When I’m busy, I want to be stuck on a broken train, in a power cut, on an island where the ferries can’t run. Just make it stop, I beg. However, when it’s calm, I pace the perimeters looking for diversion and wishing for a voice, an explosion, an anything to crash over the silence so that I can no longer hear what’s going on in my own head. It’s only when the train is almost mended and the lights are flickering back that know I’ve found a comfortable pace over the mountain trails of my mind.