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“Pardon?” George White looked suitably confused while staring at the abnormally armed ugly man standing in front of his ticket booth. He regularly mentioned to his mates at the snooker club that 'nothing surprised him any more.’ before beginning another diatribe describing how only ‘he alone’ — Had seen and heard everything that ever existed before…

What he didn’t realise, was as soon as they heard "nothing surprising," they generally zoned out, disappearing into a fantasy land of their own. Mentally encompassing thrilling conversations of:

“Wonder what’s for tea tonight? We had sausages yesterday.” or “How the heck did she get both her arms up there?” and “Was she the one looking for the glass?”

“Two hundred and thirty-four,” the man shrugged multiple shoulders. He raised a solitary finger on one of four hands to indicate that the conversation was temporarily going to be paused.  He twisted to his right and momentarily conferred with a rotund female wearing a top hat.

“Are you ready now to order your tickets?” Queried George raising his eyebrows in eager anticipation, waiting for a reply.

“Sorry, there were a couple of extras that just turned up at the last minute. Can you make that two hundred and eighty-eight…” His eyes flicked to his right and sighed, “A round three hundred to Angel Underground Station Please — Oh and, could you assign them as adjoining seats at the engine end? I tend to suffer from mild vertigo when sitting at the rear of a vehicle.” He gave his best impression of a condescending smile and added a small whimper for emphasis.

Without saying a further word, George simply held up a solitary finger to indicate his task was about to commence, followed by a second finger indicating he was about to take two minutes to accomplish his customer's requirements. He picked up a black handset that appeared to double as a dog chew and balanced it professionally under his chin. Without needing to dial, someone answered at the other end to the audible click that wafted from a hidden speaker located somewhere in the booth.

George already had a plan in mind as he shared his thoughts with a colleague residing at the other end of the radio transmission. “Wilbur, do we still have that modified ‘1995 stock’, Annie or whatever its name is in the workshop, and is it ready for traffic yet?” A squeaky voice at the other end uttered something unintelligible. “Really?” asked George “Will it be safe? It only needs to go from here at Kings Cross —to the next station along the Northern line.”

Alan looked expectantly at Toc, “Do they always put on extra trains for holidaymakers?” Toc shrugged her shoulders and adjusted her slightly dislodged top hat. “I’m not sure what is going on, to be honest. Last time I came to London, I was four stone lighter and had to sit on someone's briefcase due to the lack of seating.”

Alan looked at Toc awaiting the punchline to her anecdote.

She simply answered.“It didn’t end well…” while looking distractedly at something on the floor.

George appeared to be winding up his animated conversation with the person who hands out trains to holidaymakers. Finally, finishing and putting the handset back into its cradle. He twisted slowly towards ‘his potential victim’ — sorry about that, should have read ‘the customer.’

London Transport has, for the first time, introduced incentives for its members of staff, which stated the more bodies they could transport from A to B in an hour, the more they would attract in a massive bonus. George grinned, as even after sharing ten per cent of his potential bounty with the train dispatcher, it would still leave enough change to buy that ‘Whirlwind’ snooker cue that he had been eyeing up at the club for the past three months in the display cabinet.

The plan was simple — He would make sure that the gentleman would get all three hundred plus of his friends sitting together for the short journey to the next stop. The next hour was creeping up, and he was determined to max out his bonus, by simply providing a vehicle to transport them to their requested destination.

He deftly crossed his fingers, slowly turning his seating from its resting place towards Alan, already formulating his sales spiel. George could already feel the polished wooden shaft, silkily sliding between his fingers, as he took a deep breath — and readied himself to cement the transaction.

“You're in luck — today we have a special offer. Where, if you buy over three hundred tickets in a single transaction you will get an amazing discount.” George oozed.

“What's the catch?” Tic asked, with eyes squinted in anticipation.

The ticket salesman was a pro of the highest order, thinking on the fly within adverse conditions. He waved a solitary finger and smiled with the widest grin they had ever seen. “No catch,” he whispered conspiratorially, “You won't even have to pay the waiver,” George tapped rapidly on his keyboard. “There it’s done,” he announced in finality — before anybody could inquire further about the waiver.

“How much?” Alan asked trepidly about the expectancy of an enormous amount of money about to transfer electronically. He was already tightly gripping the Superintendent's Platinum Arabian Express Card in hand number three.

Waiting customers witnessed a blur of hands on the crickety keyboard as George worked his magic.

“Nine pounds forty-three pence,” He paused, “Sorry, I forgot it was a Thursday, which attracts a further discount of ten per cent.” He started tapping away and looked up at Alan, “You don’t happen to have a frequent train rider card do you?”

Alan shook his head to indicate he didn’t possess one yet.

“Mmm never mind that would have earned you around eight hundred train miles — we still do have the ten per cent to sort out for you though…” His hands flew over the keys for a final time, pronounced by the final stabbing of an enter key.

“Right I’ve rounded off your discount to the nearest pound — That will be Eight pounds please.” A bank of printers was already dispensing tickets in anticipation of the sale reaching completion. Alan handed over the credit card to be inserted into the reader to consummate the transaction.