He glared down at the printer – it seemed it had misinterpeted the sunshine as holiday, and decided today was the day to keep its thoughts to itself, as it spewed page after blank page. No juice, no ink! Or invisible words? Rebellion? No, probably not, PC World didn’t sell enchanted printers. Probably. He was on track to be late for a train he could not miss: he gave up on the documents, scrambled his belongings, jumped on his bike and shot onward to the station. He would just have to make up the reading, or find it later, or fake a terminal illness, or something. At the very least, without the distraction of an academic jungle in his lap, he would be able to enjoy the summer’s view.