THE FUSE

It’s a fine winter's morning, crisp and bright. It's the type of day that requires both gloves and sunglasses. I’ve just walked out of Belfast’s Grand Central train station. Through the mist of my evaporating breath, I can see seven labourers in high-vis jackets and hard hats completing the walkway outside the new station. Some are pushing wheelbarrows of stones; others use mallets to position paving slabs. Nearby, four taxi drivers stand beside their cars. One takes a drag on a cigarette while another discusses yesterday’s football results. There’s banter and cajoling.