Roadworks.

Setting off in the moment between the doors shutting and the guard’s bell could leave the signal ahead at red for good: at Saundersby, back at Kettleby, or at the level crossing.

What’s changing. The brakes stay on till the bell, and moving off gives the right away anyway.

Riding the bike, the view swung round at the slightest turn, and the steering was slow to answer, so it was easy to miss a turning (and a bit dizzying).

What’s changing. The view stays put while you ride, the steering turns properly, and Settings → Controls lets you choose a camera that follows slowly instead.

Empties could only be picked up from one side of a table, the glass washer was fiddly to reach, and the lemonade could get picked up when you meant to pull a lager.

What’s changing. Empties come off a table from any side, the washer’s easier to reach, and whatever you’re facing is what you get.

Your brother could say how great it is you get to drive the bus, even if you’ve never set foot in the depot.

What’s changing. The family talk about the jobs you’ve actually worked, and Mum and Dad mention both if you’ve got two on the go.

If Maureen went off you for something else (walking past her step, or her putting your bin out), the street chat could say you’d let someone down on a favour you never had.

What’s changing. What she says fits what actually happened, and walking past while you’re on an errand doesn’t count.

The departures board in the booking hall showed <br> where it meant to start a new line.

What’s changing. Proper line breaks, and the last train out shows as 22:12.

The frame rate readout counts slow frames as “hitches”, which looked like something left over from the bus job. It wasn’t broken, just badly labelled.

What’s changing. The readout says what each number means, and a tap hides it.

A few weeks in, Maureen, Rosa, Jackie and the rest kept coming back to the same few lines, and the street chat went round in circles.

What’s changing. Lots more to say for every situation, nothing coming round again too soon, people mentioning what you’ve been up to, running jokes in the street chat that carry on from week to week, and walkers who say hello back.

Every set of lights had a camera, and it could flash you for nosing over the stop line, or for a light that changed just as you went. Then a £50 fine.

What’s changing. Only some approaches have a camera (look for the yellow box on a pole), you’re only caught if you carry on into the junction on red, and the fine’s £20.

Indoors at Rosa’s, the pub and the Tandoori, the see-through circle that follows you sliced chunks out of the tables and chairs nearby, and there was nothing in there tall enough to hide you anyway.

What’s changing. No circle in those three, and the camera button turns the room a quarter at a time, as it does at home.

After dark, customers’ order bubbles and your pets’ thought bubbles glowed white like the street lamps and were hard to read.

What’s changing. They stay a plain, readable white at night.

Everyone sat down in the Red Lion lifted their glass at exactly the same moment, like a synchronised swimming team.

What’s changing. Everyone sips in their own time.

Kettleby had the same cars and people out all night as in the middle of the day, so the small hours never felt like the small hours.

What’s changing. The town fills up for the morning commute and empties out gradually through the evening, down to a few cars and the odd walker in the small hours, with more about on foot when the pubs empty on a Friday and Saturday.

Mum, the street chat and everyone else kept pinging your phone in the middle of a shift, just when you were busy.

What’s changing. Natter holds your messages while you’re working and catches you up quietly once you clock off.