One day in the spring of 1963 I was struggling up the Eiger step escalator at Tottenham Court Road tube with Lola, my labrador whippet cross in my arms. Lola was not a small dog so this was not a hands free situation, handbag gripped beneath chin, tube ticket between clenched teeth and bent backwards to balance her weight, I looked like a human Z!
At this point a familliar voice behind me called, "Let me carry something for you," I turned to see Martin Windsor striding up the escalator, an expression of chivalrous concern on his face. On reaching me he beamed, leaned over, and carefully took the ticket from my mouth. Then holding it delicately between forefinger and thumb, moist side outermost, with his hand at eye level (his eye level, not mine, I was bent so far back I could barely see his elbow) we travelled side by side to the escalators top. There he replaced the ticket between my teeth, moist side innermost, gave a gallant little bow and vanished into the crowd.