This weekend (5) ...

1) On Thursday, friends were in town for the day to celebrate a birthday, and invited me to join them for cocktails in a fancy-pants bar. After a fairly intensive afternoon at work, I gratefully sank a dry martini (olive, not a twist) whilst they regaled me with stories of champagne, dim-sum, trying on overpriced and overfrilled evening dresses, and afternoon tea.

2) Friday morning dawned fine and dry and as spring like as the week before it. After a quiet morning pottering and shuffling around the house, I went into Tooting for a late breakfast in my favourite cafe, to watch the world go by. The good weather seems still to startle some, who walk around the corner blinking into the sun; and be rather too well embraced by others, in shorts and flip-flops already.

3) I had a list of jobs to do, errands to run, tasks to undertake this weekend. Paint the dining furniture, buy a wall unit, tidy the garden, clean the car. And with all these things in mind, I went to the cinema on Friday afternoon to see Alice in Wonderland. What a terrific surprise to discover that it's in 3D! Was I the only person not to know this already? Must have been living under a rock, I think.

4) With catching up to do from Friday's negligence, I set the alarm for Saturday morning for a not-too-early-not-too-late time. But I woke ahead of the alarm (most uncharacteristically), and got to snuggle down under the duvet to enjoy the luxury of dozing for a while.

5) Some very most favouritest friends came to London to go to an afternoon party, but arrived early to meet me for lunch. We went to Wagamama and the children were given a sheet of games to play. Next to a dot-to-dot picture of a bowl of ice-cream was the question, "do you know what this is a picture of?" I read the question to the six year old, who looked at me blankly. "What's the answer?" I asked. "Yes!" she answered. Well ... I suppose she's right ...!

6) We've had a date in the diary for weeks to go for dinner to celebrate a friend's birthday, but at the last minute we've to change our booking from 7:30pm to 9pm (disagreeable for those with small children, and immensely preferable for those without). The birthday girl arrived early at my house for a glass of wine and a natter whilst we got ready to go out, and we set the world to rights.

7) Over dinner we give our friend her gift. A pair of purple Hunter welly boots. She made all the right excited noises as she took them out of the box and stood them on the table, much to the amusement of the people sitting around us.

8) The lovely Gillian and I set out for the Midcentury Modern fair at Dulwich College. As we went out to the car, I asked her, "roof up or down?" We both looked at the sky and then at one another. "Top down! I've brought my headscarf with me!" So for the first time this year, we went topless!

9) After the fair we headed to East Dulwich to the Chandelier tea room. We were to meet friends of Gillian's there, so were looking for a large table, which was clearly most inconvenient for the staff. After being shown to one table, we were asked to move to a table that clearly wasn't big enough, then waited for ages for menus, and even longer for our tea to arrive. (If there's one thing that makes my arse twitch, it's bad service!) But the tea arrived with a slab of banana cake with a creamy frosting, so perhaps I'll forgive them.

10) A text message from an old friend. A boy I've known since I was eleven. "Is it bad having a bottle of wine solo on a Sunday night?" I reply, "Not ideal. But it's only 8pm, what will you do with the rest of the night?" "I'm only half way through. Watching Desperate Housewives. I think I might be gay." "That depends on the wine. Red, white or rose?" "White. It's not looking good is it? It would be better if it was red, wouldn't it?" "At least it's not rose dear. You're fine."

Have a good week, folks!

Breakfast

Breakfast this morning in the cafe in Tooting, on the end of a road that used to be home.

Sitting in the scrunchy armchairs in the window, I can watch the world go by.

People pour on an off buses. People in uniforms going to work, people with bags, going shopping, mothers with buggies. An old lady, in a matching skirt and jacket, and black patent court shoes, bought when "Sunday Best" still meant something, walks with a stick, looking lost and frail, but when her bus comes in, she barges a teenager out of the way so she can get on first.

Couples walk briskly to the station; men in suits and ladies in dresses, heels and carrying hats, heading to weddings and champagne. People drag trolley suitcases behind them, destined for weekends away, and others walk away from the station, chattering happily with their weekend hosts.

101 men carry furtively carry roses. 101 bargain hunters carry brown paper Primark bags. 101 people with orange Sainsbury's carrier bags bursting with groceries and goodies. 101 nations represented before me, and 101 stories waiting to be told.

A man walks up the road in his pyjamas looking lost and confused, until a nurse catches up with him and gently turns him around. A girl, about my age, I'd guess, wears mittens on a cord which runs up the sleeves of her coat, and she twirls one absent mindedly whilst she waits to cross the road. Two women meet on the street, and greet one another with a hug - they mirror one another's gestures subconsciously, and have similar frames. They can only be sisters. A little girl stands next to her mother, who is reading the menu in the window above my head. I wink at her, and she tries to mimic, scrunching her whole face up in the effort to close only one eye.

A steady flow of people go to and from the hospital. Anxious looking first-time-visitors peer up roads, wondering which leads to the hospital entrance. Nurses and orderlies in uniforms dash up the roads with the confidence that comes only with doing the same journey daily. The walking wounded walk away from the hospital, sporting bandages and stitches new from a wild Friday night out.

My friend Steve walks past with a bag from the supermarket in one hand, and his phone in the other, which he is tap-tap-tapping away on. My old neighbours cross the road with the purpose of people running late, and I now with certainty that they will be heading for a day in an Irish bar to watch the rugby. Another old neighbour walks past in her own personal uniform - fishnet stockings, mini-skirt, plunging neckline, and too much makeup. We never knew what she did for a living, but everyone presumed ...

Cars and lorries shuffle up and down the high road. Horns toot. Mopeds squeeze through narrowing gaps. Three police cars, one after the other, weave between the traffic, sirens blaring, heading to the rescue of someone in need.

I can see into the shops facing me. Drivers and passengers shuffle in and out of the cab office, and the strange, customer-less patisserie gets a huge delivery of cream cakes that no-one will eat. The man in the aptly named "Taki Menswear" redresses the mannequins in his windows with cheap-and-not-so-cheerful shirts and jumpers.

Old and young, tall and short, busy and idle. They're all here. And I'm one of them.

I have a warm affection for Tooting. I love it's slightly grubby edges and it's tight packed mix of residents. I love it's buzz and bustle and the churn of people always around the station. And I love that I'm part of that, and that people were watching me right back.