NINETEEN
I paid off the cabbie with a healthy tip. His kerb-mounting routine was beyond the call of duty, and without his ingenuity and bravado, I would, no doubt, be still stuck behind that crawling horse and cart.
I entered the portals of Victoria Station, not really knowing what was going to happen to me here. A wave of noise washed over me: a multitude of echoey voices floating round the great domed structure, built like some great industrial cathedral. The place was crowded, passengers of all sizes, shapes and ages criss-crossed and interwove with each other like a moving canvas of drab colours.
I knew where the left luggage lockers were situated, down the side of Platform One, and headed in that direction. I moved as quickly as I could, fighting against a tide of folk rolling the
