How The Days Pass

The inevitable mundanity of many days means that this blog will see repetition of themes which will become familiar to my readers. I am unapologetic. Such is the fabric of a life, the anatomy of an individual. These are the things by which we are identified. The sting of my own stupidity diminished but was embarassingly revived when I had to investigate a similar incident. My supervisory role and safety accountabilities can place me in the necessary but ironic role of expounding wisdom on a subject with which I am all too familiar. The upside of this mildly Kafka-esque scenario is that lessons are learned and safety, already maintained at very high levels, is further enhanced. At a more personal level I felt equally stupid yesterday to arrive at work and stop admiring myself long enough to realise that I was wearing changed suit trousers but the previous day's jacket. I felt like a Gok Wan nightmare and, in spite of having a particularly invigorating day at work, could not wait to get home to peel off my mismatched skin and avoid further (mostly imagined) stares. The previous day had been far more stressful as poor weather around the south gave rise to countless diversions. My fat, untoned body got a lot of exercise running round the Ops Room playing my part in sorting it all out. I have to say I later replaced the calories pretty effectively.

Whilst the temperatures slumped from surprisingly warm to rather chilly, the weather has been mostly quite nice. For some reason, mind and body have been able to survive with fewer afternoon naps and I have been driven to more and more photography. Driven literally, as Greg, with seemingly limitless patience, manages the car while I flit in and out of or sometimes linger at, occasionally awkward locations. With fuel costs soaring the most attractive of these need to be the nearest and that, fortunately, is the case with Eastleigh. At that minor railway mecca, a place much diminished but still full of clandestine vibrancy, I can regress to a lost teenage when my horizons went no further than, say, Salisbury. To my considerable gratification there is actually a notice displayed at the station  welcoming rail enthusiasts and outlining a few simple and reasonable requests. The works contain all sorts of treasures, many accessible only with a modern lens and then sometimes too elusive. Yesterday, refurbished D6515 manoeuvred provocatively out of range but there was still food for an incredibly capable modern compact in determined hands. There had been a less welcoming experience at the Chandlers Ford site of a recent (presumed) arson attack on buses. I suppose the victims were bound to be a bit reticent but I only wanted to know where the damaged vehicles and some vintage companions had moved to. I always find the phrase 'you could be anybody' faintly ridiculous perhaps because I am nobody.

Rain today was disappointingly persistent and a forecast clearance came too late to be useful. I had been disproportionately excited (or at least interested) to see that Stagecoach 33380 seems to have given way as Tesco (Havant) free bus to an Emsworth & District Dart. Beyond that, a rainy drive took me to consider Portchester station as a location for tomorrow's planned photography of 34067 'Tangmere' when it hauls a Three Bridges-Bristol railtour - assuming it gets from Southall to Three Bridges in the first place. It is difficult to think of much except Los Angeles at the moment but first there is TRUCE, an unavoidable imposition on my time but one which is easily turned into an enjoyable social occasion with some very likeable colleagues. Perhaps I shall take some cakes but keep my chilli coated peanuts to myself.......