I feel like I’m filled with helium as I exit the carriage, my shoulders no longer slumping under the weight of twenty-odd bags. I search for the ‘Northern Line’ signs and follow them into a tunnel-like corridor that looks disused. Its surface area is covered in green paint, giving it a look of a camouflage room or some ancient jungle temple. For a moment I pretend that – despite the people surrounding me – I am alone and am discovering this tunnel for the first time, imagining myself finding a golden monkey in one of the doorways. I look sideways at a guy walking beside me and see his eyes gazing around in wonder, and a part of me knows that he is in the same imaginary world as I, and that we are exploring this new temple together but – as always in London – so apart.

The mysterious corridor ends too soon and I find myself once more in the normality of the station, waiting for the next train. The guy is beside me and we talk about Zelda for two minutes before the train rolls in and we don’t sit together.