Observations from 1V64 approaching Taunton

There’s nothing quite like a train journey to make you realise how blessed the UK is with scenery, and what an absolute blight the general public is thereon (present carriage occupants who may be reading over my shoulder excepted). 1V64 leaves Edinburgh at 1307 and by the time I joined it at Derby it had already been on the rails for four and a half hours (technically, having been formed from a service starting in Birmingham in the morning, it had been in near constant motion for almost 10). Already past was the beautifully rugged section from Dunbar, the impressive bridges of Newcastle, Northern cities of Durham and York. From Derby to Birmingham I was treated to the repetitive throb and rattle of both loose interior fittings and the various musical choices of my fellow passengers in glorious 360 degree surround sound, the sights of the breweries of Burton doing little to ease my growing irritation.

Blessed relief from the chart hits (played with remarkable clarity through airpods and my neighbour’s head) came at the circle of hell commonly known as Birmingham New Street – the carriage largely emptied and my tablemate was very talkative once the offer of tea was made and accepted. There passed a happy few hours talking about travel (hers in India, mine across Europe, both happily by rail) as our train trundled towards Bristol passing the gorgeous Malverns.

At Temple Meads I bade my friend goodbye and my luck with ran dry. With wonderful Great Western architecture to both sides we were held waiting for a driver on a late running northbound service, and a member of the public with a great number of opinions and a voice with remarkable travelling qualities boarded. As the train waited he entertained the otherwise peaceful carriage with discussions on solar powered battery banks, the correct way to consume a sandwich if you are unable to wash you hands, and into which specific bin a compostable carrier bag aught to be disposed if it is to fulfil its composty purpose. Across from me sits a delightful fellow in sportswear – beside me sit his Adidas clad feet. We are now approaching Taunton, with luck we will be treated to the most wonderful late evening sun as we promenade at speed along the coast at Dawlish. If I’m very lucky indeed Taunton has the correct bin to dispose of a compostable carrier, but I fear that it might even be Plymouth.

Post Script 1 – Departing Exeter St. Davids

Taunton does not have the correct type of bin but fortunately Exeter does. Thanks to Britons having a generally awkward attitude to turfing people out of their seats I am still sitting next to some trainers. The rightful seat holders are quite loud so this might yet prove to be a blessing, but I think I’d prefer loud conversation to the sound track of a Mission Impossible by way of headphones and skull and occasional kicks to the elbow.

Post Script 2 – Passing Tavistock Junction

All is well with the world. The light held just long enough to enjoy the view of the boats at Teignmouth.

2020 – New Year’s Morning – Half past two.

At the turning of the last decade I was sixteen,

My hair fell past my spotty shoulders,

Hipster before it was cool I listened to all my music on cassette,

Much stolen by you from Croydon record library,

Via quite expensive tape recorder,

Onto finest chrome oxide tape.

Three and one quarter of one year later,

My hair much shorter,

I sat by your bedside and sang to you as you died,

A weight of grief and responsibility,

Landed squarely on those still spotty shoulders,

Sending fault lines through my life.

In the intervening seconds between then and now,

I’ve lived and stretched and grown,

I’m now half the age you lived to be,

I’ve married the girl who talked over the Archers,

Got a job (railways you’ll be glad to know),

Though I’ve still not fixed the car.

This last year we bought a house,

Mum thinks you’d like it,

And finally all those nights spent fettling in number 27,

Fitting floors and building shelves,

All planned to the last millimetre,

Bear their fruit in it.

And now I’m two hours into a new decade,

The first of mine unmarked by your dancing,

Yet when ‘Le Freak’ opened the 70s show on the radio,

There you were with me,

Strutting across my mind’s kitchen,

V-neck and jeans and disco moves.

Nobody can say what tomorrow brings,

But I’m glad for every yesterday we had,

Because when I set to on my next big project,

Part of you will be there,

Passing me the next screwdriver,

Marking off the cut list.