they’ve been locked up for much of the last year. Many won’t survive, like this uni stalwart that reeked of stale ale on my last visit. The college want to convert. I was never a fan but it was a blaring and bright-lit marker on the cut through from the parks, a welcome corner of din in a too-quiet town. There are only a few other ghosts like me out on the frosty boulevard at 8am, shuffling by the dead pubs, reminiscing. There’s no morning buzz, no commute theatre, everything is pending. But the blossoms are out on the apple trees.