It’s a day after a rail strike and the 7:38 train to London is full. I’m on a priority seat, on the inside by the window. The woman on the outside seat let me pass to sit there. She had to get up and stand against an incoming stream. It wasn’t easy. People were rushing through the train to get to the few seats still available. I was lucky to be on the platform at the right place to be first in line standing by the train doors as they opened. A cyclist exited generating an eddy to move in through, un-rushed but firmly and with purpose because I could see a few empty seats. A few seconds determine whether you will sit or stand for fifty minutes. There’s a smell of tea tree oil from the person next to me. Masks do not filter smells. It could be worse. One passenger in twenty wears a mask. Sometimes when people look at me I sense a disapproving or condescending smile aimed at the motive behind …