The man who brought this dog onto the District Line tube appeared to be prepared to sleep rough tonight (in sub-zero temperatures) as he’d brought an old candlewick bedspread with him. He dumped it by the doors, settling down on the seat opposite us with this terrier who reminds me of Bill Sykes’ Bulls-eye in Oliver Twist.
A stocky, smooth-haired terrier strikes me as the ideal companion if you’re sleeping rough, combining personal protection with a personal hot water bottle. A calm, reassuring but alert presence.
He (the man) rolled a slim cigarette which he lit as we prepared to leave at Putney Bridge. It’s the first time that I’ve seen anyone smoking on the tube for decades. A deadly fire on the escalator at Kings Cross put an end to the old world I remember of littered corners and tab ends.
At a party at a friend’s house near the Thames I sketch this coal scuttle, once an everyday object, the kind of thing you’d buy at an old fashioned ironmongers, but it’s been a long time since I’ve spotted one. Like the London Underground, the coke in it is smoke-free.