At 6.30 this morning, I was walking to the bus station, as I often am. I was going to work; there is no other reason to be going to a bus station at 6.30am. Checking in my coat pocket that I had my keys, I found a forgotten packet of Black Jacks, the formerly insensitively packaged aniseed sweets. Delicious.

I eat a few, and then as I get to the bus station, I fold the packet closed and put it in my pocket.

During the journey, I fancy another, but I cannot find them. I assume I have dropped them, and am disappointed, but there you go. I have a Kit Kat upon arrival at work instead; a Kit Kat goes better with a morning coffee anyway.

At 4.30pm, I finish work and wait for my bus home. It pulls up, and I walk to the back of the bus, but as I pass, I realise this is the same bus I had got on ten hours earlier. Exactly the same bus, which is no mean feat, as this is a frequent service; it runs every twelve minutes.

I know it is the same bus, because I can see the seat I sat on at 6.30am. I recognise the seat, because on it rests a packet of Black Jacks.

The very same packet of chewy sweets I had dropped earlier. The same folds in the packaging, the same number of sweets left in the package.

This is a busy bus service. The buses are frequently full; how can the same packet have stayed on the same seat for ten hours? Surely someone would have at the very least brushed them onto the floor?

What are the chances of me getting onto exactly the same bus from an entirely different stop later?

We’re through the looking glass, people.