It’s Shrove Tuesday, which means semlor. I’d forgotten all about it, until Ingrid reminded me. Had I remembered earlier, I would not have timed my visit to the bakery to coincide with all the commuters coming home. Still, the queue was only half this long when I joined it. It grew with every arriving train.

Eric got a whole semla, while Ingrid and I shared one. It was more of a symbolic thing, really. I mean, they do taste good, but it’s not like they’re my favourite baked goods. And they’re usually huge anyway. Adrian meanwhile wasn’t interested at all.