Speed has a funny effect on the mind. Wizzing along on an early morning train under febrile Turner-grey smudged skies, the summer is ending. And as it leaves, without grace and in too humid drizzle, everything turns to new beginnings. Terms starting, jobs commencing, another final push towards the endless summit. So much is happening, as it always is, and time passes. I’m heading to Stroud to play a gig this afternoon (2.30 on the Cornhill stage) and I’m surrounded by a crowd of familiar thoughts, of self-doubts and worries, of excitement and the déjà vue of long experience. I don’t know what any of this means, or if it means anything at all. But I am speeding somewhere. I am turning up. And I’ll do it all again tomorrow.