Morning in Moore Street

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Mid-week 9.45am meandering...

A schoolboy, who ought to have been in school begged his Dad to buy him a watermelon,one so big that he struggled to lift it. “Please Da can I have it, they’re lovely so they are.” My heart went out to the young lad when his Dad said “not today son.” Even though I suspected he only wanted it because it matched the colour of his uniform.

“Cigarettes for sale” was the brazen bellow to be heard from the street corners. Loud and clear so all could hear.

“Come here to me love and I’ll do your hair for you” pleaded a woman with a handful of hair extensions.

A mother and daughter sat side-by-side at their fruit stall and exchanged tips of the trade. Breakfast for the street merchants consisted of their own produce. One man munched on a banana and a woman crunched on an apple.

The pigeons wanted in on the action too, a flock gathered around chunks of naan bread retrieved from the nearby refuse bin.

A waft of freshly baked bread lingered in the air. The source was a Parisian baker and an actual real bakery.

Across the street stood a lady haggling with the fishmongers; she wanted eight fish but onlyif the price was right. She tried her luck but the experienced trader wasn’t having any of it.

Five minutes later, the customer returned and did a deal. The merchant emerged the happier from that trade-off. Her face lit up, in marked contrast to her earlier scowl.

Neon lights signalled phone repair shops in competition for custom. One such shop had an on-site hairdresser to offer haircuts to ‘shorten’ the wait. Beat that.

A toddler stood enrapt looking skywards; a toy sized toy shop and its turban- wearing ower had captured her attention. She was lost in her own world until her father hurried her along.

A Polish store big enough to take on the Tesco giant complemented the kitsch polish cafe a few doors away. On a fruit stall, Chinese pears took pride of place alongside Irish pears.

Difference embraced.

Words: Martha Gberevbie

Photos: Aidan Knowles

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