Waiting Outside

Mother’s Day always makes London look like it’s been told to behave. People clutching flowers like they’re fragile evidence, couples walking at that purposeful pace that says they’ve booked lunch and will not be derailed by reality, and the odd bloke who looks like he’s already been sent back out because he bought the “wrong” card. Standard.

I was outside a church when I saw her, stood to one side with that calm patience some people seem to have earned through sheer repetition. Hat pulled down, coat doing its job, hands tucked in like the weather’s not up for negotiation. She wasn’t doing anything dramatic. Just waiting, slightly turned away from the flow of people, as if she’d opted out of the day’s general performance.

The bag is what got me, if I’m honest. That proper, used-for-years sort of bag that looks like it could contain anything from a sandwich to half a pharmacy. Not the fashionable tiny ones that only hold a lip balm and regret. This one looks dependable, like it’s been on buses and in waiting rooms and has never once complained.

And yes, the angle’s off. Not in a “bold creative choice” way, more in a “I was stood awkwardly and had about half a second” way. I was trying to keep the column in, keep her clean against the background, and not end up blocking the pavement like a lost tourist. So the frame tips. The floor runs away a bit. It leans, the way you lean when you’re pretending you’re not taking a photo. Which is basically the whole job, if we’re honest.

I could straighten it and make it behave, but then it starts to feel like a brochure. The slight wonk keeps the sense of being there, on that bit of pavement, catching it as it happens rather than arranging it. It suits the moment too. Mother’s Day isn’t neat. It’s people rushing, waiting, arriving late, trying their best, doing the thing. A little off-level feels about right.

Not my mum, obviously. Just someone else’s day, someone else’s wait, someone else’s bag full of whatever keeps a person going. That’s usually enough.