The Barclays cashpoint in the tube ticket hall at London Waterloo. You have to watch yourself.
The other day, the girl in front of me left the ATM in frustration and headed off towards the barriers. As I drew closer to the screen, I could see that it seemed to be hanging with the message "counting your cash". I waited a little bit, assuming the thing was out of order and wondering how I was going to fund my Pret habit. Then - blow Phil down with a feather duster - if the machine didn't distribute the £60 that the previous user had assumed was never coming out!
Now, I'm an honest kind of guy. I could have pocketed that money and ordered double-shot americanos all week long. But what did I do? I set off in search of the girl who'd been robbed of her takings. With only the vaguest of descriptions to go on - I'd seen the back of her head - I spotted her at a nearby ticket window. And good Samaritan Phil reunited an innocent Londoner with her hard-earned lolly.
At least, I think it was her.
I thought that she'd offer me a tenner as a reward. But no. Not even a thank you and a peck on the cheek. She just said something like: "Oh, I thought it was never going to come out."
Charming. You do someone a favour...