A woman got on my bus this morning, at the Cabinet War Rooms, wanting to go to Trafalgar Square. Now, if you live in London you probably know that this is, literally, two stops, or a five-minute stroll. But she was all agitated and asking the driver “I have a ten pound note which the ticket machine won’t take, and thirty pence, how am I supposed to get to Trafalgar Square?” Um, walk? Using the perfectly serviceable pair of legs God gave you? I sneaked a look at her, to see if maybe she was afflicted with a peg leg or something, but she looked capable of walking as well as anyone. In the end she threw a strop at the driver (who, in a feat of patience and restraint, never stated the obvious and told her that if she got going now she’s see him pulling up at the lights as she got to the National Gallery) and got off the bus.