A musical friend and I met for a coffee this afternoon.
We meet regularly in a high street coffee shop, in the quaint and bucolic setting of Stevenage Old Town.
Today we met later than usual due to a finance course that I had been signed up to attend during the morning.
Our meeting today happened to be coincidental with the nearby schools sending their pupils home from their studies for the day.
Soon the street was filled with the cackle of would-be bankers, doctors and dustmen, all adorned in their smart uniforms and meandering their way homeward in the warm weather.
A schoolboy hurtled past on the busy pavement, cycling fast on his fancy mountain bike, dodging the pedestrians, a rush of air in his wake, right in front of us.
‘Oi!’, I shouted. ‘Get off the path!’.
‘Well, the look I got from the snotty schoolboy was contemptible if it were nothing else.
I did fear for a moment that I would get lumped by him.
Us two friends looked at each other with a smile and laughed, as if to remember when we, ourselves were that age, without a care in the world.
As we laughed, a sportscar car sped up the narrow high street with its engine roaring, popping and banging, ear-splittingly loudly.
In the quiet street (although there were still many children around), the air echoed with the sound of a stream of incomprehensible techno music thudding rhythmically, as the music and the vehicle disappeared up the road.
‘Where does he think he, is Brands Hatch?’ I remarked and we both cracked up.
Twenty minutes later, the streets were silent again, the schoolchildren were all at home having their supper and the boy racer was long gone, leaving us both to continue to put the worlds to right and enjoy our coffee as the usual peacefulness of Stevenage high street returned once more.