I do appreciate the notion of ‘First World Problems’ and that there are parts of the world where trains can run days late, if they run at all. But for Christ’s sake, Northern….. at this time of year particularly (‘leaves on the line’ plus the cold snap of the last couple of days). This train was due to arrive in Manchester at 10:01, so there went the first twenty minutes of my 11 o’clock.
We were passing through York station today when this impressive hunk of metal pulled in on platform 9, and we were almost crushed in the stampede of trainspotters and steam enthusiasts which greeted it. But it’s a photogenic object, so I joined the crowd for a minute or two. The Sir Nigel Gresley, named after the engineer whose oversized statue now stands at King’s Cross, holds the post-war steam speed record of 112mph — and unlike Mallard this speed was achieved not on some specially organised run but with a train full of passengers. And it arrived more punctually at York this afternoon than any of the other train companies’ services.
An early morning derailment at Shap, in Cumbria, meant the West Coast Main Line was completely closed. Fortunately we were heading south and not trying to get to Scotland, but I suspect this gentleman was one of the many people in Preston station this morning for whom that was the intended destination.
With the main rail line through Huddersfield closed this month — apparently it’s an ‘upgrade’ though that could mean anything — services are being routed along the Calder Valley line and adding further pressure to an already-creaking system. I was not supposed to have 20 minutes or so of hanging out at Rochdale station today, but here it is.
The tower over there has always impressed me — the building used to be a fire station, so presumably this is an observation tower, from the days before 999.
Apologies to this stranger for the somewhat unflattering portrait, but it’s a picture of myself, really: particularly as I was feeling on the train into work today. At least the summer holiday is now clearly in view ahead.
You can see where I was when this was taken. Newcastle marks more-or-less the halfway point on the rail journey between Dundee and Hebden Bridge, at least in terms of time taken. I just like the shape she makes and the way the pink jacket in the background sets off the rest.
This is the fifth photo of one or other of the Forth bridges to appear on here, and all apart from one (17/8/2021) have been taken while moving, usually on a train though the first one was an exception, as I was a passenger in a car on that occasion. Meaning none of them have been of the rail bridge: when on a train, all you get to see of it are some close-up girders. Anyway, I am sure this is a terrible photograph in some ways but in other ways I quite like it. It looks like something ephemeral, maybe three stupendous maypoles lined up over the estuary.
The last time I posted a picture taken in Scotland was from the crossing of the Forth on 30th May last year. I crossed it again today, and nearly went for the same theme: whether one uses the road or the rail bridge, the views are invariably excellent. But this one isn’t bad, either, about half an hour further along the journey towards Dundee — and towards sunset. I think this was taken from somewhere near Markinch station; somewhere in Fife, anyway. What’s the building? No idea.
Once again, I am off somewhere different, mainly because it sustains my interest in this blog, the world, life, etc. Leg one ended at Leeds railway station, where this is taken. It occurred to me while sitting waiting for my second train to depart that I had the chance to capture this incognito shot of the driver getting ready to leave on platform 9 next door. The ‘pastel’ scribblings to the left are then the latest reflected self-portrait. Possibly, then, this is a terrible photo, but I’ll move on.
Onto the 7:56 from Hebden Bridge we pack, a cattle truck most days. But the physical intimacy doesn’t mean social contact. Taking photos in these circumstances is some kind of transgression, isn’t it? But wrapped in their worlds, no one noticed.
Being 42 