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.
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