February 19

At first she’s confused.

‘Take a picture? In here?’

The tourist couple nod. They want their moment in the National Theatre of England (or is it Great Britain or the United Something or Other) kept on camera.

The middle aged, middle class, middling woman with a large oval face and oily smooth brown hair agrees with a sigh and slight tut. She takes the picture. No flash. Comments. Gives it back. Turns away. Puts it out of her mind.

But then the tourist couple ask again and the tourist man taps the middle aged woman on the shoulder; and she tuts and turns and hisses like a snake disturbed in its sunbathing.

‘Again? In here. But there’s no flash.’

‘That’s ok. It will work,’ replies the tourist man.

Meanwhile, two more bemused middle class English people are waiting to sit down, polite enough not to block the view but showing their displeasure in tiny English ways: eyes widening, slight shake of the head, heavy breathing. The picture is taken quickly and the camera tossed back.

The middle aged woman mutters to her partner. The bemused couple take their seats and shake off the strangeness.

The tourist couple cuddle and coo; just excited like little children.