Flashes of insight in the sun

THE sun is shining and the London parks are as full of lunch hour sandwich eaters, stretched out on the grass, as they were in month of July. American tourists are wondering why their travel agencies asked them to take mackintoshes and umbrellas children ask why they have to go to school when the holiday weather has arrived. The restaurants have all taken up a good third of the footpath since nobody wants to eat indoors.

"Wonderful Indian summer, isn't it?" one old dear said to another as they pushed their tartan shopping trolleys along the street.

The second old dear was a trifle deaf. "They are, of course, very courteous people, but it does mean that things have changed a lot, don't you think?" she replied.

"Who are courteous people?"

"Like you said, Indians. They run all the corner shops and they do have everything in stock but - it's rather like being abroad, don't you think?"

"No, I was talking about the weather - you know, the sunshine. I said it was an Indian summer. It's an expression."

"Oh I see." She paused to think about it. "Yes we used to have those a long time ago, I'd forgotten the word. But is it all right to use it now? You know so many things have changed. There are endless things you can't say now. My husband got a great ticking off for calling people natives of somewhere. He didn't mean anything except that's where they were natives of. You never heard such fuss."

"I'd say Indian summer wouldn't offend anyone," the first tartan trolley said.

"I do hope you're right," said the second as she trundled along to A & B Foods Ltd on the corner and was politely helped in with her trolley by the Indian proprietor who knew her name and reached down goods from high shelves. But she still felt it was like being abroad.

THE Sunday brunch at this London hotel cost £13.95 a head and last Sunday they definitely lost money. Eight starving young people arrived. They had just come back from a holiday that involved taking a lot of trains around Europe, they had gone home, left their backpacks and cleaned themselves up. They spoke in the low, excited voices of people about to have their first meal for many days.

You could go to the starters table first and help yourself, and they did. They hoovered up all the smoked fish and salads, piling plates high. Sometimes they stopped and sighed with sheer pleasure at it all.

The waiters looked at each other, alarmed. Officially the young people were doing no wrong: it did say people were to help themselves. It was just that there didn't seem to be much left on many of the serving dishes now.

The backpackers sat down back at their table, happy and appreciative. "This is great," they beamed approvingly at anyone who came towards them wondering was everything all right.

The maitre d was uneasy about them but they were polite and well dressed and obeying the rules of brunch. What could he do? Tell them they ate too much, that they were making nonsense of portion control?

A pianist, a pale girl, tinkled away without anyone paying much attention to her. When she played Send In The Clowns, the over eating party all sang along tunefully and clapped. It was more than any of the other restrained eaters did. Again, they couldn't be faulted but they were making the staff uneasy.

Then they went to the carvery and ordered huge slices of everything. No plate would have been big enough for what they took back to the table. But the sign did say "Eat As Much As You Like". The worried young server looked for guidance from his superiors as he carved half a sheep and half a cow for the young people, but the maitre d had to shrug, defeated for once.

You wouldn't want to know how they approached the dessert table.

Coffee was not included in the price, so they - didn't have any. They each left £15.50, which meant they were giving a 10 per cent tip, and they thanked everyone profusely; it had been wonderful. Could they have a card, they would tell everybody? Not surprisingly, there were no cards available.

The staff discussed them when they were gone. They had pinched nothing, they had been polite throughout, but the buffet had been decimated.

"It's all the fault of marketing," the staff decided. "Suits in offices with graphs and ideas and projections who never met a herd of locusts like that lot," and would never have to stand on a hot Sunday and explain to those who came in later why there was no beef, only a lamb bone and a few crumbs left in a place which had offered a super brunch and the possibility of eating all you liked.

THIS woman was very bored with me. She had hoped to meet someone far more glittery at the do and she seemed stuck with me for the next five minutes.

She ran a dress shop. I said it must be hard to know what people would like and stock the right things. She looked at me and said no, it wasn't hard at all. Because I am eager that even the most casual conversations should go pleasantly rather than be filled with fury, I said that was wonderful, and it was probably because she knew her customers well and could guess their tastes. She said no, she didn't know them at all, she got passing trade and she just stocked things that looked good, and would sell.

She yawned a terrible yawn in my face.

With the best will in the world I couldn't think of much to say to that, so I said "aah", meaningfully, and wondered why could I not just be silent, as most of the world is when faced with things like that. So I was silent for a bit - smiling, of course, but wordless.

She said the woman who just came in had once been a man, and was now a perfect size 10 and looked great in Versace, and the twins who looked like Lady This and Lady That were actually on the game and worked together. You had to have both of them or neither of them and they made a fortune. She said her own ex husband was at the party and she was interested to see he had removed his gold watch and put it in his pocket when he had noticed her there he didn't want it to be thought he had any assets left.

She had quite cheered up now and decided she would bring me out of myself. "It must be frightfully hard to think of things to write about," she said sympathetically. "I mean, life is pretty dull, isn't it?"