The graffiti on the back of the seat in front of me on the 06.55 to Charing Cross seemed to my tired eyes to read 'I love u so much from my ill heart'.

A beautiful, tragic thought from a man who has worked and played hard for forty years and whose internal organs are now experiencing the subsequent rewards?

No, on second glance, the 'i' in 'ill' was just about an 'a'.

A dyslexic, soppy teenage girl, then.