I stand on Kings Cross platform four waiting for my Mum to arrive on the 09:12 from Edinburgh. In my hands I hold a laminated A4 piece of white paper with the word MUM clearly printed in the middle.
The train pulls in and the passengers alight, those who are not my Mum walk past me. Grown men read my sign and continue on their journeys. Ladies who fit the description look at me in a motherly way, they know that they are not my Mum but for a split second they think the sign might possibly be for them. I wait patiently until a lady sees the sign smiles and stops.