Born in the same year as I. Expensive rough. Chatting on a cell phone and spinning around to break eye contact at the intersection.
Tall, square, in a suit so sharp you could slit your wrists on it. Talking about doubt and walking north.
Mike Leigh, famous director and resident of the mansions south of the British Museum. He looks exactly how you would want your favourite uncle to look: a chubby, kindly hangdog kind of face, rather like a fat peanut with a beard. He also has observer’s eyes and that’s not so friendly. They seem to flick around taking in the scene before him and evaluating it immediately.
Okay he’s officially too easy now, he’s wandering up and down Islington like he lives there. Not quite as impressively tall the second time around. His blond girlfriend is painfully skinny and painfully trophy.