Standing smoking under the overhang of the tube station exit to avoid the rain, I could hear a histrionic American preacher shouting about fire and damnation. He sounded far off so I assumed it was one of those nutters who attack city centre shoppers on a Saturday afternoon armed with sanctimony and a microphone. I then realised that the glum old man next to me was carrying a stereo wrapped up in polythene. The preaching was coming from there. How lovely to be welcomed after a long train journey by being told that you’re going to burn in hell forever.

 

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