Out of time

On the day: 
31/05/2012 


On the way: 
He's not one of us. 
He's tall, lean, wearing a black suit (a selection of pens poking from his breast pocket), socks and shoes but his black tie is decorated with grey swirls and his shirt is orange - not plain orange but orange with a rigid pattern of floral circles picked out in a lighter orange, imperceptible intol he draws closer. But that's not it. 
His face is also lean, a severe guillemot's beak for a nose, a bit grey, not quite cadaverous but he could quailfy as an apprentice undertaker on looks alone - a Hollywood undertaker with that blown-back dark grey coiffure, although the studios might require a dental investment. But that's not it. 
The pigeons in the rafters fall silent as he passes. But that's not it either. 
Nor is it the chunky plastic digital watch couriered back to the future in a pimped up performance car from the late Eighties. Where he's going, he doesn't  need roads. Not him, he's got British Rail. 
And a timetable. It's the train timetable. It says it all. Time and space. 
What's he doing with a printed timetable in an era when you can get all the information on your phone. 
And if he were from round these parts he would know to ask the network's most approachable station manager for any information. 
And besides, everyone knows the three certainties of life in our age: death, taxes and the printed word is already out of date. 


On the pod: 
Twenty Four Hours - Athlete 


On the front page: 
The doctor won't see you now as strike is set (The Times)