Because of my schedule and general disposition I tend to still be asleep between 8 and 9am, and as I went down to the platform I realised that I’d never actually been on the tube at morning rush hour before. The first thing that struck me was that, despite teeming with people, it’s very quiet. Changing from the Northern Line at Stockwell, the only sounds to be heard amid the surge of suited bodies coming from trains and escalators was the clicking of heels on tile, the rustle of newspapers and the occasional tinny fizz of someone else’s headphones.

This is not an easy time of day to strike up a conversation. Everyone is still waking up, on their way to work, mentally preparing themselves for the day and very much in their own world. A lot of people are reading a newspaper (mainly the free ones) or books and many have headphones in. Plus, I’m still half asleep myself.

It’s quiet on the carriage as well, and the Victoria line doesn’t have the roar and shriek of some of the other lines, so when I started talking to someone we spoke in hushed voices so as not to stand out in the silence. He didn’t actually say anything at first when I asked him about the day ahead, just shook his head. A graphic designer, he was quite shy and I felt like I was intruding a little by asking him questions. We talked for a while and I tried to lure him to tell me a bit about his life outside of work and what he did creatively but he either didn’t do anything or wasn’t willing to tell me.

Coming down from North London, a middle aged man ran onto the train as the doors beeped their closing beep, looking flustered. He fidgeted, looked rushed and uncomfortable and checked his watch, giving the general impression of a man who is running late.

I waited for him to settle down a bit and started chatting. He seemed pleased by the novelty of it and relaxed. He was a charity youth worker and I asked him if he enjoyed his job. “I love it,” he said unequivocally. “You can make a difference to someone’s life and help them turn it around. That’s important.” And do you think you do? I asked. “I wouldn’t do it if I didn’t,” he smiled.

So what was going to be the highlight of his day? “Going home I think.” I looked at him quizzically. “Today I’ve got to do all the admin stuff. I’m not seeing any young people.” He explained that there was a lot of paperwork involved, largely showing that what he did was effective to get funding. It sounded frustrating for someone who clearly relished the human interaction side of his job.

I told him that that was the side of my job as a bartender that I enjoyed and made it tolerable. He asked if we had a lot of regulars and if I knew what drinks they were having before they ordered. Of course, I told him, we even keep a glass in the fridge for one of them. “I think that’s something a lot of places have lost, that local feel.” He didn’t know the area I worked in. “I don’t think I’ll ever know the whole city,” he said, “it’s always changing.”

We talked at some length about London, his home for 20 years. Some people I’ve talked to have spoken almost grudgingly about London, as a place they’ve come for work and don’t really regard as home, but not this guy. “I love London. I’ve travelled around a bit but I always love coming back. I wouldn’t live anywhere else.” He spoke enthusiastically, passionately even, but also very calmly. “If you like culture it’s got it all: theatre, some of the best art galleries in the world, museums, architecture.”

We reached his stop and said a pleasant goodbye, wishing each other a good day.