(mostly) first person poetry, prose & opinion
The EWS logo on the side of a train the other night caught my eye: it seemed so eminently traditional that I felt it must belong to the era of nationalised railways and navy blue quilted anoraks.
Having looked it up online, though, I find the company is only twenty years old. I also find that what I think of as an anorak probably bears little resemblance to the original Greenlandish garment.
Continue reading “transports of delight”
Perhaps it was more of a steam engine than a locomotive but, from the angle that top photo was taken from, it was certainly plum-coloured.
Its trimmings were in other shades, though, including the most glorious scarlet wheels with black and yellow detailing:
Continue reading “plum loco”
When I was out walking the other day, I came across this lovely angle, where the Grand Union Canal crosses the railway track.
Initially, I thought of Frost’s “two roads diverged in a yellow wood”, but that wasn’t quite right, as there were no steps down to the train line so I had to keep following the towpath, whether I wanted to or not.
Continue reading “let me count the ways”
The problem with taking photos at a classic car gathering is not just the hordes of people who jostle your elbow or wander absent-mindedly into the frame.
Even when you get there before anyone else, there are far too many polished surfaces: you end up as the main feature of at least half the pictures you take, which might not be quite so bad if the surfaces didn’t act as distorting mirrors.
Another problem is that too many of the cars there are altogether too familiar and you start to reminisce…
Continue reading “squaring the circle”
When I don’t know what to write, I usually find a picture to post. So, not having got up early enough this morning to take any worthwhile pictures of the first snowfall of the season, I went browsing through recent photos and came across this image taken a few weeks ago at the re-vamped New Street Station, Birmingham. 
Continue reading “passing time”
Cars crouch low, jealous
of their shadows
A swallowtail dallies
among flower-bright trash
Wasps crawl terraza tables
where frosted glasses stood
Stray dogs sprawl
laughing in the heat
The city trembles
Yesterday I wondered whether the dusty old magic carpet could still fly. Shortly after posting, I realised it didn’t really matter if it couldn’t, as I found this marvellous creature, who offered an equally valid mode of transport for any flight of fancy I might want to make:
