It was that time of the morning. The commuters were making their way to work, shoppers were hitting the early morning January sales and I was just trying to make it home as fast as possible. My head was pounding and my cheeks flushed with the embarrassing recollection of last night. I had never even been to Lambeth before and after today, I wasn’t planning on ever going back. That guy was crazy. As I turned down another street, out of nowhere, that old song ‘The Lambeth Walk’ floated into my head.

Ev’ry little Lambeth gal,
With her little Lambeth pal,
You’ll find ’em all doin’ the Lambeth walk.

Well this was one Lambeth gal who was certainly without her Lambeth ‘pal’. I felt disgusting in last night’s dress, yesterday’s make up and a broken shoe. Nobody had made a song about ‘The Lambeth Walk of Shame’. I could almost feel the judgment radiating from every passer-by, but they didn’t know my story! I mean how many girls wake up with a complete stranger confessing their love to them? I cringed at the memory of him grabbing my hand and telling me that ‘everything was going to be OK’ and he was going to ‘stick by me through the hard times and the good’ and offering to make me pancakes. He didn’t even know me (or have any Nutella!) I shook my head, trying to clear it all out. Minor slip up. Time to get things back on track. As I shot down the steps at the Underground station, planning what to do with the rest of my day, I suddenly remembered. My heart froze. I had left my wallet on his nightstand.