Discussion in 'transport' started by hipipol, Feb 11, 2019.
Does still exist it seems....
not on the 5.50 from waterloo it doesn't
Kipling thought so ......but then he did not have to use Govia Thameslink railway and a class 700 unit.
Romance!" the season-tickets mourn,
"He never ran to catch His train,
But passed with coach and guard and horn --
And left the local -- late again!"
Confound Romance!... And all unseen
Romance brought up the nine-fifteen.
Don't go writing song for The Kinks. You would ruin their paradise.
I still love travel but I've lost a lot of the romance. I think what killed it for me was 2012 that year we came back from Sudan and visited nine different countries and literally just drove around Europe completely aimlessly. Because we had no plans about where we would go or stay we just went to places. Unfortunately there were so many we don't really have any real memories of anywhere.
Evil cunt, White Mans Burden Eh
Why you quote him, you debased racist cunt?
Do you think it might become a tiny bit tricky if no-one was allowed ever to quote from anyone who held some unpleasant views?
Pretty sure that people can quote from whoever they like but it's not always going to advance their argument using dodgy sources. Imho, of course.
Back on topic and I do love a good train journey. I always bring a book for the long ones but usually end up staring out the window, instead and drinking it all in.
I usually bring a bottle, and drink it all up
But I don’t suppose you’ve actually read any. Just make drunken prediudiced statements based on no evidence as you do about three times a month.
East is East for example, the entire point of that poem is equally and respect.
Sorry about that,I rather like Kipling and have read much, though it would appear that last night, for some reason,I took some strange and deeply offensive posture I wish I could undo
One feels reluctant to add poetry on this topic , however , in the spirit of reconciliation.
A Local Train of Thought
by Siegfried Sassoon
Alone, in silence, at a certain time of night,
Listening, and looking up from what I'm trying to write,
I hear a local train along the Valley. And " There
Goes the one-fifty", think I to myself; aware
That somehow its habitual travelling comforts me,
Making my world seem safer, homelier, sure to be
The same to-morrow; and the same, one hopes, next year.
" There's peacetime in that train." One hears it disappear
With needless warning whistle and rail-resounding wheels.
" That train's quite like an old familiar friend", one feels.
Separate names with a comma.