Читать книгу Eating for England: The Delights and Eccentricities of the British at Table - Nigel Slater - Страница 19

In summer I often eat lunch sitting on a bench in Hanover Square. The benches are crowded with office workers, shoppers and, invariably, people in black from the Condé Nast offices that overlook the garden, and one has to hover, eagle-eyed, waiting for a spare seat. Other people’s lunches are always more interesting than one’s own, and it isn’t long before I find myself having a furtive peep at the person’s next to me. Somehow it is always a furtive peep, never an open stare. One always feels guilty about this, though I’m not entirely sure why. If we were in another country – Italy or Sweden, say – we would be much more open about it, and might even strike up a conversation. But this is England, and therefore a furtive peep is all one allows oneself, or gets.