Eating alone

One of the advantages of eating alone, as I have mentioned in the past, is that it allows one to observe others. There is no comparison to dining with a group of friends, where the conversation flows and the laughter is spontaneous but eating on ones own is not necessarily a sad unholy experience since we can do what we are programmed to do, observe and take note.

I decided on the spur of the moment, rather than return home and cook I would eat out. The Coach and Horses,  a ye oldie looking, part pub, part restaurant in walking distance from my home. 

Because I chat and make myself identifiable I always get a warm welcome, which anyone who has eaten alone knows is important. Enter with a host of friends and you are dazzled by the close comraderie around you, the laughter and the spirit of friendship. On you your own you have to rely on your own resource, what is going on at the table opposite, what feedback you obtain come the waiter/waitress, preferably the latter since one can always flirt harmlessly knowing your viginity is not threatened.
At the table opposite to the right were a bunch of oldies obviously enjoying their retirement. The women were the most boisterous, the men waiting the bill, held back in a sort of hushed silence as their wives jostled each other with the latest revelation.
In the table directly opposite a couple arrived with a small boy. The Mom was obviously in her element taking out the young chap, she was equipped with the most poignant tool a women can have, ownership of her offspring. The young chap who was with her eyed the youngster like you eye a rattle snake, with concern for his future with said young lady but confused at his potential to really have sufficient to say,  to captivate and move in anyway the focus of her real attention. What was strange was that, unlike the current trend amongst the younger set to take out a phone and start texting someone else, they opened a game they had brought with them and proceeded to play a game which required pressing a button and moving a peg as you scored points. At first I thought this was great, to encourage the boy to play with them but soon realised he was an onlooker like myself in a sterile interplay between two young people who at the least should have been holding hands across the table.
It's a strange world, me bubbling with innocent things to say and no one to say them to and these two fit youngsters, unable to hold a conversation.
The contrivance of old age, to be both invisible and yet so alert, is a phenomenon that traces its self through literature. The spent volcano, still active but not sufficient a threat to spark interest !!