Hard-up but shops at Harrod's.
Back in the fledgling years of the 90's I was working in London and living on Upper Clapton Road with friends of my sister, not far from Hackney. I loved living there (it was like being in an multi-cultural village) all except for the beggars. No doubt some were genuine (although I've always thought if you can afford hair-dye and a dog, you ain't as badly off as you're trying to make out.) One in particular used to bug me. She would sit on the ground outside the three take-away shops close to the zebra crossing which meant that unless you took your life in your hands and legged it through the traffic elsewhere on the road you could not avoid her. Her habit was to sit and just streeeeetch her hand out pitifully, a pained expression on her grey face - never any words. Still, I never gave in to her silent plea.

Imagine my satisfaction then when one day when waiting for a train out of Liverpool Street to Clapton my sister grabbed my arm and hissed: "Bloody hell, there's that girl from near your flat!" and indeed there she was, all togged up in her finery, hair done, loads of make up and carrying many bags including a Harrod's one. She never conned me, but she must have done well for herself.

I lways glared at her after that. That told her.
(singingringingtree Living in the past., Mon 22 Oct 2007, 13:08, 1 reply)

I suspect
that you were actually seeing Amy Winehouse.
( The Resident Loon Not a demographic. Do not measure., Mon 22 Oct 2007, 15:45, closed)