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Here comes the main course, yes, it looks marginally at least better than the poor start the thin oxtail soup gave this lunch-on-expenses, braised steak is it, this is not the gourmet meal I promised myself, came down here not even out of nostalgia, even, just out of weariness, of settling for the nearest, which was down, too, a subterranean restaurant, but the peas look at least not tinned, and the chips, ah, perhaps not as bad, taste, yes, tender meat, and I think they used some wine in cooking it, yes, the lees at least, I promised myself a glass with this meal, but no, I would not trust them, save it, have half a bottle on the train tonight, perhaps.                   That girl over there, with the sling, so young to be injured, injuries in one so young seem obscene, she can only be about ten or so, yet she has her arm in a sling, looks so vulnerable.                   This braised steak, now I come to consider it, has a gravy distinctly related to the oxtail soup. Inevitable, perhaps, they come from the same animal, but there is another relationship if only I could define it. No salt in the peas, that's another thing, but the chips redeem the meal as far as chips can redeem a meal, which is not that far. Deep in my heart I know I love chips.                   The cutlery, that unreal matt, grey almost in colour it is, imitation of silver, or even imitation of silver plate, why, just catering cutlery, as seen in a hundred thousand cafés, restaurants, eating establishments of this kind, that kind, the other kind, various kinds, all kinds: patently fake, anyway, in no way convincing, not nearly quite genteel.          Cream paint everywhere I go today, it seems, ah, but here less stained, they can't smoke so much while they're eating, yes, pillars cream-painted, too, with coathooks on them, the usual chrome type, cast zinc underneath, no doubt, easily fracture. And what is underneath these damask cloths? What kind of tables? Any kind: plywood, folding card tables even, what kind of excesses?                   German family at the next table: what did he do in the war, the middleaged grandfather? Anglicized mother, charming little girl, teeth slightly bucked.           No camembert, never mind, the meal has been a disaster, I'll make myself some cream cracker sandwiches with cheddar to smuggle out with me in paper napkins for the long stretches ahead.