Cas is currently
(I meant to blog this weeks ago, but hadn’t got around to it what with work, no network, being lazy, an all. So cast your minds back a few weeks to when I went back to the Homestead to pick up the Sofa *1*. This is the tale of part of that journey…)
Truly, you live in the deepest, darkest countryside when the train you take to get home is one carriage long. And I don’t mean by that one carriage connected to the train proper. I mean one carriage. The bit that makes it move is actually part of the thing. It’s tiny! I felt like such a fool waiting for it to pull out of the station the other week – like the driver had forgotten the rest of the train or something.
All around us were these trains longer than the platform going to exotic locations like London, Birmingham, Bristol, and there was me in a Hornby toy on platform 3b going to Westbury. For we didn’t even rate an entire platform to ourselves – we had to share the arse end of platform 3 with the 1115 to London Euston.
Truly, the Romance of Train Travel is dead.
Photographic evidence taken at great risk to life and limb (the guard was eyeing me suspiciously as I took them. Perhaps he thought I was a terrorist planning my next attack. Either that, or he was admiring my shiny new boots.) *2* As always, click to be taken to Flickr to see them full size with notes, and to comment and the like.
*1*Ok, turns out I never blogged about going home for the sofa. So just to quickly fill you in – I had a sofa in storage back at the Homestead, we needed a sofa in the flat and are skint, so I went home to pick up the sofa. The Crazy Canalman was an angel and drove me (and it) back here to Meadow Towers. End of story.Back
*2*If there are any censors reading this, I would just like to make clear that I am not a terrorist. Though apparently I look like one – every time I fly I get patted down by airport security. Once I was very nearly strip-searched. Again, that might be down to said security officers finding me hot, but somehow I doubt that’s the case.Back