The mix of people at Upney tube in the morning is pretty much static. I was jolted out of my early morning reverie last week when I spotted a rather distinguished-looking man.
Highly-polished shiny brown shoes. Well cut navy suit. Wool overcoat. Brown leather gloves and attaché case. Navy hat (can't tell a fedora from a trilby; sorry). Nice aftershave. Of a certain age.
We ended up sitting next to each other on the train. He leant into his bag and produced an intelligent tome as expected.
I'm lying. He pulled out a bright pink paperback.
I was flabbergasted. I spent the twelve minutes to West Ham arguing with myself.
Book group. Researcher. Reviewer. Critic.
I couldn't ask as I don't speak to people in the morning.
I'm scared he might have been reading it for pleasure. The world is doomed.