One evening I had just got myself sat down on the train at Aldgate with my newspaper when a smartly dressed but slightly dishevelled chap got on at the last minute and crashed down opposite me. I suspect he might have been in town for something like an army re-union. He was certainly well oiled.

He announced in a voice that could only have come from my native city, “I’m gonna smoke yer know.” London Transport was strictly non-smoking but when I saw what he was trying to light, about one and a half inches of crumpled fag end, I thought I wasn’t going to be terribly upset by the amount of smoke he would produce. I tried to hide behind my paper but he persisted, “I’m gonna smoke,” so I muttered something about bursting into flames if he wished and he nearly set his nose alight.

After a couple of minutes of silence the next challenge to the world was, “I’m Manchister, I am.“ Tried to ignore him some more, but no use. “I’m Manchister me, I’m Manchister yer know.”

This time I couldn’t resist so I put my paper down, peered over my specs and in the best ‘City Gent’ accent I could assume said, “Ancoats, I imagine,” and got back behind the paper quick.

“Ow did you know that?” came from the other seat. I had scored a bullseye but there was no escape now and we were still five minutes from King’s Cross. Concentrate on the crossword. No use. “Eh, ow did you know I’m from Anc’ts?”

Okay, I had landed myself with him now so it’s down with the paper, try to keep a straight face and a plummy accent. “Well it’s fairly obvious old chap. Mill Street, I shouldn’t wonder.”

Oh heck, I’d done it again! His voice went up a couple of tones. “Yer right! Just round the corner in Butler Street, any road. Ow do yer know? Come on, ow did yer know I was from Anc’ts?”

My salvation - we were just pulling into King’s Cross when light dawned on him. “I know, yer Manchister yerself aren’t yer, yer are, yer Manchister an’ all aren’t yer?”

Last problem, how to escape this newly developing friendship. He was obviously not as expert as I was in getting through London’s rush hour. I managed a quick side step and ducked into the crowd as he shot past down the platform shouting, “Eh come ‘ere, I want to talk to you about Manchister, where’ve yer gone?” I’d gone through a side exit.

I do hope he got home safely. He should have stayed on to Euston.

Perhaps I should have been kinder to a fellow Mancunian in darkest London, but
Louis Hannett after all, he was from Anc’ts and I’m from Plattin’. You do have to draw the line!