Meeting Gina for Coffee

On the way to the tube station I walked past the man whose dog bit my leg, who has been taking his dog the long way round since then in order to avoid bumping into me.
'Your dog should be wearing a muzzle', I told him.
'Really?', he said.
'That could have been a child's face!'.
'She likes children...'
Just then, his dog leapt across the pavement and barked wildly, ending with a nasty snarl. It had seen another dog across the road and almost pulled him over there with it.
'... but she doesn't like dogs'.
I explained to him that I know once a dog exhibits uncontrollable tendencies, it is time for it to wear a muzzle. The dog is clearly stronger than him- it was on a lead when he allowed it to lunge at me and bite me.
Anyway....

We met in the Wolseley, a beautiful Poirot-type building, with tiled floor, old-fashioned aproned staff and a strange clientele: partly stiffly-clad business types who might as well be anywhere such is their lack of interest in their environment, partly day-trippers both National and International, and partly funky types. I have seen Carol Vorderman there with her mummy (bless! bet you didn't think she had one!). And of course, us, and people like us, special occasion types.
We were having a sort of research/business meeting, a very positive one, and afterwards we wafted through Bond Street marvelling at the prices of Alexander McQueen's clothes (a ton-and-a-half for a belt), up to John Lewis's haberdashery where I replaced my embroidery cottons, into Top Shop to browse (Gina: Kate Moss, me: Mikey sparkly earrings), and then goodbye at the tube station.
On the way back as I sat on the tube, a man sat perusing the details of my house-for-sale on a stationary tube on the other line.
Isn't that strange?