I am sitting on the front seat of the bus with oldest child next to me, my knitting on my lap; two teenage girls are sitting behind us. One of them talks about The Dark Knight, and how Heath Ledger died “because he was just, like, too good at being that clown guy” (the other one doesn’t talk very much at all). This is the second time someone has said this in my earshot on the bus. I wonder whether this exact conversation is being had word-for-word on every bus route in the world, twice, and have a bit of an existential “moment”. Their chatter suddenly drops to a whisper, and then returns to full volume with this:

Girl One: I know! Leila had a teach yourself to knit kit. Can you imagine? I know, I know… but it’s just Leila. Knitting. I think she made a pink handbag, with, like, buttons on it. I know! It took her, like, a year. She had all these fake fingernails and they broke. I had some too, and my mum said, “why do you want them? you’ve got perfectly good fingernails?” and they all fell off but I’ve still got one. It’s on my bedside table. It must be, like, well manky now.

Girl Two laughs.