a meal by himself in a bustling supermarket.

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