On the slow line…

It is Sunday. I don’t have a blog post lined up, instead, you have me, ‘live’ writing this about ten minutes ago…

Chester, June 18th 1996. 508124 with the 0649 Chester-Liverpool Central while 31229 waits with a nuclear flask wagon for Trawsfynydd Nuclear Power Station. Matt Taylor photo (https://flic.kr/p/2j2UHDe)

I enjoy the house quiet on a Sunday morning. I’m graced with both dogs presence, their gentle snoring soothes, slows a busy mind. Radio 4 ‘Sunday Service’ gently burbles, almost inaudible in the kitchen. A blanket wraps me up, I’m peaceful and reflective.

The work week flies by, family life is busy with much more than many could imagine. My mind is wired however it is; I operate on the fast line most of the time - racing from one task to the next without head space for much else. So the relief of the slow line is palpable, letting those thoughts loose, watch them speed past and away. For here I can recognise my lack of progress on various personal projects for what it is, just a lack of progress. Not some catastrophe, no judgment of my abilities, not a disappointment for the thronging crowds of blog readership. 

Those trains are gone.

I’m left ambling along behind a Dutch liveried 31, slightly tired, revenue earning nearly behind me but still important - and someone will delight in seeing me trundle past, listen to my rambling and thoughts even if they share nothing other than an EE rumble and a Turbot with a wheel flat…

Chink chink chink chink chink chink…

The world carries on. The dog stretches.

I must make a coffee, and then, I’m gone and it must be time to say, until next time, more soon…

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