From celebration to contemplation in 24 hours

Me and my companions were sitting in a little Camden cafe today eating chicken and chips. It was in an effort to take away the hangover from the night before. I went out with my sister Sheba and my friend Mave and we and a few too many cocktails.

Between us, we had a Slow Comfortable Screw, we drank Killer Zombies; I had a special mix Cosmopolitan – one of my all time favourites. In fact I think I had two of those. We also shared a green drink which I think was called The Incredible Hulk and I vaguely remember removing a cocktail umbrella from my hair when I got home.

While we were sitting in the cafe comparing hangovers and new Camden Market accessories, a little boy came into the cafe. He was too young to be out of school, too young to be alone in Camden and too down-trodden to be a happy little boy. He came straight over to us and said “can you buy me some food please”? I looked at my sister, my sister looked at Mave and Mave looked at me! We asked him what he wanted and he said he wanted fish & chips and a coke. We immediately started clucking like mother hens and bought him what he asked for. He said thank you and left.

For the next two hours, we discussed the little boy. We discussed poverty, social services, what’s good and bad about living in London. We talked about luck, choices and the Grace of God.

But what really got to me while I sat on the tube on the way home is that none of us asked him to tell us his story. I feel guilty because I missed an opportunity to go one step further. Fair enough... he was fed but it plays on my mind where he’ll sleep tonight, or how he lives day-to-day and where his next meal will come from.