I’m sitting on a Belgian train, and we have a long way to go. Sitting opposite me is an Australian lady who is eating cookies non-stop. On my left a Roma woman with an enormous bosom, her hair as dirty as mine. She has a kitten with her, a few weeks old and covered in fleas. The little cat roams through the coupé, meowing loudly. My hand, with 7 stitches in it, is hidden under a large bandage. I’m holding my book. A woman in a beautiful dress has been singing for hours in the coupé next door. What a lovely bunch are we.