The day I saw Lilly Allen’s back in Angel, Islington

It was defo a day of shelling borlotti beans in a 4 liters container on the terrace of a neighborhood restaurant with the red haired chef. Sat on the squeaky bench with those lovely pink and white little chubby pillows. In the open kitchen the pig’s head was already being braised for hours with its garnish. Upstairs the wilted flowers needed a change. I would ask my favourite member of staff named after a warm season to do it when she arrives. We went back inside to get ready for dinner service and I was playing with table 10 and 11 while the night was falling in the street. But suddenly he eagerly shouted ‘ That’s Lilly Allen!’ and by the time we proceeded outside, I saw a girl with a long back braid walking away on my right with a female friend. Who knows if it was actually Lilly Allen. Nevertheless I will always pretend I saw Lilly Allen’s back, at nightfall, in Angel, Islington. Because why not. It’s only fair.