No, I don’t know, I’m afraid, as I have no idea what she’s talking about. Her glasses have a smear on one of the lenses; I have the urge to take the hem of my oversized T-shirt and wipe it clean for her.

‘Here, take this. Call the number on the back if you want to speak to someone.’ She hands me a card and I take it. TFL Counselling Service, it says. It’s yellow and red, with a London number underneath.

‘You get two or three free sessions. I think it could really help you, if you, you know, needed help. Someone to talk to.’

‘Thanks.’ I look back at her; her blue eyes are warm, sympathetic.

‘And can I take your name and number please? I think they have enough witnesses, but just in case?’

Now I really don’t know what she’s talking about. Has the heat gone to my head? Am I hallucinating? I mutter a fake name and an even faker mobile number. I thank her again, adding a couple of ‘sorrys’ for incomprehensible measure, and head for the escalator. The busker stares at me as I walk past. He’s wearing a T-shirt that says, ‘Difficult Roads Often Lead to Beautiful Destinations’. I’m trying to focus on something other than the strange encounter I’ve just had, so I stare back at him until he looks away. Inspirational quotes. I’m not sold on them. In fact, they make me snappy. In my eyes, things don’t happen for a reason, they just happen. I don’t like lemons and I don’t want to make lemonade. I won’t dance like nobody’s watching. And I won’t live, laugh, love, in that or any other order. In fact, you know people have those giant letters in their houses spelling ‘Live, laugh, love’? I’ve just put a display on the windowsill at home that says, ‘Live, laugh, bollocks’. I know any day soon Dad will suss it when he’s dusting, but until then …

I don’t find the world that inspirational, I’m afraid. And everyone is not beautiful in their own way – another one trotted out on Instagram, I should imagine, over a photo of a very beautiful person gazing out over a glassy lake.

I should know that better than anyone.

A disembodied voice comes over the Tannoy – crackly and empathetic as a disembodied London Underground voice can be – apologizing for the closure of Platform One, and the suspension of the Northern Line ‘… due to a person on the tracks’.