I had got on the wrong train by accident and this wrong train had taken me down a different fork of the line. Either I could have gone back into London or somehow I needed to cut across to the other arm of the fork. Taxi seemed to be the only reasonable option, but unfortunately they only had one taxi in this tiny little town. So I had to wait and wait I did. Unfortunately the little room that they had for waiting in was being kept at a healthy 100 degrees and the lady running the place was chain smoking so the room was humid, clammy and smoke ridden. And so I announced that I would wait outside.
I couldn’t tell if it was actually cool outside or just in comparison to the heat of inside. But it was that kind of cool rush that you get sometimes which is so deliciously enveloping.
Anyway, while I was waiting there the taxi driver arrived. He as a young Hindu guy and he’d been told by phone that I was waiting for him so when he walked up to the taxi rank he said “Are you the guy who wants to go to Otford”?
I told him that I was. He said, “Hi I’m the Turbanator”. And then he popped his head around the corner of the taxi office and said, “I found my fare, I’ll be back”.