A small, curly-haired girl looks fierce behind the wheel of a coin-operated car ride in the Dee Why Grand. Riding shotgun, a pre-toddler senses that things are getting out of control, and stares in mute appeal at their mother.

A young bloke hurries past the row of cafes, tearing open a bag of carrots with his teeth. He pauses, wrestles a carrot free and continues on his way.

Mother with stroller abandons toddler with curls at the top of the stairs, striding away without a backward glance. Toddler with curls takes on the challenging descent alone. Mother with stroller u-turns onto a ramp, and they meet up again at the entrance to Woolworths.

A Noisy Miner joins me, perching on the back of a spare chair and eyeing my plate. It leans forward, poised for action, but rejects my offer to shake hands and moves to another table.

A girl with dreadlocks to her waist is gadding about Dee Why. She sits outside at a cafe. She walks into Woolworths with a friend.

A woman sits on the bus beside a red leather overnight case. From a bag in her lap, she stealthily transfers potato crisps to her mouth.

At Sloppy Tee’s, a woman sweeps one-handed with a fan-shaped broom.

A man on the bus has his laptop open, text on the left, columns of red and blue cells on the right. He’s looking out the window.

A swarthy man in his forties squats impossibly, studying his phone, the hem of his suit jacket scraping the platform. Beneath the jacket he wears trainers and a pair of shorts. He has a white baseball cap.

After the heat and glare of the open tracks we enter a tunnel near Central, and the walls close in. The windows are black. They show us what’s inside.

A man sits on the bottom step of Platform 5 at Wynyard, chin in hand, eyes unfocused. When the train pulls in he stands slowly, boards slowly, slowly descends to a seat on the bottom level. He takes a phone from his pocket and sags.

Two elderly walkers are about to board at the back of the bus when the door wheezes shut in their faces. Their hands fly up. They look surprised. They get back in line.

A woman sits down on the top deck of the B1 and immediately attacks the woman in front, giving a tug on her curly hair and waiting. She tugs again. And again. The woman in front turns slowly, with a look: irritation, apprehension, uncertainty. It morphs into a grin and both women squeal in delight. Friends.

At Redfern Station a temporary hoarding blocks part of the footway. A sign on the hoarding says: “Move along from the narrow platform. Thank you for keeping the trains moving.”

A young woman walks from George Street into Dymocks with her phone held rigidly in front, videoing everything her eyes can see. Between the central shelves she turns aside and zooms right in on the cover of Spare, by Prince Harry, lingers a moment, then resumes her fully-documented expedition.

A woman propels a stroller one-handed down the steps from McDonalds on George Street. Her other hand wrestles for control of a take-away cup, her opponent a small boy who is screaming “Nai! Nai!” over and over again. As the last wheel hits the footpath she stops and releases a string of loud, angry, fast-moving European sounds.

The end of a very long bus line at Wynyard stands in the blazing sun. A small, compact man waits nearby in the shade, his chest heaving slightly as if he’s under stress. He has a child-like face and bright eyes, set among the winkles of a middle-aged man.

The moment his claimed position has reached the shade, he steps back into the line.

A man on Spit Hill risks injury in the cause of anecdote, gesturing with so much energy that he’s on the point of falling over. He braces one foot behind, and lowers his centre of gravity.

A tiny dog-walker walks a tiny dog past a bus stop in Collaroy. The walker is a girl of perhaps three years, possibly less, in a pink dress and a bucket hat. The dog is a minuscule Sydney Silky in a mood of relaxed exploration. Each seems surprised, now and then, to discover their connection.

“The French are always wary of anything that seems simple because ‘we are so intelligent.'” French journalist Anne-Elisabeth Moutet, speaking on the Telegraph UK’s podcast, Ukraine: the Latest.

A blue Toyota Yaris stands in the shade with its engine running. Air-conditioned. The driver is horizontal with a grin, talking on the phone.

One of four men strolling together voices a question: “What benefit is it then to hoodwink the public?”

A big black standard poodle stands regally on the steps with its human. Small dogs passing by are transfixed. A little brown fluff ball drags on its lead, complies, turns back, sits down in protest, and finally has to be carried away.

A black Pomeranian puppy is exploring Dee Why with its human. Everything is new and wonderful. It stops and looks and sniffs. It gallops to catch up, front paws rising and falling together, like a tiny, fluffy rocking horse.

A woman slowly pedals down the pedestrian way in Dee Why and crosses Howard Avenue. The front half of her bicycle is a big rectangular box containing her daughter, who relaxes at the front and watches the world pass by.