The van pulls up and a troup of men in turbans get out with beautiful young women.
Attention turns onto them from me.
They look like Sikhs.
They start to set up big metal cauldrons and get out brown boxes.
Start giving out sausage rolls. Or hotdogs.
Everyone’s going forward.
I sit back down to wait for the rush to be over.
Well, I’ve made my debut in the west end.
Everyone knows I’m an actor now.
Or a nutcase shouting Jesus is King of Kings on the street at 7am on a Sunday morning.
I still cant work out if all the homeless know they’re in a live cinema reality James Bond or they’re unwitting extras.
If they know, Eon would have to pay them.
Say 5,000 to each one for the movie.
That’s enough to get them off the street.
Of course is cheaper if they don’t know but I’m not sure that’s allowed – not in a multi billion franchise like James Bond.
The crowds gone down now.
I move forward to claim a cup of coffee and a sausage roll.
As I walk back to my place to sit and eat a young pretty girl, about 20, walks along the pavement pushing an empty clothes rack which rattles like crazy, as it bumps along the uneven sidewalk.
That’s a round of applause.
That’s how Mr. Fox is letting me know he’s pleased with my King of Kings performance.
He’s King, I say to the bloke next to me again.
And I burst out laughing with a mouthful of sausage roll.