A young man, on the underground platform in one of the Central London stations, a little the worse for wear from a can or two of beer, but nevertheless quite pleasant, was staring dismally at the train that had just arrived. He asked for help. The doors were just opening. “Please, please, does this one go to Liverpool Street Station? I’m dyslexic and someone told me to wait here”. I suggested that he got on the train, at which point I could explain to him and probably show the young man what suited his travel needs.

Once in the carriage it was easy to show him the line plan and interconnections, discussing the colour of the line that he needed to use to get to his destination. I pointed to it. “Oh I need the orange/red one do I?” he said. I assented and also told him to exit at the next stop to get to the orange/red line, explaining that he should sort out the direction – East or West – that he needed when he got to the platforms.

“Can I kiss you please?”
“No you can’t…bye” I replied and I seated myself further down the carriage next to hubby.

Unexpectedly, the guy opposite me interrupted the conversation hubby and I were having, to tell me that the guy getting off the train had called out to thank me and say goodbye.


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