As a non-driver, I’m a big bus user – or was, until strange times came upon us – and I’m on the 446 into Leeds. On the bus, she’s sitting in the seat in front of me. Somewhere in her mid-to-late seventies, I’d guess. I can always tell by noting the… well, never mind, we all know.

She’s wearing a blue outdoor coat of the style I’m sure I remember on my grandma, but, thank heavens, no hat with cherries. Small mercies! Hair, Margaret Thatcher by way of Mary Whitehouse. I wouldn’t really notice her but for one thing – she’s clutching a smart phone. Not talking into it, but playing a game. At her time of life, a computer game – and, I suppose she might be hard of hearing; she’s not set it to silent, and I can tell from the tinny noises that it’s certainly not Solitaire.

I hope, I pray, that these are not the muted sounds of explosions or shooting. Do I dare to lean forward and peep? If it should be Grand Theft Auto or Call of Duty…

I lean forward, I peep… oh God!

Mercifully, this next stop is mine.