Tonight I returned from Lira (a two-hour drive) where I was doing some teaching. I took an eight-seater Noah van home (you could almost call this public transport: 12 of us crammed into the eight seats). Dolly Parton and Kenny Rogers boomed through the speakers for the first part of the journey. The guy sitting next to me started chatting. Our conversation centred a lot around DVD series, particularly Vikings: ‘What do you think is going to happen now?’ He was asking me. ‘Do you think Ragnar’s sons will go to Wessex? What about Lagatha?’ For a moment I forgot where I was, could have been anywhere in the world. Then I realised my leg was numb from balancing my backpack on my knees containing my prized possessions and I had no room to reshuffle my legs; one bum cheek squeezed onto the seat (the other hung off); I recall my position then return to the conversation.