Forgot your password?

We just sent you an email, containing instructions for how to reset your password.

Sign in

  • Having acquired a collection of charming friends from university, a few of us met in the big city.
    We mooched about.
    Its what we do.
    It was a weekday, with two out of the three being jobless. Yes, myself being one of them.
    Tough break as we all carry the accolade of a good degree,
    but what does that mean these days.

    All being Art Historians we headed to the Invisble exhibition at the Hayward.
    This is worth a look if you have a moment spare.
    Take your imagination but not photographs.
    There is one room which will take your breath away, literally.
    That's all I'm saying.

    We crossed the river and reminisced in a bar.
    Beers we drunk.
    Next we hit Meat Market in Covent Garden.
    Its in the Top 5 for London's best burger.
    Unwrapping paper round juicy burgers.
    Neon signs, leather jackets, raybans.
    Rockabilly blaring, inuendos present, milkshakes made with a slug of jack,
    a place for the adult youth.
    Too lude for teens, too loud for parents.
    Bantering like always.
    And scrunching up the paper, salt on our fingers,
    short walk to 'Spoons, the drinks in,
    we inter-looped conversations about Munch at the Tate, debates about Family Guy, Great Expetations and Lolita, Hitchcock re makes and ebay.
    Photos were allowed.

    It was on the late train home that the promiscuity occured.
    The great night with friends gave me confidence to speak up.
    To speak out.
    A rather tanned, late 30s looking woman with cowboy boots and a french manicure got on at London Bridge.
    She sat opposite a suited bloke, not a man, a bloke sums him up. He thought he was a lot better looking than he was, which was probably due to the alcoholic aroma on his words.
    He wore a silver band on his left hand.
    The woman kept leaning in towards him, rubbing her palms up his knees.
    They were doing that "whisper" which is actually louder than there normal voices. The other passengers were silent.
    They had never met before. I couldn't believe what I was seeing and hearing.
    At Orpington the bloke alighted, but not before a overtly sexual kiss on the woman.
    Hands everywhere.
    I thought of his wife at home, their two children (which he mentioned several times) sleeping upstairs, while she watched the clock.
    He probably told her that he was in the office. Working late.
    Not shacking up with some loose blonde on the Ramsgate train.
    I couldn't help myself.
    She glared at me, pointed her finger at me and snapped "and what are you staring at?"
    "You must be aware that he's married..." I ventured.
    "Yeh, so what, I have a fiance anyway"
    "Brilliant, thats better then" I said, shaking my head.
    No one else in the carriage said anything or even stood up for me.
    I sat quietly for the rest of the journey.
    • Share

    Connected stories:


Collections let you gather your favorite stories into shareable groups.

To collect stories, please become a Citizen.

    Copy and paste this embed code into your web page:

    px wide
    px tall
    Send this story to a friend:
    Would you like to send another?

      To retell stories, please .

        Sprouting stories lets you respond with a story of your own — like telling stories ’round a campfire.

        To sprout stories, please .

            Better browser, please.

            To view Cowbird, please use the latest version of Chrome, Safari, Firefox, Opera, or Internet Explorer.