Today was a perfect summers’ morning. As I stood at the station and looked down the tracks, York was a blurry mass of spires rising out of the haze. The sky was a gentle blue with soft cirrus clumps spread sparingly along the horizon. The air was still cool but with that little weight that suggests a hot day to follow. As we passed through the countryside, the fields and foliage was still lush, fresh after last night’s storm. The cracks in the tracks were still deep, but the ground looked less parched. By the time we got to Leeds, the sky was swathed in an altostratus veil, as if the city was generating so much smog that the sun was obscured. Under the clouds it was humid but not muggy – the hot air currents sweeping up the car exhaust up to the building tops.