Quarter past eleven I got up and toted my stuff across to the station. The Gents turned out to be half-way down platform one, but there was no barrier so I motored on down, passing some down-and-outs sitting on benches. The place was underground. I trotted down the steps, beginning to relax like you do when you know relief is imminent, and hit snag one. At the foot of the stairs was a turnstile. Ten pence. I dropped my roll and fished in my pockets. A fifty, two twenties and some copper. No ten. There was a glass box – a sort of office, so there must be an attendant. I called out, ‘Excuse me?’ My predicament was becoming acute. There was no answer. Nothing stirred. I glanced all round, chucked my roll over the stile and followed it.

The relief was terrific. Half-way through, the door of a cubicle opened and out popped a runty little guy of about fifty with a peaked cap and a fag hanging out of his gob. ‘’Ere,’ he croaked. ‘’Ave you paid?’

‘N-no,’ I stammered. He’d made me splash my trainers. ‘I haven’t got —’

‘I don’t give a toss what you haven’t got, son.’

He was really hoarse – a sixty-a-day man. I could probably push him over with one hand. I’d been about to ask him to change twenty pence, but his attitude upset me. I decided I’d vault the stile and save myself ten p. ‘I’ve no dosh,’ I told him, zipping up.

He stood in front of the turnstile. ‘You don’t leave till you’ve paid.’ His fag wagged up and down as he spoke, sifting ash down his front. I looked at him. ‘Get out the way, old man.’

He shook his head. More ash. I moved towards him, swinging my roll. He dodged and swung an inept punch at my head. I ducked, shoved him aside and vaulted the stile.

I felt terrific – streetwise and tough – but I daren’t linger in the station. I pictured him in his glass box, phoning the railway police. I hurried back up the platform and out to the street.

When I got back to my doorway somebody was there. I didn’t see him till I kicked his foot. He leapt up. A six-footer, as wide as the door. ‘What’s yer problem, wack?’

‘I – I was here first.’ God, what a stupid thing to say. He poked me in the chest. ‘Sod off, kiddo, before I drop yer.’

‘But I’ve been here two hours,’ I protested. ‘I just went in the station for a —’

‘Sod off – now!’