I once had an evening class student called Rob, who was in his twenties at the time, slim, with the sweetest little-boy smile and a gentle manner, and dark-skinned (being of Jamaican Indian parentage).
He is an international-class kungfu referee, and we used to have animated conversations about kungfu moves and training sessions in our post-lesson pub sessions.
One day, he nodded off on a very late train back home to Luton.
At some point, he felt a tap on his shoulder. Even in his dozy state, his kungfu training made him react instinctively. When he opened his eyes next, he saw that he’d floored the man, who was lying in the aisle, saying, “Hey, man, I was only trying to inspect your ticket!”
The only other people in his carriage — a young white couple — then quickly moved away to another carriage.
(London, early 1990s)
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