On the train I find myself sitting at a table seat opposite chair number 13. Staring 13 in its chairy face. It staring back at me, with its arms in the upright position. Bad-luck chair, surrendering under my stare. Its head rest points forward and towards me at the side like a big bears ears. Bad luck is a train seat, surrendering and flopping its big ears.

He shares an armrest with his luckier number 14 companion who shares in his surrender, both arms pointing to the well lit plastic ceiling. Misery loves company?

To philosophise and personify chairs isn’t my purpose for being on this particular late night journey.

In an emergency break glass. Coach B. No Smoking.

Seat 17, with his arms firmly down around me, defensive against his surrendered counterpart 13. Draw. My 17 has won this duel; better luck next time 13!

The next station stop is mine. Soon I’ll have to leave the comfort of my champions’ arms and face the brisk spring night. Leave the comfortably repetitive motions and sounds of this quiet carriage into the unforgiving outside world...