We went to London today.  And we arrived at the station in good time, so sat on the platform to wait.  An elderly lady came and sat next to LT, with a small, rather sweet-faced terrier on her lap.  I was busy reminding Roses by text that a friend was coming this afternoon to take photos in the garden, so I didn’t take much notice, but a youngish man (let it be noted that anyone young enough to be my child is young, so he might well have been in his forties) stopped to make friends with the dog.

“Does he like going on the train?” he asked in a friendly way?  “Oh, he’s never been on a train, but he likes to watch them,” his owner said.  Tim and I exchanged soft glances, totally charmed. I looked at the dog and the lady properly, they both had sweet faces and, clearly, you had to have a heart of stone not to smile.

“I must take him on the train one day, I’m sure he’d enjoy it,” she added.  And the youngish man told her about his dog, who died a few years ago but was still much missed, and it was one of those little interludes that has to be treasured.  We suspected that she liked to watch the trains go by as much as her terrier did.