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Do You Believe In Angels?
There I was sitting in the café at Waterstones bookshop on Piccadilly when an elderly man came and sat next to me. Little did I know that he was about to dispense me advice that would feel as though he had just had a look in my soul and knew exactly what to say.
It was Monday 20th December 1999 and the nation was in the grip of fin de millennium fever. At the time I was an archetypal single career girl who lived in Central London. I was 33, my biological clock was starting to tick loudly and there wasn’t a decent man in sight. One of my neuroses was that I wouldn’t have anyone to kiss on New Years Eve when the new millennium dawned.
The edge of the café was demarked by an L shaped counter where you sit on bar-stool height chairs. I had recently started to write and this was one of my favourite perches to scribble away with my cappuccino. It was 2.15pm and I was passing time there until I went off to the hairdressers for my 3pm appointment.
The gentleman asked if he could take the stool next to me. He was very well spoken. I never knew his name but if it had turned out to be Lord Such-and-such, I wouldn’t have been in the least bit surprised.
He had a coffee and a croissant. As he cut the croissant into smaller pieces, we got…
