I went for my usual Sunday coffee and newspaper with pH. I had the camera with me, just in case I saw anything shootworthy. Walking towards the city walls, so that I take a shortcut to the café, from a distance I saw an Asian woman in second-hand jeans sort of just standing there. A passing car honked momentarily, she faced it. I thought she was waiting for a friend with a ride to pick her up, as she looked like a Philippina on her way to a Sunday prayer meeting, a party, or both. The car drove on, a fat elderly guy on the wheel.
The penny finally dropped. Yes, these women sauntering along part of the city walls on Sundays are indeed trotteuses. In broad daylight. In the crumbling heart of the city. A bit like in old Paris, although they are (too) modestly dressed here. While walking towards her I looked at the drivers checking her out. They were all elderly, none of them looking particularly (East) Asian. I was right. As I was a pedestrian, she didn’t even look at me — maybe I don’t look like a punter, either. Just when I was passing by her, I caught her rehearsing the following line in English under her breath:
“It is forty pounds.”