. . . is not as easy as it looks. The Bear often escorts me home from the station on his scooter. A scoot-scoot-scoot-scooter, not a Vespa. At rush hour, with the roar of traffic, I still have to lipread to a certain extent, but lipreading a fast-moving object receding into the distance is a different ask altogether. It’s just a blur of lips – just like whizzing past a station and trying to read the platform sign.