It’s around 2am on the Piccadilly Line and the Tube carriage is empty – apart from me and a man twice my age. His eyes never leave me during the 40-minute journey.
Potbellied and with a menacing grin, he moves suddenly from the seat opposite, plonking himself down next to me. He’s desperate to get my attention, talking at me over the deafening noise of the train.
Unnerved, I get off before my stop. But he follows me and on to another near-empty train – this time the Jubilee Line towards Stratford. Again and again he tries to engage me in chat, staring at me and licking his lips.
