A lady in her sixties, I expect, but it’s hard to tell as she has sun glasses and a hat pulled low over her forehead, stands up from her foldable stool on the verge as our bus approaches. In her right hand is a bunch of flowers she’s clearly picked herself – many of them wilting already. Even though it’s a very hot summer day, she wears a coat that goes down to her knees and a pair of – I think – waterproof trousers. The kind you might wear for walking the dog, but she has no dog. With her left hand she picks up her stool. She boards the bus and pays her fare – actually, she didn’t pay her fare, she used a bus pass, so she’s probably over 65. She unzips a pocket that’s at about knee height in her trousers and puts her change in it. Oh, so she must have paid with money. Anyway, while she does this, still grasping the tired bunch of flowers, the bus is at a standstill. Can’t start up, she looks likely to fall flat on her face if unbalanced by the sudden motion of the bus. Before she sits, she crosses herself, piously. In her leg-room she errects her stool; her legs are short enough to use it as a footstool. By the time she’s all set up, we’re almost at the final destination: Helmsley.