Invented languages lurk in your neighbourhood.

I exit onto the inevitably crowded platform, like a horse jolting from its holding pen. I walk with purpose up the stairs, playing dodgem cars with every other dreary-eyed student. My sight is blinkered, my hearing thoroughly censored by the angsty, MySpace-circa-2004 tune playing through my earphones. Today is a smooth run. My Opal card…

But the University is sure there ain’t nothing to see here, reports Max Chalmers.