Yesterday I was in the front carriage of a train when someone jumped in front of it.
At first we had no idea what was happening. We felt a bump and thump then the train stopped suddenly.
Within a minute or so, passengers were starting to talk to each other.
It's a strange thing on London trains. People give each other space by not making any form of contact, but when there's an emergency it takes seconds for people to warm to each other.
We grimly talked about what it could have been, knowing what it probably was.
After about 10 minutes we still hadn't heard from the driver. I said to my new gang of people that we should go and check on him. We knocked to see if he was okay, but he was on the phone so we left him to it.
Then an announcement came.
"I am sorry about this, but there's been an incident and we will be here for some time. I'd like to apologise for the delay in your journey but we have to be here for some time. I am very sorry."
The driver was then seen stepping out of the train and walking down the tracks. We opened a window and asked if he was okay. About 15 minutes later he walked down through the train, again apologising and just saying there'd been an incident.
I put my headphones on and did some work on my phone, texting a few people.
I told my wife that next week for my 50th birthday - for which we have organised nothing - I was just happy to go to the cinema and maybe grab a bite to eat, and to take the boys somewhere cool on Saturday night.
That'll do me. I don't need big parties any more. Just the people I love around me. I realised something in me has moved on.
I was distracting myself.
The fire brigade turned up, climbing the unclimbable fence with ease. Sirens came closer and the air ambulance helicopter flew in. So it was a person.
One of the passengers knew someone who worked for the train company.
"Apparently this kind of thing happens all the time here," he said. "Catford. Probably some kind of junkie."
I was suddenly relieved it wasn't a bomb. And then sad. Whoever they were, how desperate that person must have felt. What a way to end.
I felt cold but carried on working. I started to feel sorry for the driver. This would be a moment he would never forget, and yet there was his professionalism and his care for the passengers.
By now there were more than 20 emergency services people working on the site. All the passengers were sent up to the top two carriages, presumably because the clean-up job was further down. This was well practised. They had done it many times before.
A police officer came into the carriage:
"Ladies and gentlemen, we are dealing with a fatality and we are going to be here for an hour or so. There is a toilet in the next carriage. The driver is okay but a little shaken up.
"We intend to have you on your way as soon as we can. If anyone has any medical issues or needs assurance please shout out of the window to us and we will come and help."
He was calm and reassuring. What else can you do in such a scenario? Duty and drills take over.
The chatter, speculation and nervousness in the carriage turned to silence. That was lunch off for me, and a bunch of meetings too. I tried to work and then to watch a video, but it was surreal. The whole carriage wanted to be anywhere but here, yet no one made a fuss.
After some time, even now I don't know how long, the officer came back to tell us the train would soon be on its way. It would stop at Catford and probably stay there.
When we pulled in, the platform was full of police, ambulance crews and train workers. The doors opened and passengers were handed bottles of water.
The driver watched us leave the train with two policemen beside him. I managed to say thank you to him. A stupid thing to say when he had been through that, but I chose my moment and words badly.
The police greeted - perhaps that's the wrong word - acknowledged people as they walked through the station. I felt thankful to them, and a sudden sadness and loss for someone I had never met or seen.
I went home.
I found myself feeling so grateful for the people in my life and for a noisy house.
That evening I called my family into the living room and retold the story, just as I'm telling it to you. I told them I loved them and how thankful I am to have them. I hugged them all.
Like most readers of this newsletter, I work hard. But there's a reason for that and it is them.
Life really is for living and loving your people.
Now go and hug yours.
