At 7.05am, I leave the house to walk to the station. The barely dawned streets are empty, but at the end of the road I find a young chap wandering about haphazardly, dressed in what appears to be a (joke shop) cassock and a comedy tie. He looks like a lost stag, except for the fact it's a Thursday morning in suburban York.


He stumbles across the road, stopping at a council information board and peering at it intently. He then spots me as I walk along the other side of the road, and hollers as I pass by. Do I have a taxi number? He's a lost stag, on a Thursday morning in suburban York, abandoned by his mates and trying to get back to Newcastle. I don't have a taxi number, but I tell him which way the town centre is. He bumbles off in the opposite direction.


At 2.30pm, on the University of Hull campus, I see a hi-vis-vested security guard trying to jump-start a tramp. The wild-haired old man stands still whilst the guard repeatedly pulls a cord to try and get him moving. Eventually he succeeds, and I immediately realize they are estates staff, cleaning up the leaves from the footpaths round the Venn Building using a backpack blower and a van.