waiting for tonight’s 18:52 to roll into platform 8, checking the train behind me on platform 10, whilst simultaneously checking buffers on both platforms, to make sure their respective trains would stop at the same position, to establish ahead of time where the carriage doors should, in any rational universe, be expected to line up, I noticed a be-suited gent watching a film on his smartphone of choice, ear-phones in. The 90s TV version of Lady Chatterley’s Lover, if I am to be any judge. As the film reached, what might be called, a pivotal moment, the be-suited gent pulled out his paper and started reading an article, occasionally glancing across and down to check, presumably, that the pivoting was still underway. And I had what could, in certain circles, be described as a thought, namely how ironic it was that the instrument of ultimate distraction, the tool to tear away attention from mundane life, was in this one instance, itself a mere background hum, or perhaps grunt, to the printed word on actual paper.