The Phoenix. We went up to the till, surveyed the menu and ordered some rosé wine. As we sat our glasses down on the table, I looked out at the silvery dusk sky. My friend began schooling me in all the various London terms that I am still madly trying to learn -- jumper, barmaid, knackered -- the list goes on and on. After a few sips of wine, I saw a quiet black dog sitting at the base of the bar.
Dogs in London are incredibly well-behaved. They do not leave their owner's side, and they follow their owner's commands perfectly. Consequently, I was surprised when this dog began ambling toward me. He sat down right next to me and put his head on my lap. I began petting its head and then his owner looked around, spotted his dog and said, "Ah, there he is." I asked the owner what the dog's name was, and the owner replied jovially, "Hector!" I laughed and kept stroking the dog's head. The owner looked at me and said, "Why don't you look after him a bit, love?" And so I spent the next several minutes in sweet Hector's company.