Balcony Scene

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‘I’m a bit of a scrooge,’ he says.


‘So am I!’

We head upstairs to the bar; the plan is to watch fireworks from the balcony.

‘What can I get you?’


Whilst I’m deciding, Scrooge orders a beer.  The Martini bottle is looking tempting, but I’ve a feeling he wouldn’t approve.

‘Do you have mulled wine?’

They don’t.  Damn.

‘A glass of red, please.’

‘Any particular red?’

The barman lists a few grape varieties.  It’s very unfair; choosing the colour was bad enough.

‘House is fine.’

Scrooge raises his eyebrows. ‘I’d have guessed that you’d have a preference.’

Little does he know.

‘Nope!  I don’t know anything about wine.  Would you?’

‘God, no.  I only drink mulled wine.’


He pays.

‘I’ll do the next round,’ I say.

I’ve a feeling he’ll hold me to that, and I don’t care.

Armed with alcohol, we wander out onto the balcony overlooking Covent Garden.  I suspect he also thinks I frequent the ballet.

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