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It’s cold on the X43. Since Covid-19 came amongst us, people seem to be under the impression that bus windows must be open at all times, for safety’s sake. Nonsense, of course, but typical of the modern mindset. I’m glad to get off at Chorlton Street, and I warm up as I trot along to Piccadilly Gardens. I take a look around, but it’s too early to set up shop, so I’m off to the Bagel Factory for a cup of tea.

This week, I caught the omnibus to Birkenhead on the Wirral. I left my home town at 6.15 and arrived the other side of the Mersey a little after midday. I have never been to this part of the world, only spying it from across the water in Liverpool. Under the Mersey I went, appearing again on the other side.

One of the minor pleasures of staying in a hotel room is the presence of a TV. I have become like one of those old men in the 1950s and 60s who refused to entertain a television set in the house, but secretly enjoy watching it at someone else’s.