Mmm, tasty

Well I never. Apparently 7am is the peak time to leave my flat. Suddenly, instead of the hordes of yummy mummies pushing their squealing offspring through the gates, the development is rolling in sharply dressed, chisel-jawed, 30-something Adonises. Why did I not think of this before? Of course the mummies aren't doing it alone; someone has to be bringing home the bacon while they're taking little Alexander to his pre-school improvement group. ("He's terribly smart for his age, you know.")

The yummy mummies and I have an unspoken agreement to keep a polite distance from each other, and have done ever since I was invited to join their select group and they discovered (oh the shame!) that I worked for a living. But not so the tasty dads. They're a charming crew, given to holding doors open and initiating early morning chats as we stroll up the road towards Angel. The fact that I'm quite obviously off to work is a bit of a novelty for them and they take it with rather more good humour than their wives.

I feel a bit bad that I can't really tell them apart, but one tight-bodied Adonis really is much like another at that time of morning.