An old friend of mine, back in university, used to say that a clear sign of encroaching middle age was the development of an interest for trains. The first step to becoming one of those sad and lonely old men that spend their days watching the trains running.
Youth can be so cruel.

And yet, I find there’s a number of books on old railways here on my shelf, a clear sign that the abyss of old age awaits, with a bench at the station. Continue reading →