It's not often that travelling home on public transport utterly reinforces your faith in the goodness of your fellow man.

And yesterday evening was no exception.

I suppose we were all in a bad mood anyway, having been forced to wait an inexplicable 20 minutes for a bus (yes, yes, I know, living in London has turned me into a spoilt traveller. Back in deepest, darkest Surrey, from whence I hail, the single bus to anywhere arrived once an hour, and only if it felt like turning up).

Anyway, it showed up eventually, and became the usual sardine tin of irritable commuters. Not really a hotbed of warm and fuzzy feelings, or the kind of situation where you'd catch someone doing something good for someone else.

But someone did.

The good? - a man gladly gave up his seat so a young woman holding a baby in her arms could take it. She smiled and thanked him profusely.

The bad? - the man in question was aged at least in his late eighties and his posture was a 90-degree angle. Did anyone bother to vacate their seat for him, as the bus flew around corners and roundabouts, and he struggled to hold onto the handrails? Of course not.

PS: Before you point the finger at me, I was wedged into the bottom corner of the staircase.