And so here I was on the Chuo Line Rapid rumbling to Shinjuku, heading to the coin-operated laundry as directed by my Information Service friends back at Tokyo – back pack stuffed with dirty clothes.
I know the last hour had been hectic, and I might have looked a bit sweaty and tense, and I do have a nice head of grey hair, and I look like the age that I am (58).
But did the young man really have to offer me his seat? It’s all very good being polite. It hurt.