Every train was going the wrong way. I couldn't work it out. Everyone else on the platform seemed at ease with the situation but I was frankly perturbed. I approached a lady who was watching her two little boys playing precariously close to the edge, taking it in turns to run as fast as they could towards the tracks and then halting just before the yellow line, sometimes, with a victorious grin back at mummy, a step over the line.
"Excuse me. Excuse me."
When I touched her gently on the arm she turned and removed earphones hitherto concealed under curly hair the colour of ripe fruit.
"I'm trying to get to Surbiton."
"Why?"
"Excuse me?"
"I'm trying to get there too. Philippe, leave your brother alone! No 'buts', just stop it."
"But this train goes to Balham."
"Philippe, get off the tracks right now! I mean it. If you stay down there we're going to get on this train and leave without you!" She turned back to me. "Then I'll go there."
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