Walking along Broad Street in central London, Jenny felt the cold as her jacket flapped up, revealing bare, long legs that were sun-kissed by previous Egyptian sun. Early mornings were bliss in summer but in winter, the cold snapped and bit.

Jenny's job involved the opposite sex in the very famous Gentleman's Club 'Lord of the Land' that housed some of London's wealthy and arrogant. She had had a particularly tough crowd and the House rule was that if the crowd wasn't happy then the participants were allowed to smack her, once each. The crowd was big and to put it lightly she was sore.

Walking into the Park with its warm hug-welcoming benches she felt the need to sit down finally. Sitting down and warming her hands on her cup of coffee, a stranger sat down, turned around and wrapped her up in a snugly fleece. Shocked at this obvious show of kindness she thanked the man who helped out and was surprised to hear an Australian accent. Worried that he too might be cold, she offered him a space at her apartment and graciously he accepted the invitation.

Walking into her flat was heaven. Though her job was a wicked and senseless one she did claim excellent pay rates. Her whole life she was taught to save, so each month a half of what she earned went into the bank account and the other half went into paying the bills, keeping her fed and furnishing her flat.

Luxuries adorned the apartment, large sofas, a plasma TV, frames holding disposable camera pictures and exotic plants were all necessities to her, what really mattered to her was her large wall in the kitchen that was full of instant photos of friends, family and work mates. Her instant camera went everywhere with her and although it was ‘old fashioned’ she loved the memories it captured.

The Australian walked into the lounge and quickly hurried back to the front door to take his shoes off seeing the beige and cream carpets that lined the lounge and bedrooms. Walking back in he started to look around, being inquisitive was second nature to him and it had got him places…including where he was now.

Jenny grabbed 2 cups and made tea, asking whether this Australian took milk and sugar. He replied and called his name, James.

 ‘James, James,’ Jenny thought. ’ I know a James but not this one.’

Her last experience was a very memorable one with James. This one, with a clean shaven bright face, tousled gelled hair, a pair of relaxed trousers and open shirt, had a relaxed nature, unlike her last one.

Sitting down on her sofa and passing the cup of tea, they introduced themselves, talking of their past, present, and future, of family and work, of playful friends and heart-breaking stories of past lovers. Jokes were shared, a takeaway was ordered and movies were watched. Having James in her flat felt natural, like the most perfectly normal thing was to have a relative stranger in her home, her nest, her sanctuary against the harsh reality of the world. It was strange, she had to admit to herself.

As 12 then 1 approached, she asked James whether or not he wanted to stay the night, as there was an extra bed she kept behind. In truth it was mostly for friends in case they let their emotions of alcohol