I'm sitting writing, at a table for once, on this habitual journey. A Franciscan friar in full regalia has just walked past me, if you can call it regalia.
I watched from the balcony formed by a bend in the open stairway at York station as a young man was lead away by two police officers in shirtsleeves...
On a train to Cambridge, as I sit huddled in my seat waiting for the warmth of the train to permeate and dispel the chill of February, I watch a girl...