The Grim Reaper was on my train today. He got on at Town Hall, and travelled with us until I got off at Wynyard, the next stop.

I'm not entirely sure what is more shocking. That the incarnation of Death is a stocky chinese man in a black plastic jacket, that his scythe is really a five-foot long cardboard tube with a blade coated in tin-foil, or that something as important as the cycle of living is being trusted to Sydney's public transport system?

Perhaps this is why World War Two happened? Hitler was scheduled to be taken early but on the day of his demise, the line was down due to track work.