On the train to London (to see the Cindy Sherman exhibition). We are delayed at Royston: no way forward; no way back; no way of escape. I look out of the window and the words from The Ballad of Reading Gaol remind me I’m not trapped: I never saw a man who looked / With such a wistful eye / Upon that little tent of blue / Which prisoners call the sky, / And at every drifting cloud that went / With sails of silver by.
Photo: Royston Station, September 2019