*Please note: Contains adult themes and material which some people may
find offensive*.
Date: Tues 1st October 2019
Location: Grand Central Railway, Loughborough.
Specifically: Making like Captain Nemo staring intently out of the viewing window of the Nautilus searching for the Kraken or other unpleasant sea beasties (or at least that’s what it seems like in this piss pouring rain!)
Retired to bed following a deep conversation with my lovely friend Stephanie when I hear lots of banging around - like someone, in defiance of the laws of gravity, was physically walking on the panels of the moho and the roof as well. I made the mistake of gazing up at the skylight - never a good idea because it is way too easy to imagine something ghostly and horrible like a shrouded figure, the face of a demon or Jonathan Ross.
I took little notice of the noise at first, figuring it was probably just my next door neighbour. Until it occurred to me that I don’t actually have a next door neighbour! (yes I know I’ve said this before but after living in a traditional house for (1) 99.9% of my life a moho takes some getting used to).
Looking through my window I could see no evidence of a caravan, moho or even a car but then, given that lighting was at a minimum - actually there was fuck all - that’s hardly surprising. More mysterious was the fact that there is only one entrance to the station and that was locked and bolted - ironically for security reasons!
Contacted another friend, Alex, who I have known since he was a teenager. Big mistake, relying on him for support is like depending on Kleenex to hold back the waters of Lady Bower. (For those outside the Peak District I refer to a reservoir, not some intellectually challenged bint who has informally relieved herself following a bout of hilarity).
Look at this for ‘support’...
Moi: “Fuck Alex there’s somebody creeping about outside” “and I’m in a deserted railway station” “I thought it was neighbours until I realised... “I don’t have any” Alex: “Empty your bog over them”
See - useless - and I never learn; I could do an entire blog on Alex’s ‘Supportive comments’
OK this rain is officially getting scary now - the late (and very great) Terry Pratchett once described a torrential downpour in one of his books as “like the sea with slots in it” I can think of no better description. The fact that I’ve heard rumours about a danger of flooding in the area does nothing to alleviate my fears.
Fortunately the rain dies down and the sun makes an appearance so after lunch I decide to have look around the station, firstly to clear my head because I was struggling for craft ideas and secondly, to enjoy some of the surroundings. The latter is frequently a problem for a trader - on the one hand trading in steampunk accessories takes us to some splendid venues; railway museums, industrial Museum, meeting steampunk celebrities etc. But the problem is that despite all this splendour it is difficult, if not impossible to see any of it in the way that a visitor would. Sure there’s often a fair bit to see in your immediate vicinity but it’s still only a fraction of what’s on offer.
One of the advantages of living life on the road - and one of my many aims was to stay in the vicinity of whatever steampunk market I had just attended. In this way I would be able to stay and take in the culture of a location if not the actual steampunk festivities themselves. This is what I was looking for today.
Before I actually ventured out I just sat for a moment on the step descending from the moho. The weather wasn’t at its best but it was OK. As I sat I gazed out at a point about 10 yards away - a point that held virtually zero aesthetic interest consisting as it did of two virtually hidden railway tracks and a sizeable acreage of tarmac. But my fascination wasn’t based on any structure/statue/steam engine etc that it did contain my fascination was for what it didn’t.
It didn’t have the house with number 16 on its door (the home of my last next door neighbour), it wasn’t filled with their vehicles taking up every available parking space, there was no sign of a garage that hadn’t seen a car in thirty years and very best of all was the absence of the; miserable, petty minded overweight, pasty faced looking lump of shit that ever disgraced a housing estate. This nasty, repulsive and arrogant little nose beetle who was to neighbourliness what The Klingons were to reading Noddy to the under three’s.
Before approaching the gate that crossed the railway leading to Quorn and Wedgwood station I chanced upon three individuals - a mother, husband and a son who, while waiting on the platform, had recently engaged me in a long monotonous tale about how they had purchased a train set from a car boot sale. By the time they had finished they were moving off up the platform and were now involved in an enthusiastic dialogue about a milk churn while I was left with a sore brain and a numb arse. It occured to that it wasnt just steam engines that have a tender behind.
Later in the day, whilst wandering about minding my own business I saw these three individuals approaching from up ahead. Eager to avoid what I knew would be a long running (2) conversation about trains, engines, railways, timetables, the age of steam, history of Grand Central Station and all manner of associated train paraphernalia I tip toed round the back of what appeared to be a police box from Dr Who!!! Wowsaz!!! Except this thing was rather wobbly, made out of cheap plastic and did not appear capable of space travel - unless you count a 90 degree following a waft from a slight breeze. Then it occurred to me - the distinctive smell of air freshner mixed with fresh dung. I should have known - a portable shithouse.
I barely had time to think "that was a lucky escape" when I heard the lady of the group shout “ave you lost something?” I searched around for a non-existent contact lens in order to avoid telling her I was trying to avoid her and her clan. It worked - up to a point - but from thenceforth was obliged to listen to a ‘conversation’ about trains, engines, railways, timetables, the age of steam, the history of grand central station and all manner of associated train paraphernalia.
Having said that I did discover one or two items of interest. That the station wasn’t just a museum it also ran a regular services into Loughborough and the surrounding areas! Imagine that - nipping to the shops and back via steam locomotive! I also found out they covered areas as far afield as Swithland!! How marvellous! This means that at the end of your journey, and if you had the energy, you could get to; Germany, France Italy, Austria and Lichtenstein! (Or was I thinking of Switzerland?)
(1) The missing 0.1% relates to a couple of chilly evenings in the back of a Renault Kangoo van, a night in a taxi office after my ‘friend’ locked me out of my hotel room! sleeping in a tent on a football pitch and cowering in a shitty bedsit in a red light area while a group of people were threatening to kick the door in and stab me in the face. Have to laugh though don’t you?
(2) Apologies dear reader for the term ‘conversation’ implies that the neighbours actually paused for breath to allow me to get a word in. They didn’t
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