gardening clothes

We went out to a swanky bar without getting out of our gardening clothes. It was quiet til a busload of people staggered in in some serious clobber. One of them came up to us and said, “How cool is it possible for two people to look as they drink their beers?” She was drunk. She looked me up and down and then told my companion, “Only five people in the world can wear dungarees – and she’s one of them.” I said, “Did you all just get off a bus or something? Did the cinema empty? Where did you all come from?” She pointed with her handbag. “Her – and her – they’re twins – it’s their 33rd birthday, we’ve been drinking in the park.” “66!” I said, because I am mathematical like that.

Afterwards we watched them taking turns to take selfies of each other. Can you take a selfie of someone else, can you even take a selfie at all when you’re not actually in it? Turns out you can. You just point any device at a group of made-up people and then watch as they instantly assemble themselves into sunny, close-headed groups. Everyone has a smile they can keep for ten minutes at a time. All the girls have long, straight glossy hair. They fall into varying heights, so that every face is seen, and it doesn’t matter how long the papparassist has to fiddle with his device, they’ll wait unmoving. “Australian women,” said my companion, dourly. “Somehow they all look like Jennifer Aniston.”