Section 67 is in the Zone, and standing well back
In the end a circuitous tour of London’s tube stations had to suffice.
Holborn seemed the poorest cousin of tube stations with its featureless tunnels and screen printed Roman columns on the platform walls. At least none of the stations were ‘Nanny Zones’ like the station at Heathrow. When he’d picked Nsansa up after her overseas aid to that many-mouthed family of hers, he’d been advised to get back off the train until a safety check had cleared it to depart. He’d also been advised patronisingly to stand three metres from the tracks for his own safety. When he’d finally got on, a poster had informed him on the train to take care as hot coffee burns when it spills. Dur!
He sat on the underground train on his way back to the car, careful to avoid the eyes of his fellow passengers. Occasionally his surreptitious glances coincided with those of people taking a peek at him. When this happened he felt as if he had been caught with his hand in someone‘s handbag.
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