Camulodunum Town

In spite of the persistent cough, the weariness caused by this cold, and the usual aches, I set off for a trip on the railway to an ancient city, Camulodunum!

Once again Greater Anglian Railways  worked well.  Trains were clean and on time, staff efficient, almost pleasant, though some would say the seats a wee bit hard.

The only downer was the two women, one young and one far from young who sat down in the seat in front of me.  The coach was empty so they sat next to me and talked!  Not just conversation, but grannie, who was dressed for a walking trip, and the painted hussy talked excitedly, enthusiastically, and said nothing!  

But they said it loudly!

I looked out of the window in case they turned in my direction.

It was indeed a very long 8 minutes before the train moved on the stroke of 10 am.  I looked forwards to 10 more minutes of this before we change trains.  However, the young creature left two minutes later at Freeport, clearly working in a shop designed for women with an arty feel and too much money.

Silence fell. 

The next 8 minutes were wonderful.  Only normal conversation could be heard through the now more populated coach.  As I pulled myself up to leave I noticed the walking grannie do the same.  As I alighted I ensured I moved to a distant part of my connection, which was full of normal passengers.  

Only a man asking for my ticket bothered me here. (£9:50 with old man card) 

One thing struck me, in days of old a job on the railways was for life.  Families followed their forefathers into the railways, it became part of the family.  I did not get the impression that many of the staff on the platform felt this way today.  Possibly drivers may have a different view of it all?

First call was to the ruins of St Botolph's Priory, built under the auspices of one William Rufus around a thousand years ago.  Reformation days saw it closed and soon it fell into disrepair.  However, to get there I had to pass St Botolph's Church, built 1836 in a type of Gothic style, next to the Priory, indeed it sits on what was the kitchen areas of said priory. 

I noticed this was open, it was not open last time I was here about 10 years ago, and now they open for prayer between 12 - 1 pm.  Good for them.

Considering the ruins are only half of the original size, people must have used the stones on their houses over the years, it speaks volumes of the importance of Augustinian's to William the Conqueror and his family.  Surely most houses at that time would have been plaster and lathe?  

Placed just outside the old Roman walls this must have been an astounding site for the locals, many of whom will have been forced to work on building it.  The Norman's liked to make a statement with their buildings.

Through what had once been a window, possibly making use of coloured glass, I saw this couple along with a man playing what I think is called a 'concertina.'  The couple stood over a grave or two and sang while he played.  I considered approaching and enquiring but thought better of this.  Who knows how long this has been going on in Colchester graveyards?  

The priory came to house many grave and vaults of the great and good.  One was Dr Roger Nunn.  He became a doctor in the town, rose to prominence, was involved in many good deeds, became Mayor eventually, helped the building of St Botolph's Church, and the hospital, which is still in use.  He gives the appearance of a man of ability who succeeded in improving the town for all classes.

There is of course, a war memorial in this graveyard.  The phrase 'The Glorious Dead,' reveals the sense of loss at the time, and the need to believe the cost was worth it.  It also gave those mourning somewhere to congregate as so many were buried overseas, or not identified.

The difference between Colchester and Chelmsford is simple, Chelmsford is boring, just a shopping centre, Colchester has these small roads full of shops.  The arrangement, caused by living inside the Roman walls gives the place a character not found in Chelmsford.  This long road, lying just outside what would have been the walls, has three names in different portions.  We are standing in Sir Isaac's Walk just now.  Who he?  In Colchester tells us...

 Sir Isaac’s Walk

Sir Isaac’s Walk was named after Sir Isaac Rebow (1655-1726), a local landowner who was Colchester’s MP for many years, and also its mayor, recorder, and high steward at various times. He lived in Rebow House, at the corner of Head St and Sir Isaac’s Walk.

The historical record shows that Rebow was a corrupt politician who left the town’s finances in a terrible state, and was cruel to his family and servants.

He was also a director of the South Sea Company, and a major shareholder in the East India Company. The South Sea Company was set up to ship enslaved African people to Spain’s colonies in Latin America. It is estimated that the company transported around 34,000 enslaved people over the 25 years it traded. The East India Company was also heavily involved in slavery and forced indenture in India.

He does not appear to be a nice man.  Still, Colchester named that section for him, what does that say about them?

I had no choice but to haul my bulk, in the heat, across to the Balkerne Gate!  This was the Roman exit heading west, passing my house as they tramped, hoping to spend the night at the crossroads in town, thus giving the troops a one day march, unless an emergency forced them to continue further.  

It is kept in decent condition, in spite of the publican next door sometime in the 1840s knocking half of it down.  This he did because the railway had arrived in Colchester, well, actually far from Colchester, at the bottom of the hill.  He made space so travellers could see his hostelry.  The station cannot be seen from here today however.  

I considered entering for lunch but noted his 'Pint £5:20' notice outside.  Possibly to keep students away, possibly for those attending the Mercury Theatre opposite and to the left of the photo.  They can afford his prices.

What once was used as the bothy for the Roman soldiers, mostly from Gaul or Germany, while on guard duty now hosts a couple of attractive plants, happy to live on the old stones.

St Peter's Church here at the top of North Hill, and you have to realise Colchester sits at the top of a hill almost all around, was mentioned in the Domesday Book in 1086.  The church was probably begun in Saxon times yet little is known of those far off days.  There were then two priests which reveals wealth, and the town had seven in all indicating other churches were nearby.  When the Priory got going it took over the church in 1102, typical big business, and appointed their own man in charge.  

Things changed over the years, buildings are developed, bits added, and in 1692 an earthquake shook the town damaging the tower and knocking chimney pots off roofs.  I do not think any were killed but shock upset many.  This church flourishes today but unlike St Botolph's, no longer remains open at lunchtimes.

Priests were a strange bunch, most followed where they were told to go but occasionally one appeared to believe the scriptures.   One such was John Ball, he was working in Colchester at times, though his somewhat radical sermons and his desire to make use to Wycliffe's bible in the vernacular caused much annoyance to the Archbishop and others.  

He was jailed several times, banned from preaching, but still managed to speak all around Essex and Suffolk, until jailed again in Kent.  In 1381 he was released by Kentish rebels and addressed the rebels at Blackheath saying:-

'When Adam delved and Eve span, 

Who was then the gentleman? 

From the beginning all men by nature were created alike, and our bondage or servitude came in by the unjust oppression of naughty men. For if God would have had any bondmen from the beginning, He would have appointed who should be bond, and who free. And therefore I exhort you to consider that now the time is come, appointed to us by God, in which ye may (if ye will) cast off the yoke of bondage, and recover liberty.'

 

Arrested in Coventry, tried convicted, hanged, drawn and quartered.  

I wonder what he would have made of the Church of England today?

Having noticed the £5:20 charged at the 'Hole in the Wall,' I lost any intention of having lunch.  However, the name of this pub made me  consider it again.  I mean, in Camulodunum you have to visit the pub called by that name have you not?  I considered the people sitting outside and decided it was worth a try.  I slunk wearily to the bar, a bar offering a dozen beer pumps featuring beer I had never heard off.  That's the trouble with pubs, unless you know the company running them you have to guess what beer is on offer.  The not too keen barmaid sulked when I indicated IPA, the only name I knew, suffering me long enough to give back change.

This is a decent, well laid out establishment, who's clientele appeared to be of similar age to myself.  It was likely that most were regulars, though the board across the way advertised cheap student drinks.  I suspect they may be drawn in come evening time.  If in town again I would once again enter in. 

I was happier to sit than I realised.  Everything was aching, from my feet up and my ears down, and I had only been wandering about for just over an hour.  Nothing for it but to sit there watching young students pass by.  Are these girls 16 or 18 I wondered?  Are they at the16 year old collage or the University the town boasts about?  There were many about, this being lunchtime, mostly female, few males, why?  I once got a single deck bus home, an hours journey, full of such females from the 16 years collage, their conversation is not what I wish to endure again.   

Enlivened by IPA, but not by enough, ought I to return for another?  I made my way to the castle.  On the way I noticed the M&S store had closed down.  Such a busy wee town yet both Debenham's and M&S have gone, I think Primark is the only large store left.  What does that say about the cost of living and big business competence?  

The Castle is of course not a castle.  It stands on the remains of the Roman Temple, supposedly the temple of Claudius, and the remaining double arches that form the basement were the only parts of the temple to survive that nice Boudica woman when she passed through.  The Romans and the Romanised locals who sheltered there were trapped when the place was burnt to the ground.  

Rather typical of a woman in a bad mood I say.  

It is £13:50, no concessions for the aged, to enter, so I didn't.  It is 20 or so years since I was inside, when I and one other whoever he was, got a tour by a Blue Badge Guide.  Very good it was too, and since then vast sums have been spent doing it up, hence the entry fee.  Mind you I was not capable of walking around there yesterday. 

The gardens around were busy, sun now shining without cloud cover, and judging it was getting time for a train I headed back down via all the charity shops along the way.  Sadly this was disappointing, though each and everyone of these shops was busy, as nothing suited my needs.  

I could not avoid this impressive war memorial.  The figures on it are tremendous.  The council at the time clearly considered themselves important enough to spend vast sums on an expensive and outstanding memorial to the fallen.  How much of that is civic pride as opposed to remembrance you can work out for yourself.  

I stopped off for a moment in St Botolph's prayer hour.  This lies just around the corner from the station, as indeed does the magistrates court in case you require it.  Then climbed aboard the train that had just arrived.

The railway crossing here allows a view of the old houses dating back many years that flow down from the East Hill.  Once the town expanded it had to go down these hills as the centre has little space.

It was then I realised I was not on my train.  I just climbed aboard, somewhat surprised at how quickly it left the station, before realising this train runs just between Colchester and Colchester Town.  No one warned me about this.  I was surprised and wondered if this could pay, however the number climbing aboard as I changed once again made it clear this was a popular train.  £3:10 single ticket, good for those coming off one train, and Colchester is a busy station,  and cheaper than the bus to get from north of town to south.  

Once again a short wait brought a 720 to head me homewards.  I moved to the head of where the train would stop partly to take pictures with no-one in the way, partly because the walking grannie was there also.   Anyway I positioned my self so the train at my next change would stop exactly at the lift shaft.

It didn't.  

It went two coaches further.

I made use of the lift, walked to the next one, kept the door open for a cyclist, again kept it open as he left, and moved to the front portion of my train which arrived as I walked.  All that was left was hobbling up that steep hill, finding food ready and waiting for me, and sleep, lots of sleep, oh and a bit of cramp.  

This morning I ache everywhere.  No trips for a while now.   

'Tales From the Fast Trains'

The premise of this book is simple, just jump on a Eurostar train at St Pancras and head off into a lovely city for a weekend break.  Great idea but not so easy if you are in Inverness or Blackpool.  It is also difficult if you have less cash than writers living the London high life.  Another difficulty is Brexit.  Since the book arrived in 2011 things re crossing borders have changed, travel now has hold ups not imagined at the time this book was written.

I already have 'Ticket to Ride' and 'From Source to Sea,' two of the authors other books, both of which were an enjoyable read, so I thought I would attempt this one also.  There was one slight flaw here.  A travel book is about travel, the places visited, and the peoples met.  Good writers, and Tom Chesshyre is a good travel writer, and his writing in this book when describing the places and people visited is indeed good.  However, on this journey he is accompanied by a female referred to at all times as 'E.'

This is where the book falls down.

Instead of travel writing this is a blog for family and friends about the couples weekends.  Weekends in which visiting places and describing the area in a manner which takes the reader into those places is replaced with a quest to see how many references to wine bars and their contents can be found.  Half the book, and I only got half way before I gave up, concerns wine bars and alcohol in various countries, the wine, beer and spirit being alongside details of her problems being more important than the city around them.  Travel brings problems but do we need to know all the minor ones we at home are already suffering ourselves?  

Paris, Lille, Dijon, Lausanne and Antwerp are alcoholic stops for the couple.  Now I confess little interest in visiting any of these places, and the writing does not inspire me, especially as if I were to follow the couple around my liver would need replacing by the time I returned.  In themselves some of the destinations may be worthwhile for a weekend or longer, however, I wonder about those who appear to notice the surroundings via bleary eyes.  I can remove my glasses and get similar pictures and save money.  

I confess I gave up in Lausanne.  His 'E,' may have been impressed by the despotic cleanliness, the views over the lake, and the expensive room, but her contribution lessened the effect of his writing.  It was possible to carry her long with him and stick to describing the places, instead he had to include 'E' in everything.  Very romantic, but poor journalism.  

Next time, I suggest he throws his baggage in the car, and drops her off at her mothers.

I do not recommend this book, but his others are worth a look.

Trailer...

 

Railway Station Silence

Williton WSR

Watching the station at Williton on the West Somerset Railway  it struck me how quiet railway stations can be.  Now I am hoping to visit one or two next week, I am being released for one day from this hermitage, and will travel by rail, not steam sadly.  Watching Williton I am struck by the silence.  

Normal railway stations of whatever size, follow a similar pattern.  People will stand about, at great distance form one another, looking at their watches and comparing what that reads to what the rail time indicator states.  They will follow this by glaring down the line in a bid to hurry their train.  Their journey may be for business or pleasure, the start or end of a holiday, or even just for a day trip to some town along the line.  Many and varied are their journeys. 

Others, and all platforms have at least one, stand at the far end of each, camera in hand, awaiting a train.  Many 'enthusiasts (I dare not say 'anorak') know what trains are running, their numbers, and possibly the drivers life story also.  I tend to keep aloof from such as they at stations.  

When the 11:47 arrives there is immediate action.  Passengers, sorry, today they are called 'customers' by rail companies, anyway, passengers move towards the doors expectantly, people tumble off, glad or not to be at their destination.  Movement fills the arena as bodies progress this way and that, luggage may be heaved on or off, children dragged in similar fashion mostly to stop them falling under the wheels.  A cluster ascend the stairs following the 'Way Out' sign, only those for the next, 4 mins late, train stand around once again checking the watches.  The anor enthusiasts discuss the departing '185' or '68,' and prepare for the next adventure.  

Suddenly it is all silence.

The last carriages disappear into the distance, a railway employee makes his way back into his office, all stands till.  Only the station cat moves, and that to be closer to the one woman sitting quietly awaiting the next train.  Station cats rarely belong to the railway, they live nearby and come into the station for company, and return home at eating times.  When one of the two station cats at Huddersfield passed away last year Twitter was full of tweets of condolence from those who have been subjects of the cat while waiting.  Some have fan clubs!

In the siding a pair of wagons stand tall.  No-one appears to know why they remain there, one day they will vanish and watchers will be none the wiser.  Now they stand silent.  Not to far from the station vehicles pass apparently ignorant of the railway.  They belong to another distant world.  A space surrounds the line, outside life continues, inside all stand quiet.  

For station staff there is always work to do, only a hand full operate a station today but in times past the station master ensured his men were always busy, and experienced men learnt how to look busy at quiet times.  

Silence reigns for quite a while.

Suddenly, as people begin once again to gather movement returns, platform staff wander about, in larger stations at least, passengers gather, the cat continues to dominate the public, and then in the distance a small object appears slowly heading this way.  

Again there is movement, noise of swishing doors, people speaking, seeking directions, shuffling towards the exit, then silence once again.  

I think I prefer the silence...

Saturday night, on Shed.

 

At the Station

As I have nothing to say, and some people like old foto's of railway stations, here is one from the past of Tunbridge Wells station.  Stupidly I have not noted the photographers name, which is not unusual for me, but it is a simple yet powerful photograph.  It certainly looks very Bert Hardy.

There is something about railway stations and railways in general that entice photography.  Possibly it is the light and shade as seen here, especially when done in Black & White images, and there is just so much to take pictures off.  

The stations and their environs, the buildings, some almost 200 years old, give opportunity for the camera.  The Sheds round the back full of items of which few understand their uses.  The wagons, the engines themselves, and those in Heritage railways give special pleasure when noted, make for super photography.  Add in the weather, whether bright sunshine or dark overhead clouds, a bot of steam or colour and a picture appears.  

The people also, if they do not notice you and belt you one, can give great pictures.  Excited kids or dogs, less excited mothers fussing around, bored passengers awaiting, the items carried and these days the dress sense, or lack of it, make pictures.  With Heritage railways it is mostly 'look a like' men, stomachs reaching out further than the camera lens they carry.  'People watchers' can enjoy large stations for hours.  

I must get on a train soon...

King and Privatisation

The Kings speech took place today.  I did not watch this, I was not invited so I gave it a miss.  This is where the royal comes in, sits on a throne, reads a speech written by his government and has to avoid muttering 'This is absurd!' at every other item.   I would indeed like to hear what Charlie thinks of the speech and the many words he has to proclaim.  I suspect he has already made clear to the PM his opinion of them all.  

Will anything much 'change.'

Some things will be pushed through in spite of obvious dangers, others will benefit the nation in some manner, other bills will slowly die and be forgotten as always.  Most will not affect most of us.  Not this time.  With a large majority of closed minded yes men behind them Starmer will mostly get his way.  Once again the much maligned House of Lords will provide the strongest opposition, and not just from the hundreds of Tory peers put there because of large donations.  The Lords can be a great opposition to governments, Thatcher's main opposition came from there, including Tory Lords.  I suspect more from the Lords now.

One good thing is rail nationalisation.  The greedy operators who took millions out of the railways and left an overpriced, confused system behind will not be missed.  The plan is to have a 'Great British Railways,' in operation soon.  This all sounds just right to me, but hold on, 'ScotRail' is owned by the Scottish Government, how will that ft in with the 'English' 'Great British Railways?'  Keir has not bothered to ask that one.  Railways, like buses, water, gas and electricity ought to be run for the sake of the nation, not private profit.  Way back when Birmingham's then leader Joseph Chamberlain, bought out the 'Coke and Gas Company,' nationalised it if you like, for the sake of Birmingham and saw production, industry and the town flourish.  Why can this not be done nationally with these things now?  There are many excuses as to why, but all come from those investing in these private companies.  It is time these important services to the nation were serving the nation, and come to think of it this includes the Royal Mail.  Let's get that back from Czech hands.

Wednesday Rumblings

Sometime ago I wanted to visit Egypt.  The history, tourist sites, heat and fancy foods all attracted.  Now, I canny be bothered going anywhere.  That said, Egypt, seen here from space, is an interesting phenomenon in many ways.  The ancient history, fancy writing, and those huge pyramids let alone the architecture built by pharaoh this and pharaoh that.  All worth viewing.  

Egypt today is once again run by a dictatorial regime, but can you run such a country any other way?  The vast majority of the populace are young, jobs few, conditions not good, and opportunities up and down.   What hope for the future outside of history?  That appears to be all Egypt produces.  There is agriculture, though whether any arrives here in the UK since the absurdity of Brexit I doubt.  There is Natural Gas, coal and oil, but the poor do not benefit, as 'trickle down' works in Egypt as well as it works anywhere else.  Some very rich Egyptians as well as very poor ones.

Now Islamic, once a powerhouse of Christianity with only vestiges left, and the Coptic Christians, going back many centuries, suffer needless abuse by Islam.  

Egypt guards the Suez canal, a wealth creator if ever there was one, and surely one of the most important waterways in the world?  We saw recently how one ship blocked the canal for a few days and disrupted China's economy by ding so!  

Egypt is a powerful nation in the region, a very large army which keeps itself above the rest.  Always ready to take over government when called upon, and even when not called!  

Egypt is well worth a guided tour if you can keep the hawkers away.

Tunbridge Wells Train Station. Photographer Neil Nevinson, 1950s.

Why is it that pictures like this, taken in the 1950s can be so simple yet so good?  If I try to take this picture it will be very different.  OK, the camera and lens will make a difference, but even so the fact that it is dated, black & white, and the outfits also of a differing age all present a view that varies from anything we can capture today.  

Adverts ought to have a special rate of tax added to them.  The more deceitful they are the higher the tax!  Take this one, three flimsy pathetic non foods, add a few pieces of rounded cardboard and wow, something worth looking at!  All lies!  And apart from what is in the meat, what is the cheese made out off?  We will not ask about the bun.

I got an email regarding the Gas today.  Like the recent Electric one it was forcing a new tariff upon me, a more expensive one, to save me when costs rise soon, while celebrating costs coming down now.  I smell a rat.  Indeed I went for the change, is there an alternative?  I checked the increases, all the while noting prices are falling yet my costs rise.  If the Labour Party was a Labour Party it would be bringing this nonsense to an end, but they will not.  It is clear that this Labour Party is for the  business word, thon billionaire who started 'Phones4U' (if that is the correct name) is now donating to Labour because they are for business instead of the workers.  A true conservative party!  

We have been taken over by a right wing coup, big business, often in the USA or Saudi have made use of the mess we are in to force the Farage's upon us, divide the nation, give us Brexit and now Freeports and SEZs.  Prices will rise, wages stagnate, more social problems lie ahead under Labour.  This may not affect Scotland so much but now we know how the SNP has not got independence in sight, in spite of the latest manifesto.  Deviants and weirdo's may be OK under the SNP but independence is far from important.  The middle class Scot shows his comfort lies in Westminster. 

Corfe Castle Rail

Lime St Liverpool 1954

Trapped indoors hiding from the bright sunshine, though I did risk this at 7:30 when I popped up to Sainsburys, I spent some time watching people at Corfe Castle Railway Station where 'Railcam' have now introduced a live cam.  This is a Heritage line, closed by BR years ago and reopened and worked by volunteers.  A Diesel show was on this weekend, something to bring in the crowds, and many men, and with the castle itself just above us for a visit many women also, camera carrying was in vogue.  I am jealous!

I was at the castle a couple of years ago with my friends from Bournemouth.  We struggled up the hill and struggled down again wishing we had visited the place 20 years earlier.  The view of the railway was a good one, naturally no train arrived until we moved on.  It was a good week however, and I decided then we must go onto that train when the steam is being used.  I then looked up the prices and we have been hesitating ever since.  Now she is not well this trip may not occur for some time yet.

The castle was well placed defensively, situated in the valley between to hills, on the road from the dock which had been used way back into Neolithic times, yes even your granddad was not born then, and the area I suggest sees more pleasure craft than working boats.  

Cromwell decided that it had to be blown up.  His worry was those opposed to him, those King lovers, would retake the place and make it a stronghold against him.  His dynamite worked well.  What also worked well was the locals removing stones to build their houses.  Many down in the town have indications of once being part of the castle, decorative pieces, names, etc.  Today these small cottages will cost you an arm and a leg, just as much as a railway ride!

Railway Station

The picture posted the other day came from this short film taken in Victoria Station sometime during the 1930s.  They say it is Victoria Station however I am convinced this is Waterloo Station at the time.  I could be wrong, this has been known before... 

The historical aspect is interesting, the outfits, the uniforms, the sailors piling of the train obviously from Portsmouth (I say), and the porters rushing to, I assume, the 1st class coaches for the tips on offer. 

Otherwise has there been much change?  

Obviously electric trains abound today, only one is noted on this film, the platform area has been renovated, signalling and information boards modernised, but overall the people, the attitudes, the waiting to go or for someone to arrive remains the same.  Few men are without hats, most have waistcoats, jackets and ties, more ladies have chosen not to wear hats than the men.  Do most appear middle class?  Many rush to the 'Third Class coach,'  It is remarkable that so few are seen smoking, few are eating anything, is this because only seated cafes were available then?  It certainly appears to be holiday season, and if going on holiday the sun ought to be shining, and so it is!  

Lovely to see the engines that arrive, they are used to push the outgoing service on its way.  I was not aware of any steep gradient on those lines, but I suppose we wouldn't notice with the trains today. 

The impression is not of a dirty, grime covered station of our memories however.  Liverpool Street always looked as if it was recently covered in grime, now much improved, Victoria I only saw when renovated, as with Waterloo.  Others may have differing memories.  

 

The film has been 'colourised' by 'Upscaled History,' which boasts a number of ages films they have treated.  Well worth a look.

WikiMedia

Quiet Day

Another day of joy and laughter.

A trip for bread, and a day watching a video of a train from Kings Cross to Hull.  What more could you wish for?  

The sun shone, on the video also, I fell asleep, and ate.

A busy day for me.

A quick look around revealed no news. 

However, that nice Man Vargas did score again the other night, that's two goals in two games, as he begins to adapt to Scottish football.  I told you he would be popular.

Wednesday Rambling Nonsense

 

It is to be regretted the way the cloud cover keeps changing.  One minute bright sun glints of the leaves opposite, the next a dim darkness falls and the leaves lose the sparkle.  Once bright green many are now turning golden as they begin to fall across the road.  Already today the greenkeepers have driven around in their wee vehicles, grass cutting mostly, but also shredding many leaves, either deliberately or by chance.

While a blue sky appears above the treeline all appears well, but we know this means soon the branches will be bare, the leaves biodegrading across the park, and a council worker driving another wee vehicle around the streets early in the morning attempting to scrub the streets clean.  Some hope.

I note the railways are already sending out those trains who's single job is to smear the line so trains do not slide past their stops because of the fallen leaves.  Some suggest cutting down the trees, others raise alarm at the thought.  Nobody is ever happy.

I've enjoyed looking at the swaying trees all day.  There has been no energy for anything else.  The weariness has reached a new height today.  Aches everywhere and tired limbs.  This is not unexpected, but it is worse than feared.  It will disappear overnight while I enjoy a deep brandy cocoa encouraged sleep.  

It is to be hoped that it is less tired tomorrow, then I can start the things I promised to do on Monday.  The 'to do' list sits here crossed out, but nothing actually done.  This of course is not unusual in this house.  There is a list of must do jobs, such as 'Spring Clean,' that have not yet begun, and routine work is haphazard without a woman to bully me.  

I bumble about emptying the sink of its contents, tidying up so I can make a similar mess again tomorrow.  All this eating each day takes up so much time.  I recall the announcements in the press of years ago promising a 'Pill' that would nourish us as well as a three course meal.  Sadly such wonders do not appear to have arrived.  Possibly they are all on space craft wandering around the earth feeding spacemen?  

The books pile up unread beside me, the biblical ones to the right, the others spread about.  It is just too much effort to concentrate for long.  I return to staring at the leaves, watching US trains arriving and departing noisily from railway stations in various parts of the US.  Most US trains are of course found in the US.  

This appears boring to some, and at times it certainly is.  However, for those scribbling notes to one another at each Rail Cam, it is a way of meeting friends, the subject becomes less important than the communication.  All appear happy, friends chat and greet one another in that kind US manner.  Happiness flows.

I rarely comment.

The situation regarding these railways reveals much about the US way of life and how they do business.  It makes the UK appear almost normal.  We see small towns with around a couple of thousand people struggling to survive in one state, while elsewhere a vast metropolis has miles of railways running through it, reflecting their history as well as their trade today.  

Of course they drive on the wrong side of the road.

The rush hour appears dead tonight, hardly anyone trundling slowly past.  All is speed, well, 30 mph, and all ignore the 20 mph side the county council wasted thousands on.  All this rush is wearing me out, time for bed...