Wednesday morning in Chichester: the sun streams down from a perfect blue sky. A gull perches on the cathedral spire and calls out to the whole city. An argument leaks from an open window – a man is shouting through sobs. I take a shortcut across the dew-laden cathedral green, then stumble down South Street, passing someone I should really have said ‘hello’ to. But I don’t realise until it is too late – she seems to have a ‘morning head’ on and doesn’t see me. At the station, an impossibly thin woman queues for her newspaper before me. The train is late.