I spy a mother and daughter dressed in layered travel clothing. They are as efficient as ever and so this is their small leg-rest, their small travel respite, the getting from A to B. They’ve a small gap now between one tourist attraction and the next and so it’s lunch time. Side by side they sit on the rocking underground swaying in time with the bumps in the tracks. As I take my seat next to them they pull out a £2.50 creamy pasta salad. One for mother, one for daughter. They keenly shovel it into their mouths, I can hear it stick and unstick to their forks. I can smell it warm and sweet as it is caught in the air of the tube carriage I’m in. Once that’s all but gone the daughter collects the creamy containers wordlessly and dutifully and pulls out two cans of something sweet and fizzy. One after another, first the mother and then the daughter pop the cans open. Fizz pop and another fizz and pop. I smile to myself as I look across from my seat to the man with the leg brace and briefcase. We share the smile.