Chapter 3


Monday morning, 7:45a.m., Guildford Railway Station. I am standing at the ticket machine cursing the person whose idea it was to place these machines with their reflective glass directly facing the morning sun. Through the glare, I can just about make out the writing on the screen and locate what looks like an option to purchase a return ticket to London’s Waterloo Station. I tap the glass, hoping my actions will penetrate the layers of grease and smudges. Eventually, after some whirring and clunking, the machine produces the requested ticket.

I notice someone at the machine next to me peering at the screen with an increasingly furrowed brow. “Does this thing do car park tickets?” she enquires. “Yep,” I reply. More peering and ...

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