Whilst some people struggle with the early mornings, me and the girls were thriving like bacteria in a warm and moist environment at 6.15 on this particular morning. Chatting whilst we set up, we didn’t notice a hooded gentleman approach us. Bending down to kiss Charlie, a petite blonde, Ella and I stopped talking, assuming he was a friend of hers. Turning to Ella, another good-looking blonde, the man gave her a peck on the cheek whilst I got ready to introduce myself to their “friend”. Catching their eye, they seemed somewhat surprised at his rather affectionate greeting. Being attractive blondes contrasting to my dark, rag-doll curls, I braced myself for rejection and prepared myself to stare sadly at his retreating back.

But I didn’t need to feel like a rebuffed Blind Date contestant; I got a kiss! Yeah, I don’t know why I was so excited either. As the guy walked away, we all looked at each other.

“Friend of yours, Charlie?”

“Did you know him, Ella?”

It turned out we all thought one of us knew him, which was why we didn’t think too much of his loving attention. Not one of us did.

Normally, the station announcements at Waterloo were pretty standard, ending with the blunt sound of the microphone being turned off or, on fancier occasions, a little melody. However, on this particular morning, there was no abrupt end to the tannoy message. Instead, after a brief pause, the announcer’s voice changed from his “official tone” to something a lot softer.

“Hello Darling. Yes. Yes. Ok. I’ll be home at six. What’s for dinner? Of course.”

Whilst the customers at the station seemed puzzled, there was a definite sense of bonding. And realisation – there was a man behind the announcements and he it seemed he had a penchant for sausage casserole! After a good seven minutes of unauthorized but most public conversation, the message came to an end with an embarrassed “oh”.

To this day, I’m not sure whether the supervisor walked in or the station announcer noticed the red light, but that morning, everyone in the station shared a moment of good times. Kind of like watching someone dance when they think no one else is looking.

I’d managed to entice a bit of a weird one.

Tall and scruffy, the man came a-sliding towards me. His trackies were baggy and he looked to be wearing slippers.

“I’ve spent five years in silence with the Buddhists,” he smiled, manically.

He continued to smile at me in this manner, occasionally baring his teeth before almost make his mouth disappear until his smile became nothing but a thin line across his face.

I wasn’t sure whether he was mad, had been driven mad by the silence or was merely being a cad.

Perhaps he broke his five year spiritual silence on the Moma girl working at Charing Cross. Or maybe he was just lying because I have a gullible face. Either way, he shuffled off after that, still smiling.

Whilst no one could compare Victoria Station to Trafalgar Square, it seems that on certain days (perhaps when the wind blows in a certain direction) the pigeons flee the square to embrace the comfort of Victoria. And why not? There’s a Wetherspoons, Burger King and WHS; everything you could want from a station.

And what does a pigeon want?

Well, it seems that for a particularly scruffy pigeon, shelter was all it needed. I’m not sure whether it was hiding from the pigeon mafia having got Feathered Fat Tony’s daughter pregnant, but it scurried under the Moma stall like a rat with wings.

And the threat of the mafia lord must have been a-looming; no amount of shooing or prodding would usher the pigeon out from beneath. I didn’t really want to touch it’s greasy, grey plumes so I tried to stamp around the stall. To no avail.

In the end, it took the corner of the stall cover to poke the pigeon and get it moving on it’s merry way. Or to the next hide-out spot until things calmed down.

As it hobbled away on it’s scabby legs, I saluted and wished it luck, hoping it would still be feathered and whole the next time it visited.

You could tell she was Eastern European before she approached the stall. You could also tell she hadn’t been home yet. Tight black trousers, high heeled boots and make up that was having it’s staying power tested, she had obviously had a very long Sunday.

As she tottered up to the stand, I knew she wasn’t a regular but I was sure I’d seen her somewhere before. After looking at the Oatie Breakfasts for a while, she looked up and said:

“Is it yoghurt?” Eastern European. Check.

“Yes,” Charlie and I sang in unison.

She made a face, her eyeliner holding on for dear life and her clammy-looking hands clutching her stomach.

“Eurgh, yoghurt,” she grimaced apologetically, backing away and waving weakly.

“But it’s pro-biotic,” I tried to call after her.

“Was that one of the cheeky girls?” Charlie asked.

We stared after her.

Yes. Yes it was.

What you got here, then?”

We had just packed up and were just about to take the cart to meet the driver when we were approached by a shortish man in his twenties.

“Ah I’m sorry we’ve just finished”, I said as I got ready to roll.

“Yeah, well what were you guys selling?” The man stepped a bit closer, licking his lips and looking at the cart. Having never known someone to be so eager and almost turned on by the idea of a mysterious, cloth-covered cart before, I obliged him with some product information, but quickly – business hours were over.

“It’s yoghurt, fruit and oats; a healthy breakfast on the go…but I’m afraid we’re finished now. We’ll be back tomorrow though!”

“Yeah……?” I became aware of his constant lip licking, kind of like a snake, and the way in which he didn’t seem to be looking at the cart anymore. “I want to take you girls somewhere.”

WHHHAATTT!!!

“Er, huh???” I looked at Gillian. “Ummm….well, as I said, we’ve gotta go.”

“I wanna take you girls on an excursion, yeah…what’s that?”

Interesting. The way in which he attempted to use vocabulary that he did not know the meaning of was original to say the least. However, in terms of persuasion, his words did not seem to be doing their job.

“Like a trip?” It’s not the first time I’ve felt like a walking, talking thesaurus.

“Yeah….a trip. I wanna take you girls to a hotel room…have some fun…you can leave the cart outside…”

EUURRGGHHH!!!!

“Um, well that’s very kind of you, but I’m very busy this afternoon. Gillian, are you free..?” I looked over at Gillian to engage some kind of response but her face was frozen in a look half way between amusement and disgust. “Gillian’s busy as well, I’m afraid. We really should get going, the driver’s waiting and we’re holding him up.”

Polite and brusque. Eat your heart out, Mary Poppins.

I doubt she would have had to deal with sleazy snake men with confused vocabulary.

“Yeah, well, next time yeah. I know where to find you now..” he said, licking his lips all the while.

“Er, ok then, BYE!!!!” I sang as I shook Gillian into life, grabbed the cart and raced off, pushing the cart with all our might into the sunshine, never looking back.

Replenishing the Oat Bars after a busy stint at Waterloo, I was dancing around the customer side of the stall. With the Moma sign beaming at the passer’s by, the breakfasts facing out and the posters placed in a viewable position, I was surprised to see a dapper gent, looming behind the stand, where the most interesting thing to be seen is the back of the stall supervisor’s Moma Jacket (did you know the exclamation mark is actually a spoon!).

“Mornin’,” I sang, cheerfully, causing Charlie, working the right side of the stall to turn to her right and greet the customer in the same way. “How’s it going?”

He grabbed an Oatie Shake from behind and reached into his pocket.

“You’re missing out on the wonder of my display, Sir! It’s all drawers where you are,” I smiled as he handed over his golden sovereigns.

He looked at me suspiciously. Then staring at where he was, the backs of the breakfasts and the shiny metallic drawers, his questioning look revealed that he still didn’t realise he was hanging on the seller side.

Turning to his left, with Charlie beaming up at him, he took his loyalty card and bid us farewell.

I’m still not sure if he realised how much he missed out on, coming from the back, but I did enjoy the way he looked at me like a mad person for suggesting such a suggestion!

Has it all got yoghurt in?”

I leapt around to the customer side of the stall and explained that yes, all the Moma breakfast contained yoghurt.

“It’s all low fat and pro-biotic, with oats and fruit. It’s great for you, is filling-”

“-Has this got yoghurt in?” she interrupted, pointing to an Oatie Breakfast. I kind of got the feeling she wasn’t listening. But I was unfazed.

“Yep,” I chirped.

She frowned.

“Has this got yoghurt in?” she asked, pointing to another Oatie Breakfast.

“Er, yes. It all has.” Maybe I wasn’t being clear. “All of the breakfast have yoghurt in.”

“I don’t like yoghurt.”

Oh.

“But it’s so much more than yoghurt! You’ve got your oats and your fruit in there, the Oatie Shake is more of a yoghurt shake-type thing, and the Hodge Podge is quite a light yoghurt,” I gushed, determined not to lose my flow.

She didn’t seemed convinced, but slowly picked up a Blueberry Oatie Breakfast.

Two days later she returned for another.

Moma. Converting yoghurt haters since 2006.

First off, I’d like to say I didn’t fancy him.  He was good looking, but there was no swooning, nor fluttery stomach, nor itchy tongue, not a lack of control over what I say, which is what normally happens when I fancy some one.  I just thought he looked nice.

Approaching my stall, one mild morning at London Bridge, he was the first customer who didn’t seem like he was in a rush.  He stood, smiling and relaxed, chatting (about MOMA, of course!) and it just struck me how nice his eyes and shirt looked together.  So I told him.  However, when I tried to tell him, it didn’t really come out like that….

“This might sound  a bit weird, but you’re shirt really compliments your eyes.”  And then I realised what I said and how it sounded.  Not just weird, but a bit creepy.  “Oh God, sorry, what I meant to say is er, your eyes just look er nice with the shirt.”  Smile.  Everything can be solved with a smile.  I smiled until I thought my face would split.  He also smiled, but it had a kind of scared tinge to it.  Great.  Creepiness plus a mad-and-never-ending-smile.

“Thanks,” he laughed.  “My girlfriend told me that this morning.”  Doh!  The girlfriend card!  The ultimate in verbal weapons to force you to back off; I’ve used it with many a weirdo at a bus stop.  He thought I was coming on to him!  Slightly thrown, I popped his Banana and Mango Oatie Breakfast in a bag and tried to regain my composure.

“Well, I hope you get many more people saying it to you today!  Have a lovely day.”  Yes!

Even though he smiled as he walked away, I know what he was thinking.  I’ll have to plan my compliments in future in order to avoid sounding like someone who plans their compliments and uses it on every person they encounter.  It’s all about preparation and a natural delivery.  Or maybe I should just carry on and slowly turn into the female equivalent of The Fonz…

The tall man in the blazer looked still asleep as I handed him his Strawberry-and-Banana-in-a-bag, sending him off with a joke and a smile. Not even five minutes later, Mr Blazer returned.

“Sorry, but the breakfast you gave me was broken.”

Taking the bag from him and peeping inside at the yoghurty mess in brown paper packaging (tied up with string – thank you, Fraulein Maria), I was fairly certain this was not what I had given him. I looked back up at the man, who was now alternating between staring at his tightly-laced sneakers and attempting to look me in the eye.

I decided to tread lightly. Firm but fair (thank you, Mary Poppins).

“Did you drop this?” I asked gently, maintaining eye contact as you would with a naughty child or dog.

“Yes,” he said hanging his head. “Sorry.”

I felt like taking his hand and leading him back to his game in the sandpit, but not wanting to overstep the mark and being in Euston station meant that neither was possible. Instead, I got a new breakfast (definitely not broken), popped it in a bag and put it in his hand.

He gave me a thank you and a sunny smile and with a spring in his step, skipped off to the tube, holding onto his new breakfast like you would your favourite action man.