Saying goodbye is so hard, isn't it. No, you're right, it isn't. My own goodbye usually takes the form of “cheerio”, or “ta-ra”, or, if someone has already walked off without saying goodbye, a muttered “Oh, right, I get it, bye then.” Last night, as the last stragglers of an evening out in Islington emerged from the Kings Head, I heard a man bid farewell to a girl by saying “peace and love!” as he walked off. Peace and love? I turned around and looked at the girl. “Peace and love?” I found myself saying to her, quizzically. I guess I was hoping that she'd say “yeah, I know, stupid bloody hippy idiot, I won't be seeing him again.” But she started talking in a rambling, slightly intense way, staring into my eyes, and to be honest for the first 20 seconds or so I was so confused that I actually thought she might be chatting me up. But her eyes started narrowing with mild hatred, and it became clear to me that she fully supported her friend in his choice of sign-off. She looked me up and down as she reached her grand finale, the only part of her dressing down that I can actually remember. “Some of us,” she said, “some of us can fit into a size 6. And maybe you should remember that.” Blimey. She could have just said “fatso” and saved herself some bother. She then walked off down Upper Street, without so so much as a goodbye.

My favourite goodbye of the week, though, has to be one overheard not so far away on St John Street on Wednesday evening. Again, a man and a woman emerged from a pub. “Really nice to see you,” said the man. “Yes,” replied the woman, “We must get together again soon. Ish.” Haha. Ish! With that one syllable, she will have crushed his hopes, his dreams, his desires, his ego. A put-down so subtle, but jack-booted in its intensity. It was amazing.