I am writing this on a train to Edinburgh, slowly cooling off from the oppressive heat of the last week in London. People have been known to comment that I am a slight train obsessive (it’s genetic). Not in a standing on the end of the platform noting numbers sort of way, but due to my curious enthusiasm for travelling by train, and my rather odd preference of stations and routes. I am not ashamed of this, well not any longer; I can’t think of a better way to travel. It’s green, the views are great, and on the East Coast mainline there is free WiFi. Yes, to some people my preference for changing at Preston rather than Lancaster, and my ability to reel off all the stations on the Fife Circle might seem sad, but when you travel by train as much as I do, you learn to love it. Plus, I know the exact spot on the platform to stand on at least 5 stations across the country in order to end up in front of the door when the train stops.
Now that is sad!
(Title is from The Night Mail by W H Auden)