Mart told me last week there was a Big Bird’s Club happening down in Devon at the weekend. Wasn’t sure I could be arsed at first, especially when it meant going over Swindon. Not a big fan of Swindon. Never have been. Don’t ask why, but then I saw Devon was going to be sunny. No fucking brainer. Didn’t have anything planned anyway.
So we set off, and it turns out Dawlish was way further than we thought. M4 went on forever. Mart suggested we go cross country. As if. Last time we did that, and he was navigating, we ended up back right where we started. Actually back on our actual ledge. Unbelievable. Said he wanted a more ‘scenic’ view. Never again.
Anyway, finally we got there, and turns out it wasn’t a Big Bird’s bash, it was a fucking trainspotter’s event. A Welsh trainspotter’s event at that. A load had traveled all the way from Cardiff, following the trains, of course. Freaks. Mart just looked at me. Fuck’s sake. My idea of hell.
This was the first lot we bumped into. ‘A marvelous spot for the Dawlish slow train’, apparently:
Way too close for my liking. One went past. Nearly had a heart attack.
This is all they do all day:
Sit there, watch trains, take notes, and then spend all night discussing which ones they’ve seen before. Jesus.
Then we bumped into ‘Chris’, who wanted to remain anonymous.
This is Chris:
Chris was down there on a stag weekend visiting a local knocking shop.
Not really my scene, but definitely more interesting than the trainspotters.
Here’s one of the so-called ‘staff’.
“Fancy a good time? Give you good morning price…”:
Er, no thanks love, whatever the fuck a ‘morning price’ is.
And here’s another:
Oh. Go on then.
There was even a queue for one of them:
Then I saw why:
Tried to get an interview with the punter, but he said he didn’t want to discuss it. Don’t blame him
Glad to get back to the ledge as it goes. Suddenly London seems like the sanest place on the planet.
So we set off, and it turns out Dawlish was way further than we thought. M4 went on forever. Mart suggested we go cross country. As if. Last time we did that, and he was navigating, we ended up back right where we started. Actually back on our actual ledge. Unbelievable. Said he wanted a more ‘scenic’ view. Never again.
Anyway, finally we got there, and turns out it wasn’t a Big Bird’s bash, it was a fucking trainspotter’s event. A Welsh trainspotter’s event at that. A load had traveled all the way from Cardiff, following the trains, of course. Freaks. Mart just looked at me. Fuck’s sake. My idea of hell.
This was the first lot we bumped into. ‘A marvelous spot for the Dawlish slow train’, apparently:
Way too close for my liking. One went past. Nearly had a heart attack.
This is all they do all day:
Sit there, watch trains, take notes, and then spend all night discussing which ones they’ve seen before. Jesus.
Then we bumped into ‘Chris’, who wanted to remain anonymous.
This is Chris:
Chris was down there on a stag weekend visiting a local knocking shop.
Not really my scene, but definitely more interesting than the trainspotters.
Here’s one of the so-called ‘staff’.
“Fancy a good time? Give you good morning price…”:
Er, no thanks love, whatever the fuck a ‘morning price’ is.
And here’s another:
Oh. Go on then.
There was even a queue for one of them:
Then I saw why:
Tried to get an interview with the punter, but he said he didn’t want to discuss it. Don’t blame him
Glad to get back to the ledge as it goes. Suddenly London seems like the sanest place on the planet.
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