The flying Dutchman with a Scotsman in a Flying Scotsman train. This trip couldn’t go wrong.
If you don’t want to read about Edinburgh, come back somewhere at the end of the week. If you do – it’s going to be a trilogy in 4 parts. Please step in.
Saturday, 26th of May 2007
When she went home after work after a long Friday, someone had left the Guardian film&reviews section in the train. She quickly scanned it for their review of Pirates, it was there, and it got the expected we-don’t-dare-to-take-a-stand-on-this-3-stars. Browsing through the paper she spotted a top 10 list of songs that the editor team of this section had compiled, those were the songs which were on high rotation on their iPods at the moment. She didn’t know any of the songs but her eye fell on a song called “Train”. “Interesting” she thought. At home she found the song and slurped it into her (RED) iPod.
The next morning, too early for a Saturday, she takes her seat on the train, en route with the Flying Scotsman. Apart from a trip to Brighton and a short period of on/off work in Birmingham, this was the first time she was travelling out of London. After King’s Cross the landscape quickly changed from city to green. It reminded her a lot of Holland, flat and green grass, slowly changing to Denmark where it got a bit more hilly. When passing York she ordered a cup of Yorkshire tea with milk as it seems so appropriate.
The man beside her finds his CD player (a rare sight nowadays) and puts in a CD with classical music. Soon after he starts tapping his feet to the music, and hadn’t she seen the CD he put in, she would have sworn he was listening to rock ‘n roll, his whole body came alive. This man is an out-of-the-window-starer, just like her. She fishes her iPod from her bag, puts in the ear plugs, finds “Train” and presses play. Her feet start tapping. The train has just left Newcastle station, the song is surprisingly catchy and trainy, and the lyrics couldn’t be more spot on. (Press play and you’ll know what she means)
Watching the landscape, she knows exactly who has been airbrushing strokes of yellow flowers in between the sheep, cows and horses. It is the same man who painted that smile on her face, a smile that would last all weekend.
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I know I’m gonna get there
But I am not sure when
Nor do I know where I am going
So I won’t pretend
I cannot see beyond the horizon
Nor around the bend
The train it moves ever forward
Without a seeming end