Unsurprisingly, I am on a tube, listening to some tunes through my earphones. It's an evening train and it's quite busy; there are no spare seats but not many are standing. I, thankfully, am part of the happy majority resting their derrieres on a seat.
Across from me is a man who clearly works in the arts. It's a dead giveaway as arty types of a certain age have a very distinct look - dishevelled, but unquestionably respectable. It's a look that says:
"I'm choosing to wear this creased, white flannel suit because it's extremely comfortable and my livelihood depends on me being smugly content. My trilby hat and well-to-do demeanour all make up for the creases, while my expression shouts AFTER YEARS ON THE BREADLINE I NOW HAVE MONEY AND I SHOP IN WAITROSE AND BUY NICE WINE. Ultimately my art demands that I shun convention, and I am successful enough that you will sit there and probably not consider, even for a moment, the possibility of me being a secret tramp. Unless, perhaps, you are writing a financially redundant blog about the tube and overthinking this entire matter."
Anyway, the 50-something, dishevelled-but-respectable man in the creased white flannel suit and trilby hat - he's just sitting there minding his own business. Let's call him Bob.
Sat next to Bob is a young couple, 20s. The three are clearly not travelling together, but something seems to have got the young lad's attention.
Eventually he leans over to Bob and says something. I've still got my earphones in but I can tell that what he's said is brief, polite and appreciative. The lad seems to be meeting an idol. Bob smiles and thanks him graciously, at which point, curious, I remove my tiny music speakers from my giant man ears.
"Thank you, that's very kind." Bob says, seemingly delighted. But then his demeanour alters ever so slightly and frustration pokes through the curtains of his cheery stage:
"But you should tell my agent that because he's just FIRED me!"
I get the impression that Bob is an author, and that the lad is a fan of his books.
At the next station the couple start to get off. The lad leans over to say goodbye, as well as to say something along the lines of "thank you again, your work is excellent."
Bob once more is gracious in his response, but reminded of his recent setback he sort of thanks the lad through gritted teeth. It's a smile crossed with a grimace as a realisation sets in that "thank you" won't pay the bills.
Still, it's quite a mark of respect to have random people stopping you to say how awesome you are. I'm sure he'll come good.