Groundhog Day

I am living in the film Groundhog Day.

Except I'm not a television weather man and I've no interest in Andie MacDowell.

Since I started catching the train to work a few weeks ago, every day is identical - right down to the people I pass on my way to the train station. No kidding, it's becoming very weird. Every day I pass:

The two identical builder's vans, who pull out of the same junction in the road at the same time, so I always have to wait a few seconds before crossing.

The same three nursery nurses on their way to work. The one on the left always wears a face that says 'I'd rather be anywhere else than here this morning.'

The middle-aged woman chaining her bike to the park railing before heading into the park for an early morning run.

A different middle-aged woman (I'm beginning to think they're the only ones who like to get up so early) walking her little black terrier-like dog. Sorry, I don't 'do' dogs so it could be a Giant Blood Retriever for all I know.

Mr Telegraph - older man carrying the Daily Telegraph under his left arm and a miserable look on his face.

Mr Guardian - older man carrying the Guardian under his right arm and a gentle look on his face - like in the Werther's Originals advert.

(I think they should get together over morning coffee and have a animated political debate)

Mr High Visibility Jacket - younger man who carries the same Farmfoods bag (don't all nutters?) and wears a yellow hi-vis jacket and waves to people who aren't there. I quite like him, he seems the happiest out of us all.

I've even began, unwittingly, to sit in exactly the same seat, in the same train carriage every morning, pulling out the same flask of coffee. If I didn't bring out a different book every week, I would be seriously worried.

I think I might be in a Lost-type experiment and there are hidden cameras everywhere - and a bloke sitting on a desert island somewhere recording all my moves.

Or maybe the people above all just leave their house at the same time I do every morning.