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Spark plugs, Spitfires and Great Windmill Street

As I was walking through the West End this morning, I became conscious of a man talking very loudly on the opposite pavement. At first, I think he was addressing another passer-by, but when I temporarily caught his eye, he started walking in parallel with me and holding a one-way conversation across the street.

"When you haven't been out for four or five days," he yelled, "you just want to talk to people!"

I smiled, kept my head down, and headed for Lexington Street.

At the junction, he went in another direction, but not without this parting shot:

"I'll be alright. I have to be. My grandfather put spark plugs into Spitfires!"

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