Train of death

On Thursday engrossed in The Old Curiosity Shop I looked up to see which station the train had reached (Fulham Broadway) - I've missed stations before now when swept away by a good novel. Though the upside of that is that I spend more time on the train reading. But then, I glanced around to see what everyone else was reading. And everyone I could see, everyone, was reading a book about murder. Some were crime capers, some were thrillers, some were about serial killers thwarted by the timely actions of troubled, but decent, men. But all of them involved death, mutilation, stabbings and murder. Usually on a grand scale. Odd. Usually there's some chick lit or a classic in the mix but not today. Perhaps that's the primer you need on the way in to work on a weekday. Just before Christmas.