the land rolls gently, so that, upon cresting a low rise or passing a copse of wind turbines, you suddenly spot a lot full of lorries or a complex of gigantic sheds.

She sighed and flopped back down on the bed, arms out at her sides. What was the point of getting out of bed? She had nothing to do. Nobody cared. Oh brother. Want some cheese with that wine?

We'd like to think that his spirit lives on under the western sky he so loved, strumming his Gibson somewhere and belting out a Woody Guthrie ballad to an audience of coyotes and rabbitbrush.

For this was a line so little frequented, especially at this hour, when the driver, the stoker, the guard and the station staffs all along the line, were anhelating towards their wives, after the long hours of continence, that the train would hardly draw up, when it would be off again, like a bouncing ball.