Last night, I stood behind a man who lifted up the bottom of a woman’s suitcase as she tried to carry it up the stairs at Highbury and Islington station. She didn’t realise it was going on at first, and he was a little clumsy with his help, but I watched it unfold from a foot away. Close enough to see his hands gain purchase on the case, close enough to see her make sense of what was happening. Close enough to see their eyes meet and smiles broaden as they made their way to the top of the stairs. They were both in their mid-twenties; both beautiful in an unfussy, unconscious way. In the 30 seconds it took to begin, unfold, and finish, I found myself willing the beginnings of a romance to happen. A new kind of crush in rush hour.

It’s been that kind of week: one of beleaguering headlines and perfect, pink-streaked skies. I’ve found it hard to take myself out of the house at times, and I’ve also spent hours walking around the posh bits of town as the sun dipped. I feel a bit wrung out by it all. This issue was a blank page a few hours before it reached you, and I tend to take that as a sign of small overwhelm; I’ve usually written it long before then. There’s a lot to carry at the moment. I’m sure there is for you, too.

With that in mind, I’m sharing small good things this week. Nothing that will sit in your browser tabs for a week and then be desultorily closed days later (just me?) or demand too much of your time or brain. ...