I was on my way home at the end of the day when the sight of a lady labouring across a pedestrian crossing stopped me in my tracks. She had a walking stick in her hand, so her trouble with walking was clearly not the work of that moment. Yet she was making such painfully slow progress that I wondered whether something extra was going on.
As I passed her on my way and that thought floated across my mind, I looked behind to check how she was doing. Everybody else was now safely across, and she looked so vulnerable and exposed in the middle of the street as the lights changed and cars began to line up to turn the corner. Her legs were wobbling visibly which meant that, although she was making lots of movements, they were not carrying her forward. She was barely inching along.