Up the cobbled street

It was amazing.

I stood at the bottom end of the high street, the cobblestone climbing up the gentle slope several dozen metres. Pedlars of everything imaginable incanted their pitches, meshing into a capitalist choir, their thralls crowding around with equal parts exclamations and outrage.

My feet worked themselves, pulling me through the throngs.

“-silks this side of Europe!”

“Only the best pigs-”

There was only so much my ears could take in, each hyperbole more exaggerated than the last. Accents of all kinds blurred together, from Middle-East to thick Russian to proper Yank, a sample of the world.

A hand grasping my shoulder spun me around, toothy smile and sparkling eyes greeting me.

“A fine young sir like yourself must be looking his best, yes?” the much-enthused merchant insisted, one hand still keeping me involved, whether I wanted to be or not, while the other proffered a handful of ties. “Original Japanese designs and stitched by hand. Very soft and attractive, feel.”

I held my hands in a placating gesture, walking back into the crowd mumbling, “No thanks.” Luckily, he let me go, pouncing on someone else. Just in case he changed his mind, I kept walking up.

One stall that caught my eye sold a whole manner of faux-gemstones, the ones that looked a fair bit like rubies and emeralds, but were only a fraction of the price. Light glittered inside them, the early morning sun coming in low and amber, giving the back of the displays a disco-like appearance.

The elderly lady smiled behind them, her eyes barely open a crack. “I've been told my son's spares make a fetching present for a lady friend,” she gently said and, though it was said with nothing but the accepting sweetness that most grandmothers had, I still found myself blushing softly as I shook my head, continuing on.

Jostled by the crowd, I slowly made my way towards the edge of the stream, where the crowds thinned down side-alleys and into stores.

The wind changed direction, blowing down the street and bringing with it exquisite smells – bacon, eggs and sausages sizzling away; fresh bread and croissants, pastries galore; savoury onion and mustard.

My nose and grumbling stomach led me to a small stand pushed right up against the wall of a florist. The scent of roses became overwhelming as I neared, but my taste buds had decided on what they wanted, so I pushed forwards.

The young lady smiled at me as I neared and I had to remember that I was old enough to not act like a schoolboy. So, I did my best not to blush and look away, returning her smile. “Duck and plum sauce pancake, please,” I said, hoping she didn't notice the slight crack.

Well, at least I made her laugh a little. “Comin' righ' up,” she said in a Cockney accent I wasn't expecting.

Barely a minute later, I took my first bite of breakfast. The sweet sauce, savoury meat, fresh green stuff I think was cucumber, all coming together wonderfully. With a final smile, and a wink from her that did get me ruffled, I continued upwards, making short work of the delicious food.

A textiles stall sat to my one side, another selling bathroom tiles on the other side, while I waited. Though I wished for peace, each took turns trying to convince me, shoving soft velvet patches and smooth linoleum into my hands.

Minutes feeling closer to ninety than the true nine and a touch went by before my wait ended.

“Lovely weather we're having, is it not?” asked an unfamiliar voice.

I feigned a look in the sky, picking out the tall lady, her pale blue coat standing out in the warmth. “They say it's warmer here than in Spain,” I replied with a touch of a Russian accent. My eyes wandered down the street.

“It's a shame, no?”

I picked out families, mothers with daughters and mothers with sons, youngsters on their way to school, bustling businessmen and the patient elderly. “Yes,” I softly said, closing my eyes. “A great shame.”