We were on the train to central, it was packed full of people going about their lives. There were some young guys talking in some foreign language being a bit loud and lairy, snickering under their breath. I noticed a man standing at the end of the carriage looking a bit dishevelled and realised he had a huge split at the back of his trousers. I don't know if he knew it himself, but I think he knew the whispers and snickering were directed at him. I can't laugh or take pleasure in this kind of thing. It could be some very overweight person, there may be an odour, or they simply could be shabbily dressed. It's quite common unfortunately, and you really notice it on the tube. This may sound patronising, but I really do feel sorry for these people.
I remember another man, he was quite old and small, his clothes were covered in dust, it looked like he'd been beaten up. You could see he had sewn up some tears in his clothes. I always wonder how these people came to be the way they are. What kind of life have they had? And it dawns on me that they may not have anyone, no family, friends, people who might care for them. To die that way would be a real tragedy. Alone. Unfortunately there are thousands like them.
There's a character played by David Niven that resonates with this in the 1958 film Separate Tables. An astonishing performance, completely uncharacteristic of Niven. He won an Oscar for it.
