They poured out on to the street after days cooped up indoors due to heavy snowfall.
The six of them: two men, a woman and three children holding hands.
The men stride out side by side, one wearing Hunter wellingtons and a brown hacking jacket, his chest puffed high; the other clad in a navy blue polo neck and a Canada goose down filled coat, long and warm, to keep out the cold, talks at breakneck speed to his friend who nods and rubs his beard thoughtfully.
The three children, two girls and a boy wrapped up warm in the shape of good woolies – all the best that John Lewis can offer, span the entire width of the pavement joined like bunting as if it is their entitlement.
On to the bus, jostling for seats. Priority seats taken by the obese, the elderly and mothers with prams laden with shopping. Polyester is king, and snot nosed siblings whine clutching their strawberry laces, sticky fingers pressing the bell every ten seconds.
At the tube station tumbling on to the escalator, rolling down the tunnel, anyone, from any class are swallowed, then hurtled, indiscriminately, down the track on into the whatever-may-happen-next-is-anyone’s-guess.