Great World Wide Rail Almanac II: Derby

Hello and welcome back to the magnum almanac of my superior locomotive travel in and around the affordable range surrounding my house. Last time I spoilt the surprise and told you that today's station would be Derby. I wasn't lying. Here's Derby:

Being a capital city, you'd expect something pretty grand out of the station right? Well that's either the opposite of true, or they were hiding it real good. Ok, cutting to the chase; this was the most boring station I think I've ever had the fortune to depreciate. The concrete block of a floor really goes well with the monotonous steel girders holding up the roofing. Does science really explain the perfect parallel here between the people and the aesthetic of a town? Such pathetic fallacy surely proves a divine creation. Truly my visit to platform 1b of Derby station was a religious experience, if not an apostolic phenomena of life-changing proportions.

Really what you see is what you get. The photo says it all. No cycling. Broken vending machine. No smoking. No proper bike rack. Boring rail-side benches. Boring rail-side folk. Train. Rail tracks. Transportation. Connection. Communication. Community. Friendship. Marriage. Love. Life. Death. Heaven. Heaven. Heaven. Maybe this is heaven? It kinda looks like that place where Harry meets Dumbledore in the the Deathly Hallows part II. That was heaven I think? Wait that was obviously meant to be King's Cross, duh. I should go there instead, oh wait... Derby is bad. My feet hurt. I want to go home. How do I get home? Wait it's a train station! Perfect. Maybe Derby isn't so bad. Oh wait no there's guards freaking everywhere. What are they even guarding? Who knows and who frankly cares. Recommended to all those who wish to change here for somewhere that isn't here. Or for those wishing to find God betwixt the sepulchral tower blocks of Derby's streets. Next time I promise I'll go somewhere more coherent, and try to write something less characterless.

I say all this as if I know the first thing about Derby. To tell you the truth this was just a change over on the way back to Nottingham. I had all of an hour to wait and I wasn't going to pay the (probably) enormous toll needed to get a day pass into the city. But I'm sure its bad, don't worry.

PS- This was a short one. Expect my Nottingham station entry to be soon. Probably tomorrow. Not today though, I can't even bring myself to edit this one it's so awful. Oh well, it's not like that'd help much anyway. I need more Whiskey.

Great World Wide Rail Almanac I: Dorridge

Hi there. Welcome to the first entry into this, my august almanac of train stations. Time flies by when you're the driver of a train, eh? All aboard the fucking express please thank you; first stop is the closest stop to my house, Dorridge station  of County Warwick. It's pretty cool I guess, not really getting the point of the almanac though, it's meant to be about travelling to exotic climes on Romantic voyages of discovery and fun, but oh well, I gotta get the basics out the way and its a nice place to start with you know? Anyway here's a photo:

Pretty pretty yeah? Also hopefully the photographs will be a running gag in this novel since photography is cool, and proves I've been there too. Ooh look at that willow behind the bridge. Very nice yes.

Dorridge station consists of three platforms: 1, 2 and 3. Its got a ticket office, free toilets and even a bike rack. The ticket office is well known in the area for never being open, even though the ticket master is clearly sitting there behind the curtain. If you ask him to give you a ticket his typical response will be: “Sorry sir we're closed. Please use the ticket machine located on platform 1.”

At which point you sigh a sigh of relief that you can escape this awkward situation and move on; thank god for technology am I right? The ultimate saviour of the anti-socialite. But alas. The machine's fucking out of order. It literally always is. I'm not sure they are even trying to fix it. And so you gotta troop back to the station master and tell him what he so obviously already knows. Or not. You could just get on the damn train. They never check the tickets out here in the sticks anyway. Unless you're off to Moor Street; then just fuck you I guess. Basically the ticket machine doesn't work and who cares.

Hey look at that fucker in the photo behind the lamp post. He makes me laugh every time I look at him, He's either an under-age nonce on his way to his grandma's or a the village clown out for a jog. I don't know why, he's just funny. Also I just noticed there's a grit box there on the left. Why? There isn't another grit box for a dozen miles in any direction. Why on earth does the station need one? Talk about state oversight. Also tut tut, looks like there outta Metros. Sad!

Okay I'm back, I really needed a smoke and a hobnob.

The architecture is very nice. Real classic 19X0's stuff there. If I remember right the bridge was restored a couple years back and they never bothered to remove the scaffolding. If you look closely you can see it poking out over the hand rail. But seriously platform 2 has a really nice array of plant pots along the central divide. I'm upset I didn't get a good photo of them. My grandmother actually waters them as part of her duties in the village council. It's one of their responsibilities along with administering the mob judicial system and organising any current raiding operations on neighbouring parishes. Oh look another photo:

This one's taken from astride the bridge looking South towards where I was standing before. This one's got my signature shitty focus since I was too awkward to stand there and adjust the lens because an important looking man in a suit was coming up the stairs hurriedly and I'd hate to be seen to be a loitering youth. Hey look its the bike rack. Don't you see? Its obviously that collection of 12 blurred pixels in the centre of the image, wait that might be the car park. Also it kinda looks like it was raining from this photo. It wasn't.

Now under the administration of the Arch-Earl of Warwick and situated in the centre of the great forest of Arden (deceased), Dorridge station has a rich and long history of stationing many a train. I would even name it one of the seven wonders of the Dorridge-Knowle county parish; for the sole reason that I can't for the life of me understand how it managed to stay open through the great rail purge; divine protection or maybe consorted oversight? I'd recommend to all those who wish to leave or depart from Dorridge. See you next time for another super exciting entry into the almanac: this time the Gare Saint-Lazare of Paris. Wait no I meant Derby.