8.37am, Friday 13th February, Central line, London.
A woman reaches into a trashy handbag: leather look, that kind of thing. She roots and pulls; it’s an afro comb the likes of which I’ve not seen since 1984. It’s not that she’s sporting an afro. Comb enters hair and teases a bit. The hair, something approaching burnished conker looks fresh from a home perm. She titivates, lays the comb in her lap and ‘jushes’ en place. We need to record these things.