My lack of blog has been due to a few days away - firstly in London, latterly in Scotland. It was like a very low-budget Michael Palin adventure. And that included the trains.
Ah the trains. The trains. When I was young the trains were an adventure. I grew up in Devon so the trains to me were the route to adventure, the connections to the world, the only real way I could run away to Tiverton if I every felt so inclined (I didn't, I had a ZX Spectrum so was quite happy).I was obsessed with trains from an early age. Apparantly I had train wallpaper which, when I had a fever at age 4, I hallucinated that they were coming off the wall at me. Nowadays I would hallucinate they were delayed by a shortage of staff or didn't have an at-seat trolley service until Peterborugh.
I loved them so much I wrote to the Rev W Awdry, creator of The Railway series of books which latterly became known as Thomas the Tank Engine and friends. That later rebranding always rankles with me, as Thomas was a bit of an idiot really and never truly the star in my eyes.
Anyway, my point is that I used to love trains, there was a romantacism to them - a beauty and majesty. Sadly, as I've got older they've just become a source of frustration, something I remembered as I stood in Kings Cross on Sunday morning watching the boards as my train - along with no others - pulled in during a 45 minute period. Trains as an adult are rubbish. Less about travel, more about survival.
My train nightmares over the years have included having a viola dropped on my head, sitting next to a man who spent 3 hours flicking through several pornographic magazines (presumably for the articles) and, on Sunday, being told that the ticket I had booked in advance - whilst correct for the train - was for over 65s only, so I had to pay more. I did think for a minute saying "I am over 65" to see his reaction, but from the look of the ticket inspector he had left his personality at home that day.
Yes, trains. The sooner we get jetpacs the better.
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