When questioned about the Duke of York's Column dominating Waterloo Place by an African woman I realise I know next to nothing about him.
I sing her the 'Grand Old Duke of York'. We giggle and laugh. A bond is formed. (I find out later the rhyme has nothing to do with this Duke of York).
She's arrived from Manchester on the 6.30am coach and is trying to see what she can of London before her lunchtime appointment at the Foreign Office. I whisk her to Trafalgar Square for Landseer's lions and a coffee.
She thanks me for my kindness and hospitality. I try not to think about the outcome of her meeting.