In the year of the Ikeya-seki comet (1965) I, as a member of our school cricket team, was put up along with my friends at a dormitory for an over-night stay. After dinner we retired for the night and I drifted into a slumber watching the cosmic visitor in the night through the dormitory window.
It was the summer of 1981 when I met Charlie at London Victoria coach station en route for a package tour of Benelux countries. Charlie, a white man, aged about 70, who looked every inch a destitute and an abandoned soul, asked me to let him carry my baggage to Victoria Railway station fifty yards away in exchange for a few pennies. I declined his assistance as I was a tourist travelling on a shoe-string budget.
By the time I landed back to the Victoria rail station from Europe tour I was precariously low on cash. It was 12.45 P.M. and I had to catch the 1P.M bus for my sisterâ€™s place at Newquay for which I had a prepaid return ticket. But I found to, my dismay, that on that Sunday the bus was to start from another place across the street and I didnâ€™t know where it was.