February 2

‘Don’t do it, Craig. Craig!’

‘What?’ replies Craig staring into the view of his mobile phone that he has held up and on camera function.

‘Craig!’ insists his partner or wife or friend. There is no clue as their link except her irritation, which has the strain of a familiar event.

‘Wait.’ He brushes off damp splats of snow.

‘Come on!’ Craig is taking his time, getting the best shot of the jack-knifed Wilkinson’s lorry, which has ended up in an inconvenient ‘v’ on the snow stained cross-roads, outside the Co-op and Epsom Station (still closed with hand-written apologetic information signs up). For Craig this is something worth saving and showing his mates.

Two men from a sub-contracted council service slap spadefuls of grit under the huge tires and then step back. It takes three policemen to stop the traffic. Students from the Art College and children then watch as the lorry revs into action, the wheels spinning, the chassis shaking.

The lorry moves forward half a metre and then gives up and slips back. ‘Craig, it’s cold. Come on.’ She’s pleading now. Perhaps that happens a lot.

Craig takes makes another click on his camera phone and then gives in. Perhaps that happens a lot as well.