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He slouches. Otherwise he wouldn't be able to get through the door. He is too tall. Taller than anyone I ever saw. He is handsome and very friendly. He works at this pub where we stopped for a pre-theatre drinks. He cleans the tables, chats to the regulars, smiles at customers he hasn't met yet. He asks us if we are OK and whether he can be of any help. We smile back. All is great, no, we are not eating. And not yet ready for another drink. But thank you. We get back to our conversation. There are couple of burning issues. Christmas presents is the main topic. What do you give to the lady who recently turned 93 and is very busy at the moment trying to get rid of all her worldly possessions? Actually, if you have any idea, give us a shout. We are still at a loss on this one.

Suddenly the background noise increases in volume. There is a big table in the corner with a dozen of men. Office party? Four of them are standing. The tall waiter in the middle. He doesn't look comfortable. He looks trapped. He tries to leave. But somehow he is blocked. The standing four want to have a picture. The picture would be f*** stunning, they shout - hardly anyone of them reaches the tall man's shoulder.  The flash goes on. The tall man stops smiling. He doesn't slouch anymore either. He doesn't look upset though. He is possibly used to this sort of table manners. Tall and handsome he walks in the direction of the kitchen. And firmly shuts the door behind himself.