Driver H. Potter's Wombledon Park Picture Page

4VEP to Swanage

Wed, 07 May 2008 12:02:30 GMT

Folks,

This was going to be headed "a note for hardened anoraks." But then I started to wonder how exactly one would get a hardened anorak. Depending on how the readers mind works, one could speculate that a Hardened Anorak would be some sort of millitary-grade rainwear, 'hardened' meaning amoured in order that one could take snaps of trains whilst exposed to enemy fire. After all there are certain dedicated individuals for whom bullets hold no fear: the photo is everything, I must spot that last elusive loco/unit/wagon/tank/bullet/missile launcher. Perhaps the SAS have an elite battle-hardened enthusiast regiment with blacked-out lunch boxes and stealth notebooks...?

Even as I write this I realise that it's starting to read like an editorial in Loaded magazine or other such soft-core porn and advertising fodder, so I'll stop right now. The other angle I was going to take on "hardened" had to do with things either being stiff through lack of cleaning or crisp due to... well, you can work it out. Anyhow, I'll behave myself and get on with the real reason for this post. It's time to take the VEP to the Seaside, folks! Please find below the running details of the move from Eastleigh to Bournemouth West, and then Bournemouth West to Swanage. Unlike last year there will be two seperate moves - sensible Southern stock runs on its own, and then all the evil oil-burning marine diesels-on-wheels will follow on behind.

Train 0Z73 runs THO 08/05/08 Loco-Hauled 40 miles
Sector 54 (GBrf) Set up by TSDB on 04/05/08 Type STP

Location Booked C Pw Miles Tlod Ctg Pfm Eng Pth Consist
86090 EASTLGHYD 10:47
86087 EASTLEIGH PASS 10:50 2 1
86499 ST DENYS PASS 10:55 2 5
86513 NORTHAMJN PASS 10:57 2 6
86520 STHAMPTON PASS 11:00 2 7
86703 REDBRIDGE PASS 11:04 2 10
86711 TOTTON PASS 11:05 2 11
86901 BROCKNHST PASS 11:19 2 21
86921 BOURNEMTH PASS 11:46 2 36
86927 BRANKSOME 11:53 11:56 0 39
86923 BMWT&RSMD 12:00 7 40

73107 + 4VEP 423 417

Train 5Z73 runs THO 08/05/08 Loco-Hauled 40 miles
Sector 54 (GBrf) Set up by TSDB on 04/05/08 Type STP

Location Booked C Pw Miles Tlod Ctg Pfm Eng Pth Consist
86923 BMWT&RSMD 13:50
86927 BRANKSOME PASS 13:54 2 1
86935 POOLE PASS 14:01 2 4
86964 WAREHAM 14:10 14:12 0 11
86967 FURZBROOK 14:32 7 15

And the rest arrive a little later on...

6672x/ 37275/ 37906/ 20096/ 50044

Train 0Z72 runs THO 08/05/08 Loco-Hauled 207 miles
Sector 54 Sub-sector 02 Set up by TSDB on 04/05/08 Type STP

Location Booked C Pw Miles Tlod Ctg Pfm Eng Pth Consist
65941 KIDDERMSV 09:40
65935 KIDDERMIN PASS 09:50 2 1
65938 BLAKEDOWN PASS 09:54 2 4
65933 STOURBDGJ PASS 09:58 2 8
65930 STRBDGJNS 10:00 10:14 0 8
65923 ROWLEYRGS PASS 10:25 2 13
65908 SMETHWKJN PASS 10:28 2 16
66409 BHAMSNOWH PASS 10:40 2 20
66411 BHAMOORST PASS 10:43 2 21
66421 SMALLH SJ PASS 10:48 2 23
66460 TYSELEY PASS 10:50 2 24
66463 BENTLEY H PASS 11:05 2 31
66433 DORRIDGE PASS 11:06 2 32
66436 HATTON PASS 11:12 2 39
69300 LEAMSPSTN PASS 11:18 2 45
69414 FENNYCOMP PASS 11:30 2 56
69422 BANBURYJN PASS 11:36 2 63
69425 BANBURYNH 11:41 12:30 0 64
69424 BANBURY PASS 12:33 2 65
69440 AYNHO JN PASS 12:41 2 70
74609 HEYFORD PASS 12:47 2 76
74449 WOLVECOTJ PASS 12:54 2 85
74447 OXFORDNNJ 12:56 13:03 0 87
74446 OXFORD PASS 13:05 2 88
74439 HINKSEYYD PASS 13:09 2 89
74438 KNNGTN JN PASS 13:11 2 90
74322 DIDCOT NJ PASS 13:19 2 97
74320 DIDCOT EJ PASS 13:20 2 98
74260 READINGWJ PASS 13:37 2 113
74250 READWTORJ 13:39 13:53 0 114
74265 SOUTHCOTJ PASS 13:55 2 115
86061 BRAMLEY PASS 14:07 2 124
86066 BASINSTOK PASS 14:13 2 129
86069 WORTINGJN 14:17 14:22 0 132
86083 WINCHESTR PASS 14:41 2 148
86084 SHAWFORD PASS 14:44 2 151
86087 EASTLEIGH PASS 14:48 2 155
86499 ST DENYS PASS 14:53 2 159
86513 NORTHAMJN 14:55 15:02 0 160
86520 STHAMPTON PASS 15:05 2 161
86703 REDBRIDGE PASS 15:09 2 164
86711 TOTTON PASS 15:10 2 165
86901 BROCKNHST PASS 15:21 2 175
86921 BOURNEMTH PASS 15:47 2 190
86927 BRANKSOME PASS 15:52 2 193
86935 POOLE PASS 16:01 2 196
86964 WAREHAM 16:10 16:12 0 203
86967 FURZBROOK 16:32 7 207

So there we are. All systems go, it would seem. If any of you poor twisted Potter-readers do make it to sunny Dorset this weekend then please do feel free to say hello, offer your commiserations or advice for medication. All such courtesy will be gratefully recieved.

See you down there!

Peace!

They ARE Mad....

Mon, 28 Apr 2008 20:00:30 GMT

Once upon a time, back when this Blog was funny and I wasn't worried about writing large amounts of knob gags (in other words before I knew that both my mother and managing director read it), I questioned the sanity of those at South West Trains. You might remember - they were offering me the chance to drive trains on the mainline. Well, that was then and this is now. Now I know better than to question their sanity, and for two reasons: firstly, because South West Trains has been replaced by South Western Trains. And secondly because, whatever the company name, I have finally gained irrefutable proof that they've all lost their marbles.

Yes folks, it's time to stop travelling by train. I'm to be a mainline driver.

(THINKS: Even as I write this I can hear hundreds of people thinking "I wonder if there's another way to get to London apart from Waterloo...?")

I've had the interview, and passed it. Remember the last one, loyal readers? Yes - of course you do. Because Potter opened his gaping trap and shoved both size eights into it up to the knees. But not this time! Oh no, folks! Potter has finally learned that keeping ones Big Yap shut is a good idea. So much positive chat was had, and frankly the two people who took the interview couldn't have been better. I perform far better when I'm at my ease. They were friendly, I opened up and the interview coasted by. Some kind soul had warned me that role-play was going to form the other part of the assessment day. I was quite pleased about that. I turned up in my best doctors outfit, carrying a large medical bag and the HUGE syringe only to be told that "No, Mr Upton, Doctors and Nurses isn't quite what we meant."

Bugger.

Thinking back it's probably a good job I didn't open the bag while I was there. The doctors outfit nearly got me thrown out of the building: I fear that the black latex gimp suit and Selection of Rubber Implements For the Discerning Customer would have resulted in being throw out of the building from the fifth floor*. Anyhow, the role-play went very well (despite the lack of latex) and thus I finished the day feeling fairly pleased with myself. The journey home offered time to reflect on the day, and I felt that I'd given of my best (even without the latex). The telephone call from the Recruitment Department, taken on the following morning by a Potter who had been awake for the sum total of the time it had taken to wake up and find the mobile, was glorious. "Well, Steve, we'd like to offer you the job." Magic. After the nightmare that the first interview attempt had been, I honestly thought "if it doesn't happen this time then it's not going to happen at all." The relief, and the sense of achievement, were immense.

Of course that wasn't the end of things. Today was spent attending my medical. One of the niggling conditions of the job is that I shouldn't die whilst on the footplate, and whilst passengers are happy for drivers to wear blue if the driver actually goes blue then they get nervous. So I underwent an hour of various pokes, prods and other tests (still no latex) at the hands of a very pleasant nurse named Eileen. Thanks to expert medical opinion, I can now tell you all that I am "cuddly", alive and in possession of working ears, eyes and heart and "not dead yet." Oh, and they asked me to pee into a cup.

Now I scored on two fronts here:

Firstly, I didn't manage to pee all over my hand, my trousers, the toilet rim, the wall or any of the other things than men seem to be able to hit when told where to aim. This is a big deal and women everywhere, not that many of them read this, should take heart. It can be done - make sure the target is less than half an inch away from his dick and your chap will be able to hit it every time!

Secondly, I was able to pee on demand. I hate having pee tests; I've always either had nothing to drink of the past 12 hours and nearly end up passing one of my own kidneys through straining to produce urine, or worse yet I've drunk x-gallons of water and none of it has filtered through until half an hour after I've left the toilet.

But not today. Today, my friends, everything from my arrival to my departure went exactly to plan. And my bladder was utterly co-operative.

So, that's it. The tale of Potters Protracted Pursuit of Promotion** is done.

October is the month mentioned in despatches for the start of training. I'm not under any illusions as to how much work is involved. All sunny "isn't this fun" wibblings aside, it's going to be tough. Going back to school is no joke. I'm not guaranteed to pass, nor yet to have a job to fall-back on if I fail. I have places I want to go within the company, and that is going to require concerted effort. So the way to make that happen is not to fail. Between now and October, aside from a certain amount of silly fun at Swanage and weekends away with my good lady and various chums, it's going to be work as hard as possible to make the money while I can. The mucking about has to take a back seat. Hard work is just around the corner.

* Added to which is the thought that me wearing a black latex gimp suit would give the same overall appearance as a vacuum-wrapped walrus. With glasses.

** Who said the English degree was wasted?

Humphrey Lyttelton 1921 - 2008

Sat, 26 Apr 2008 09:16:42 GMT

I would be remiss if I didn't pay tribute to Humph, one of four men who have given me some of the longest and loudest laughs of my life. I didn't know him as a jazz musician - jazz has never been a great love of mine - but I knew and adored him as the chairman of "the antidote to panel games", I'm Sorry I Haven't A Clue. I have never heard anyone who could deliver a line loaded with innuendo with such innocence. His exploits with the lovely Samantha (smashing girl: a great bee keeper - and you wouldn't believe her 38 bees) were the stuff of legend, although, bless him, Humph never quite understood the fuss. The laughter following such lines as "Samantha has got to go now as she's meeting her Italian gentleman friend who's taking her out for an ice cream. She says she likes to spend the evening licking the nuts off a large Neapolitan" was a joy to listen to.

So what else is there to say?

Not a lot, folks. Buy The Times if you want a decent tribute to the great man. I just wanted to say "Cheers Humph."

I'm going to go now. Samantha is at a loose end, so we're going to go and browse around some second hand record shops. She likes nothing more than to peruse old records and she particularly enjoys a rewarding poke in the country section.

PS:

A joke that made me laugh so much I cried.

Q: "How do you catch squirrels?"

A: "Have a one-night stand with a hollow tree."

SWANAGE RAILWAY BEER FESTIVAL ANNOUNCEMENT

Fri, 11 Apr 2008 17:29:39 GMT

STOP PRESS ANNOUNCEMENT

(EVEN THOUGH I DON'T ACTUALLY HAVE A PRESS TO STOP)

Having just spoken to one of the organisers of the Swanage Railway Beer Festival I can officially confirm that today Network Rail cleared the Swanage Branch for rolling stock transfers - in English, this means that 3417, the EDs and all the other toys will be at Swanage for the three days as planned.

This breaking story was brought to you by a Fat Shunt Driver Who Can't Find His Camera.

Don't forget to watch out for the first airing of the official Wimbledon Park Headboard

"Made by craftsmen, driven by hooligans"

Terminal Cock-Ups

Wed, 09 Apr 2008 17:42:51 GMT

It's been a great week or so if you're a cynical bugger. It's been an even better one if you're a cynical bastard but since those of a delicate disposition read this (and they buy me birthday and Christmas presents) I'm not about to admit to such things on here. I've not often thought "I'm glad I'm not in charge of the BAA." To be fair, I've never thought "Gosh, I wish I was in charge of the BAA" either. In terms of the mindset required, Potter would rather be in charge of, say, a 12VEP fast to Bournemouth with 90mph+ on the clock. Or he'd like to have a piece of paper marked "bank balance" with more than 9 figures in it written in black and his name at the top. So ordinarily, I'd rather be doing just about anything other than running several airports. But, folks, this week especially the BAA is not a place I'd like to be working. From what I can see, the Daily Mail/Express/Scum-Gutter-Toilet-Rag-Of-Your-Choice have managed to get their "We Hate the Railway" and their "We Love Airlines" fuses muddled up, and it's all down to that gargantuan glass monstrosity called Terminal Five.

Almost every newspaper article and television feature has been critical of it; although in fairness managing to lose eleventy-million bags in a week probably constitute some sort of a record. And it all started so well. Nigel Rudd, BAAs chairman, was full of happy sound bites when the place was opened:

"Terminal Five marks the start of a new beginning for Heathrow, for BAA and for our millions of passengers. It is by any standard a triumph of ambition, commitment and collaboration. It will breathe new life into Heathrow, allowing us to continue our transformation of the rest of the airport and will put Heathrow and BAA back where they belong - at the leading edge of global travel." I fully expect to see poor Nigel nominated for the 2008 "Bet You Wish You'd Kept Your Gob Shut" Award. Mind you his counterpart at British Airways, Willie Walsh, must also be wishing all those journo’s had been looking the other way when he was espousing the virtue of the new building. "Terminal Five is a fantastic facility and our customers will really enjoy the space, comfort and convenience it offers. With the opening of T5, BA and BAA have an opportunity to make air travel, both into and out of the UK, once again a calmer and much more enjoyable experience." Hear, hear Willie! Well said. What good luck it's such a spacious and comfortable building, that way when the passengers are sleeping in their cardboard boxes overnight at least they'll have plenty of room to stretch out. And we wouldn’t want your fare paying passengers uncomfortable, would we?

Oh, by the way, chaps - if you're looking for 'a triumph of ambition, commitment and collaboration' you need to get a taxi to St. Pancras International. It's notable for many reasons, not least the lack of passengers sleeping in cardboard boxes. But the best bit about St. Pancras, the best bit of all, is that it doesn't eat luggage or stop when it bloody snows. Whereas Terminal Five is what happens when you get a greenhouse drunk and then let it shag a B&Q warehouse.

Oh yes, the snow. I knew there was something else for me to wave my finger righteously about. Snow. It's a well known non-fact that "everything stops when it snows." Well, that's odd. I made a point of checking the mass media for signs of the railway stopping, or the roads. In fact, from what I could see, the only part of the country that didn't work properly when it snowed was Heathrow airport. (Oh, and in case you missed it last it doesn't work in fog either - 2-0 to St Pancras) But fortunately our enlightened government, you know, the venal pocket-liners with the John Lewis accounts, are pushing ahead with their sustainable transport policy by digging up more villages around Heathrow and Stanstead and incidentally squeezing the railway industry of every penny and creaming road tax to pay for - well, new sofas and coffee tables I suppose. All this whilst Greengauge 21, Atkins and Network Rail are waving studies under the DfTs nose saying "look how much high speed rail could be worth to the country." And if you were wondering, that could be in excess of £60 billion against a build cost of approximately £30 billion. £60 billion. Sneak up beside Alistair Darling and whisper "£60 billion" in his ear and he'd fired his own underwear across the room in excitement - and he wouldn't even have to remove his trousers first. £60 billion. That's enough to buy 13 Terminal Five's and have enough change left-over to pay for the all the vans to carry lost luggage to its respective owners. So there you go, folks. Britain can cope with snow and what's more it provides a wonderful argument as to why Britain should be trying to catch up with the rest of Europe.

And failing everything else it’s given me another chance to poke fun at Terminal Fun.

Right - enough of that, onto matters of a more parochial nature. I'm sorry to report that the Swanage Railway Beer Festival may not go ahead in the form that some of you may have hoped for. That is to say, it may not go ahead in the form that I had hoped for. Put another way, there's a chance that 3417 might not attend. It's nothing to do with her being either unwanted or broken. In the first instance Buckie has taken his obsession with all things VEP to new heights (when it was snowing he was seen by persons unnamed wrapping the buffers in blankets and asking "if Daddies favourite little slammer was cold" - I worry about that boy) and in the second instance my compatriots at Wimbledon Park continue to do sterling work ensuring the old lady is kept clean, dry and rust-free. It is in fact down to the track. Namely a short stretch of track at a place called Furzebrook in Dorset which currently has what has been described to me by a friend who works for Network Rail as "a bloody great big 'ole in it, Harry." Bugger. Well, not on the track so much as next to the track we'd like to be running over and as you may be aware trains tend to react badly to socking great holes opening up in the track. Network Rail are at this moment (this very moment, folks - such topicality) pontificating as to whether to allow trains to run past said bloody great 'ole: I am told that all may not be lost, since there are ways around such problems provided the hole doesn't get any bigger. So if you're reading this, Hole, (everyone is on the Net these days) kindly stay the same size that you are now because I'm looking forward to my weekend at the seaside. I've also paid a deposit for the B&B, so be good and don't get any bigger.

IT'S SNOWING IN LONDON

Sun, 06 Apr 2008 10:19:12 GMT

Note from Lardy Site Owner:

If anyone wants me, I'm outside playing snowballs....

"It's in Harry's Garage...."

Mon, 31 Mar 2008 14:37:58 GMT

The title for this latest and slightly delayed blog entry is the current stock answer for Wimbledon Park depot staff upon the discovery that something has been mislaid. Thus:

"Here, Ginger. Where's my (pen, that bit of paper, my lunch, my coat, my sanity, my wife, my camera etc:) gone?"

"It's in Harry's garage."

For those of you who are unfamiliar with the world of constant mickey-taking that is the railway, I faithfully promise you that this is the case. Oh, and I can't tell you how much I'm not laughing about it. Tears of mirth are routinely failing to run down my cheeks as I forget to make my sides ache with laughter. Tee-bloody-hee. Whilst I know that writing this is going to make me feel better about things, I am also very much aware that it will merely add grist to the mill. Stuff it - this is about my catharsis, and given the attention spans that I work with they'll have forgotten about it all my the time I go back to work on Friday.

So, apart from enduring references to cameras and their unexpected discovery in garages, life rumbles on much as normal. I have been assured that I have an upcoming interview for a mainline drivers job (I fully expect to be asked about proper camera storage and security arrangements), the Swanage Railway Beer Festival looms large in my calendar and the clocks have gone backwards by an hour. So my last night shift was shorter by a whole 60 mnutes! Sod everything else, I managed to legitimately get 60 minutes off've my working day! Oh, the joy of finding ones self with an 8 hour shift rather than 9 hours! Of course the joy was slightly blunted by this all happening on a Sunday. So there were no tube trains. And, purely out of spite, Network Rail made sure there were no trains from Wimbledon. And with even more spite God made sure it bloody well rained on me all the way home. But I don't care. I still got my hour!*

While I'm thinking about Swanage and all things beer-powered, I would like to raise several points. Firstly Priscilla (long story, and not one I can tell without his permission) is making a headboard for 3417, so the Wimbledon Park Mafia will be advertising this year. If the headboard doesn't make it into a magazine I for one will be very upset. And Priscilla might cry, bless 'im. The second point is that there is currently a bloody great hole in the Swanage branch. A bloody great big hole, with extra emphasis on the "bloody" and "big." Now as enthusiastic as I am to go to Swanage, and as much as I'm looking forward to taking the Big (very) Blue Thing with Doors out to play again, there is no way I'm prepared to go potholing in order to do it. "Bugger that", thought Potter. "Ropes, crampons and a VEP. Not sodding likely." Joking aside this is a big worry - a hole in the track bed could put the skids under the whole event. I shall of course be keeping a close eye on proceedings and will keep you all informed.

I see that the High Speed Rail debate is once again slowly raising its head. More consultancy work, more weight behind the "it would free up capacity on other lines, take traffic from airlines and motorways and be all-but carbon neutral" argument. One wonders when, if ever, this will ever be built? One line through to Liverpool via Birmingham, one to Glasgow via Manchester and one Edinburgh via Newcastle. I know one thing - very soon we'll have spent more money on bloody consultants that it would take to build the bloody railway itself (slight overstatement). With the debacle of Heathrow Terminal 5, and the utterly smooth running on High Speed One (it runs so well the press appear to have forgotten about it) one wonders how long it will be before central government decide that enough is enough and look at ways to really encourage sustainable transport. Picture an electrically powered railway speeding hundreds of people city centre to city centre, day in, day out. Hang on - that sounds familiar... Oh yes, the French have been doing it for 30-odd years. Perhaps the Entente Cordiale could stretch to us Brits saying "TGV? Better than low-cost airlines? And it makes money? And it's a national asset owned and operated by and for the nation? What a marvellous idea. We'll have some of that, thanks."

One more thing - my apologies for the lack of camera work of late. As you can imagine, the subject of Potter and Cameras is not a popular one amongst the upper ranks of managament at the moment. So picture-taking equipment is not being taken into work for the foreseable future: which means I'm having to try and make time to go out snappping pictures between doing shopping, washing and all the other boring domestic stuff that is required to maintain a Life. So whilst the updates will be thinner on the ground, they will be on the way. Stay tuned!

Well, that's the lot. Time to go.

Peace, y'all.

* - Yes, I know that they'll get the hour back in October. I know. But October is a long way away. Let me have my moment of fun, you bunch of killjoys.

Why Potter and Nighshifts Don't Mix.....

Mon, 17 Mar 2008 14:57:38 GMT

Because he gets tired and thinks he'd had his camera stolen, that's why.

And then after alerting the depot management, asking his mates on early turn to have a look and see if they can find it, having a long serious-type conversation with his depot manager (thank you, Kate - I owe you), reporting the theft to the British Transport Police, having his ear chewed off by his girlfriend and parents for not having insured the bloody thing, having his landlady and parents offer him money to buy a replacement ("and you can pay it back when you can, don't worry about it"), having had one of my mates ring up and offer me the loan of one of his cameras - after all that, after causing all that trouble, like a Fecking idiot I find the bloody camera in the garage.

Where I'd left it the night before when I re-packed my work bag.

Oh God. Even now I want the bloody ground to swallow me. I know that no matter what I do, and besides saying a very humble "sorry" and "thank you" to everyone involved there's not much I can do, this is going to follow me around until I retire. As some of your observant souls may have noticed already, one of my dear colleagues has left an encouraging note on my guestbook promising that everyone and their uncle will know just exactly how big a muppet Potter is. I looked in the garage twice, twice, before I rang the depot management. What the hell was I doing?! How the bloody hell do you miss seeing a camera twice? I might as well have not bothered looking. And as to when I finally found the bloody thing. God, I almost (almost) wish the thing had been stolen. Because if you think that believing someone has gone through your bag is bad, then realising that the only one who has been a moron is you is far, far worse.

I'm telling you, folks, it's made me realise three things with crystal clarity:

1. Potter and night shifts don't mix. I'm going to have to change the way I do things so that I get better rest. If anyone has any advice I'll be happy to listen to it, because at the moment I'm obviously not doing things properly.

2. My friends and family are staggeringly tolerant of what an idiot I can be. I can only assuming that they either care about me very much, or have a hitherto unheard-of tolerance for individuals who are total idiots. Since I've known them for a while, I'm aware that they bridge both categories.

3. I am very, very lucky to be working at Wimbledon. The calibre of the support, the immediate "what can we do to help?" reaction from everyone involved speaks volumes for the quality of the staff. And some of those people are also my friends and therefore come under Heading 2 as well. I am humbled by their support. Thanks, folks.

4. The British Transport Police have a sense of humour. How do I know that? Well, if you could have heard the laughter from the operator as I was telling him why I needed him to cancel the crime report I'd made four hours earlier, you'd understand as well.

So folks, there you are. I am now the world record holder for the Eating of Humble Pie. On Wednesday I will be crawling over my depot managers’ office floor and begging forgiveness, and on Wednesday afternoon I fully expect to find myself swinging by my ankles from one of the lighting towers.

What an idiot. Perhaps a few boxes of chocolates and further portions of humble pie will help? I doubt it - I've been getting texts all weekend from various parties. Allow me to share a few with you:

"Hello Harry. The KGB has been on the phone asking about this invisible camera you've got..."

"Got your camera, mate?"

"Hello, this is the Alzheimer’s Society. We'd like to welcome you to the club, but we can't remember who you are or where your camera is."

It's only going to get worse, folks. And I have to say I think I deserve it. So, in conclusion:

Thank you - Ginger, Pete Clarke & the early turn shunt drivers, Kate, Young Priscilla, Ariel, Paula, the British Transport Police*, Mum & Dad, Snapper and everyone else who turned Wimbledon Park Depot upside-down looking for the phantom camera.

Rindercella

Mon, 17 Mar 2008 14:06:35 GMT

My dear chum Bulak was kind enough to send me this little gem. I know it has done the rounds via email but it needs to be kept fresh and unsullied. What better place for it than here, where people with a slightly infantile sense of humour meet to read the rubbish I write?

This was originally shown on BBC TV back in the seventies. Ronnie Barker could say all this without a snigger (though god knows how many takes). Irony is that they received not one complaint. The speed of delivery must have been too much for the whining herds. Try getting through it without converting the spoonerisms [and not wetting your pants] as you read ...

This is the story of Rindercella and her sugly isters. Rindercella and her sugly isters lived in a marge lansion. Rindercella worked very hard frubbing sloors, emptying
poss pits, and shivelling shot. At the end of the day, she was knucking fackered. The sugly isters were right bugly astards. One was called Mary Hinge, and the other was called Betty Swallocks; they were really forrible huckers;they had fetty sweet and fetty swannies. The sugly isters had tickets to go to the ball, but the cotton runts would not let Rindercella go. Suddenly there was a bucking fang, and her gairy fodmother appeared. Her name was Shairy Hithole and she was a light rucking fesbian. She turned a pumpkin and six mite wice into a hucking cuge farriage with six dandy ronkeys who had buge hollocks and dig bicks. The gairy fodmother told Rindercella to be back by dimnlight otherwise, there would be a cucking falamity.
At the ball, Rindercella was dancing with the prandsome hince when suddenly the clock struck twelve. "Mist all chucking frighty!!!" said Rindercella, and she ran out tripping barse over ollocks, so dropping her slass glipper. The very next day the prandsome hince knocked on Rindercella's door and the sugly isters let him in. Suddenly, Betty Swallocks lifted her leg and let off a fig bart. "Who's fust jarted??" asked the prandsome hince. "Blame that fugly ucker over there!!" said Mary Hinge. When the stinking brown cloud had lifted, he tried the slass glipper on both the sugly isters without success and their feet stucking funk.
Betty Swallocks was ducking fisgusted and gave the prandsome hince a knack in the kickers. This was not difficult as he had bucking fuge halls and a hig bard on. He tried the slass glipper on Rindercella and it fitted pucking ferfectly. Rindercella and the prandsome hince were married.
The pransome hince lived his life in lucking fuxury, and Rindercella lived hers with a follen swanny.

Well, I hope you all enjoyed that. Personally I thought it was mucking farvellous and I almost pat my shants laughing at it.

There will be another entry anon. In certain quarters it is being eagerly awaited...

9 Weeks to Go....

Sun, 09 Mar 2008 17:34:09 GMT

I have but one day since (yesterday, folks) received an email from my chum Woof reminding me that there are only 9 weeks until the Swanage Railway Beer Festival. 9 weeks! And I haven't decided what I'm going to wear or anything.

Oh - the fun of beer and trains and mucking about! The very thought of it send shivers down my doobries. And shivering doobries are not to be considered lightly. Or even heavily, which will of course crush them. It's a terrible fact that whenever I talk about this keen sense of anticipation to my Other Half, she goes a ghastly shade of Serious and tells me to grow up. Never, I say! Have at thee with pokey things, edged with Essence of Sharp!

Well, it's going to be fun. I'm hoping to take the Handle for a couple of runs, a few chums from various spheres of influence will be there and with any luck it won't bloody rain this time. Oh, and I'd love to see a train with double-headed diesel and a steam banker at the rear again. Why didn't I have my camera when that happened last year? Ah. I remember: it was because I was drinking beer and having a laugh with mates. Put simply, time well spent.

Since I'm down at Swanage for the full gala I'll be taking my camera with me to get some good shots. The pictures I took last year were acceptable, but I'mcertain there are better pictures waiting to be taken. Much the same could be said of Wimbledon. I need to get out with my camera again. There's been a dearth of new piccies just of late. What with having a life away from Planet Railway, the past few weeks have not seen me out and about either at the yard or further afield. The website is suffering, so rest assured I shall be trying to make up for the lack of progress. I think a few jaunts up country to find heathen oil-burning machinery is called for. On the subject of heading up-country we had a little good news just lately. Being part of the great Stagecoach Family* I can now use East Midland Trains for free. In what I can only describe as an unexpected move, the company have allowed both sets of employees reciprocal travel privileges. In other words, SWT employees ride free on East Midland's services, and they can do the same on ours. A smart move by someone at head office: it doesn't cost the company anything, it means more bums on seats and the staff feels they are enjoying an extra little perk. This is always welcome.

So what of the glory that is SWT? Ah yes, folks! I bring good tidings. For those of you who lament the loss of the Class 442 from SWT (for those of you who don't communicate in railway numbers - Class 442: big powerful shouty train famous for high speeds, lots of sparks and even more-than-lots of noise. If you still don't understand, click here and here) I can reveal that they will be back on the SWT network very shortly. Not much of it, admittedly, but they'll be on the bit that matters to me, namely Wimbledon Park. WD's wheel lathe will be once again playing host to these magnificent noisy, expensive to maintain, finicky, high-flying beasties. And better yet is the news that us depot driver types will get to shunt them. With an ED! Wa-Hey! It's playtime! As you can probably tell, Potter is just slightly looking forward to this. In a world of plastic trains and silly motor noises, I get to indulge myself using proper Southern kit that makes proper growly motor sounds. Marvellous! It'll be interesting to see what livery they turn up in. I happen to think that the Southern Green and White would look rather smart on them. Better that than all-over grey, which is (a) boring and (b) makes them look like a 370-foot long Tampon. When I get news of the first arrivals, I shall of course let you know. It'll be nice to see the old girls back where they belong.

So things are looking up. More shunting, more driving, more propelling, new and interesting-type pictures to take and of course more material for little old me to write about. And on that subject I have a request to make. I know that there are those of you who are involved with companies other than my own dear South West Trains. What I would like to do is expand this site beyond SWT, and indeed beyond 3rd-rail Land. So if you are in a position of authority (you know, in possession of your own bank account, passport, shoe-laces - anything like that) Potter would like to come and visit. And bring his camera. And then go home to tell the Foaming Masses, and any real people who happen along in the meantime, exactly what you do and how you do it. That goes for the preserved lines as well, by the way. There is an entire world of railway business that goes on that no-one is writing about or paying attention to. As far as the public is concerned "it just happens." I'd like that not to be the case. If you have pictures you'd like to see displayed I'd be delighted to host them. If you fancy writing an entry that is interesting, funny or a mixture of the two then get in touch. I can't pay, but if the idea of seeing your work on public display then this is your chance. So get in touch and let’s show people what goes on beyond the narrow horizons of public perception. The railway is a wide world, and people should be introduced to it.

* - "... run on a shoestring by cowboys."

I'm allowed to make jokes like this about my employer thanks to Company Rule 10467, Para.3, Subsection 5.1 (A): "All employees who enjoy their job, are grateful for the money and are known by their line managers as being worryingly keen are allowed to take the Mickey out of the company up to and including making cunning puns about the company name."

Why I have to Watch Films With a Hankie Handy....

Thu, 06 Mar 2008 20:14:31 GMT

Memory is a strange thing. It reacts in odd ways. Certain things, certain events or images that come in the guise of everyday life can grab us and throw us back into the past so forcefully it’s almost painful. I had one of those moments tonight. And of all things it was while watching a film made for families and children. Have any of you seen Ratatouille? Those of you who haven’t are missing a treat. For those of you who have seen the film perhaps you may understand, if not the feelings it evoked, then at least the situation that threw me so much.

‘A restaurant critic, one of the most feared in Paris, sits down having dared the talentless chef to “serve him whatever he dares.” And the dish presented is Ratatouille, a French peasant dish. He takes a mouthful. He starts to chew. The tastes hit him. Suddenly he is a small boy again. He stands at the kitchen door of his parents house, behind him in the garden is his bike. He has fallen off, his knees are grazed. As he stands in the doorway his mother turns to him and smiles. She’s cooking. He sits at the table as his mother puts a fresh bowl of steaming Ratatouille in front of him. She ruffles his hair fondly. He takes a fork, and eats a mouthful. He smiles.

The critic blinks, suddenly again back in the restaurant. In shock he drops his pen to the floor and sits, aghast, shocked at the memory. Then he smiles, the first smile we have seen. It transforms his face. He begins to eat, smiling all the while...’

Forgive my rather ham fisted description of that scene. I’m no scriptwriter but I think you get the jist of the action. I’m afraid I cannot describe fully just how much of a hammer blow it was for me to watch that. The immediacy of it, the music, the image, the memories it evoked in me were instantly overwhelming. I cried as I watched it. I’m crying as I write this. I was taken back to my Uncle Doug and Aunty Jeans house in Canterbury. My Mum, my little brother and myself would visit there perhaps once a week. Mostly I recall it was during the summer holidays. Every time we went there we would have mashed potato and corned beef for lunch. Aunt Jean would make it, then she and Mum would lay the table while Matthew and I would play with toys from the toy box that Aunt Jean kept under the stairs. The plates would arrive with the potato steaming gently and the corned beef soft and mashable on the plate. We would, all of us, mash up the corned beef and mix it into the potato. Then we would put tomato sauce onto the mix and stir it all together. And then we would eat it. I remember the busy silence, the fun of mixing the potato and corned beef (my Uncle Doug always calls corned beef “desert chicken”, although I’ve never asked him why. I ought to ring him and find out) and the pleasure of those meals. I still make that meal for myself now. And when I eat it I’m dragged back to my childhood. The force of the memory, the remembrance of that pleasure and those times is so strong that it brings a lump to my throat. And now, to have that presented to me in such unexpected circumstances: well, it completely unmanned me. I haven’t cried like that in a long time. Knowing that time has been unkind to Uncle Doug and Aunt Jean, knowing she has been unwell and he has devoted himself to caring for her, only made the tears stronger.

I wanted to write an email, send a letter, do something to thank the writer and the director of that film. I wanted them to know that they had told a story in those few seconds of film that struck a chord with me. The thought was that I should tell them how much I appreciated seeing that, feeling that this children’s story reflected something of my own experience. More than that I thought they would appreciate knowing that that moment had not only made me cry, but made me smile.

Sentiment is never something I have trouble expressing – I am an emotional man and I’m not ashamed to admit to tears, even unlikely tears such as these. In these lines I wanted to say how much I appreciate being able to shed tears, without repression or embarrassment. And how precious those times were, more so at this distance than they were even at the time.

Thank you, Mum. Thank you, Aunt Jean. Thank you, Matthew.

There. Now I’ve gone and upset myself again.

I might post this, I might not.

But whatever I do, I’m glad I’ve written it.

PS:

Ratatouille - go and buy it. For any of you who might actually own the film in question already; 1h,32:20 to 1h,33:10.

What Have I Let Myself In For....?

Sun, 02 Mar 2008 22:53:16 GMT

THIS ENTRY WAS ORIGINALLY WRITTEN ON ‎26 ‎February ‎2008.

I've thought long and hard about publishing this entry. I've edited it several times and would like to thank Adam, Paul and my Dad for giving their opinions. Whilst I've toned down my anger, please do not read this under the impression that I am anything other than furious about the very public conduct of my fellow enthusiasts.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

Oh dear folks.

Potter may be about to make a muppet of himself.

Whilst this in itself is not an unusual occurance (witness for example my famous "spend night drunkenly passed out on bathroom floor after three weeks with new landlords" incident) the scale of the potential balls-up is considerably larger than hitherto possible. It's all down to answering an email, you see. Potter, being a nice and positive chap, finds his sunny outlook on life clouded when faced with cretins. And when the cretins share the broad church that is Railway Enthusiasm with him, the clouds build up quickly. Indeed, metaphorical rain pours down, blunder and frightening happen and Potter is sorely vexed. Large though the Church is, folks, it's too bloody small to share with some people. I must, to add weight to my opinion, share with you a few comments made by an anonymous figure recently.

The anonymous person posted this on a public internet forum, of which I am a member. The subject was a request from a freelance journalist, asking if any train spotters would be willing to have photos taken of them while they were indulging their hobby. A harmless enough enquiry, one might think? Ah, but one would be wrong. For there are many spotters who are not enamoured of the Media and these Un-Enamoured Ones don’t like being called spotters. They feel it carries stereotypes and overtones. And oh boy, did they prove themselves right. The text below is a hugely edited sample of the comments that were written but will give, I hope, a fair impression of the discussion before and after I joined it: I'll label them as "Paranoid", "Really Paranoid", "Who Gives a Damn?" and "How to Make Potter Really Really Angry"

Paranoid:

"This sounds like a p*ss take... Why would anyone want to take pics of spotters, unless it's to take the p - you would hardly be shown in a good light I think"

Really Paranoid:

“First question: why? Why not go to a race track and take some photos of bike nuts or F1 fanatics? Or another type of race track and watch the people watching horses? How about going to take a photo of the local football crowd at the big match? Or go to a gig and just watch the crowd?
Why oh why have you decided to take photographs of train spotters? The type of people you get a response from wouldn't be a true reflection of 'Train Spotters' anyway so what's the point in naming it that?”

"Who Gives A Damn?"

“honest to god... reading one or two of the replies in this thread, it's no wonder people think 'train spotters' (ooooh sorry, wasn't meaning to offend anyone there) are such a bunch of anti-social, boring tw*ts...”

“...if you're thin-skinned then perhaps having an interest in railways isn't for you. Personally I could give a tinkers cuss how I am described by the muppet mass media: being a railway enthusiast/spotter/photter/whatever-you-want-to-call-yourself-this-week isn't an affliction, it's a hobby. It's not something I suffer from and need to keep a secret!”

How To Make Potter Really Really Angry:

"So does that make the use of common terms with negative connotations for certain other minorities acceptable too? The word "train spotter" doesn't overly offend me, but it is inaccurate for many of us and, whilst harmless in it's literal sense, it is more often than not used these days purely to take the p*ss... Can you imagine what would happen if I approached an ethnic group that had already been the subject of abuse or ridicule, and said I "wanted some pictures of the 'N-word’ ? “

Yes, someone really did try to draw a parallel between a profoundly racist term, based upon 200 years of ignorance and degradation, and the innocuous catch-all term used by the media to describe railway enthusiasts. To say that this utter idiocy made me angry would be to miss the point entirely. I wasn’t even furious. I sped past livid without even a glance. When I read that utter drivel I travelled straight to the limpid waters of utter visceral fury. To think that someone, anyone in this day and age would think that such a comment could go unchallenged – to think that any right thinking person would say such a thing privately, never mind post it for public consumption. God even now it makes my blood boil. I hope, oh I hope, that I don’t ever meet the person behind that comment. Honestly, some people need their heads examined.

*02/03/2008 EDIT*

At this point, folks, I got really angry. So angry, in fact, that I lost not only my way in the narrative but more importantly I sacrificed the moral high-ground in exchange for the pleasure of venting my spleen. Having read the quotes, edited as they are, I'm sure you as my audience can understand my anger. Rascism, like homophobia, is something that angers me almost beyond the ability for rational thought. I cannot and will not stand by and allow such unthinking rubbish to be bandied about by people claiming that they represent the hobby that I enjoy. So I've edited out the original rant. I think the ignorance and spectacular lack of any sense of proportion shine through in some of the quotes. And the other side of the coin, the "who cares and why should I apologise for a hobby I enjoy?" attitude is just as obvious in the other snippets. Draw your own conclusions on which side of the fence I stand on, and what I think of those who stand opposite me.

But after all that ranting, folks, there is still one question to be answered: where does my fear of Muppetdom come from? Well, for a start, I don’t want to be seen as holding myself up as the Acceptable Face of Rail Enthusiasm. I’m quite well aware that I tick a few of the stereotype boxes – spots, big ears, glasses, a slight excess of poundage... And none of that makes for an appealing photo. And more than that is the fact that she might be bringing a friend. Who works for a magazine. Who is working on an article about Londons Train Spotters. Oh boy. For all my "who gives a damn" feelings, I have no wish to be seen as some sort of flag bearer for my hobby. I'm giving my own thoughts: no one elses. Heaven only knows how things will go. I hope I'm right and that this isn't just an easy pop at an easy taget to fill a few magazine pages. And if I'm wrong, well at least i tried to show the journos something other than the parka-wearing loner stood on a platform in the rain.

Well, folks, wish me luck. I may find myself not talking and facing away from the camera at all time purely out of self defence. Or should I have the courage of my convictions and say “Sod it”?

I’ll tell you all soon whether phantom food poisoning struck...

There Was Going To Be An Update, Honest....

Fri, 29 Feb 2008 21:02:06 GMT

But it's currently sitting on the hard drives of a few trusted chums awaiting their opinions on whether I should publish it or not. As is oft the way with me, I was slightly angry when I wrote it and while what I want to say is right (because, of course, I'm never wrong - I've decided to a take a leaf out of my ladys book on that one) I want to make sure egos and involved parties will not sue me...

So instead of twelve paragraphs of invective I shall thank all of you, my drooling anorak and non-anorak audience, for notching up more than 40,000 hits on this site. Unlike certain other of my chums I have to rely on the mono-aspect splendour of choo-choo trains to keep people happy. LeDuc, whilst I admire your cunning use of trains, architecture AND certain tasteful pictures of naughty bits to get hits I shall never stoop so low. Not out of any moral undertaking, you understand: it;s more to do with my Mum, my line managers and my managing director reading this stuff. It's too much to hope that having an album entitled "Naughty Bits Inside - Don't Look" will keep them out.

For a website that started as a joke to have generated any traffic at all astonishes me, and I am somewhat humbled (but not much - I'm always right, remember?) that there are those of you who keep coming back.

Right, I've just seen the time. It's 21:00, or nine o'clock in the evening for real people, so it's bedtime for Potter.

Ta-ta, folks.

Things to Ponder Over

Sun, 17 Feb 2008 22:56:21 GMT

I offer these in reverse order...

I didn't write the original 10 Things, but I did add certain thoughts. See if you can guess where the original stuff starts off and I take over.

Number 10:
Life is sexually transmitted.

Number 9:
Good health is merely the slowest possible rate at which one can die. Witness the House of Lords for a lesson on slowly dying.

Number 8:
Men have two emotions: Hungry and Horny. If you see him without an erection, make him a sandwich. (Conversely, if you see a man without a sandwich, brace yourself. Following this logic to its conclusion, if you see a man without either an erection or a sandwich, call an undertaker.)

Number 7:
Give a person a fish and you feed them for a day, teach a person to use the internet and they won't bother you for weeks. (Except for the occasional demand for sandwiches, obviously.)

Number 6:
Some people are like a Slinky: Not really good for anything, but you still can't help but smile when you shove them down the stairs.

Number 5:
Health nuts are going to feel stupid someday, lying in hospitals dying of nothing. (Bill Hicks was right)

Number 4:
All of us could take a lesson from the weather. It pays no attention to Criticism. (I need a sandwich)

Number 3:
Why does a slight tax increase cost you £200.00 and a substantial tax cut saves you £30.00?

Number 2:
In the 60's, people took acid to make the world weird. Now the world is Weird and people take Prozac to make it normal. (Cheese and pickle, for preference)

And The Number 1 Thought For 2008:
We know exactly where one cow with Mad-cow-disease is located among millions and millions of cows in the UK. But and at the same time we haven't got a clue as to where millions of illegal immigrants and terrorists are located - you know, I'm talking about the ones that you read about in the Daily Mail. Maybe we should put the DEFRA in charge of Immigration?

It's Still Fun At Work

Fri, 15 Feb 2008 21:15:11 GMT

I suffer from undiagnosed testosterone, you know.

Nature clearly had ideas when I was designed. "Let's make him unthreatening" was one thought. "Spots, glasses, big ears and a propensity to having a slight paunch are the In-Thing" was another less successful one. But it wasn't all bad. Because there were a few other design features that were added during the Potter Production Cycle which have served me well. A certain skill with words is one, and a recently discovered pleasure at taking pictures is another. But the best bit, so far as my job is concerned, is the love of driving bloody great bits of heavy machinery.

I'm not saying that there aren't other blokey things that have their own virtues. For example there are lots of blokes who like charging about the place in fast cars, or perhaps playing football and cuddling each other in a worrying fashion after every goal (1) or tinkering with greasy bits of metal, or masturbating a lot (2) and all of that is fine and dandy. You will hear no condemnation from me - I am after all a dribbling little anorak and as such need all the friends I can find. But to my mind I have the best of both worlds. You see I have the collection of socking great bits of machinery (namely my 1:1 scale train set), I have various knowledgeable types in overalls who can fix said train set when I break it and the best part of all is that they pay me to play with it.

They pay me. To play. With trains.

It's not that a pay rise wouldn't be welcome. In fact a pay rise would be rather nice given the way I have to pay ever increasing subsidies to the directors of Tesco’s so they can keep having four holidays a year each. It gives me a warm feeling to know that the £2.50 I've just paid for two pints of milk and an apple is going to a good cause. Because I wouldn't want these suit-wearing leeches to be making money off've me for no good reason. I'm sure Antigua or Bermuda is very pleased to receive my hard earned cash. It's just that I wish it were me spending it there personally, that's all. Perhaps the time is ripe for a Tesco Value Mindless Luxury 2 Week Break in the Caribbean....? I'll check the shelves thoroughly on my next visit.

Where was I? Oh yes, trains. I salute everyone else’s right to be different, but sorry folks, its great big noisy bits of machinery for me. I don't want to fix it. I don't want to own it. What I want to do is drive is fast, with a good degree of skill, possibly break it and get given another one to break while the last one is being fixed. Thus Potter is kept happy and off the streets, fitters are kept busy fixing Potters last breakage and managers are kept busy moving paperwork and thus remain inside their offices. A lesson for a Happy Life, by the way, is that there is nothing so dangerous as an idle manager - keep management immersed in paperwork and flow charts or else they get bored and start trying to think. Back on the subject of breakages, did you know that certain fitters are known to ask for me when they want to test a train that has been misbehaving? Well it's true. I don't intend to get involved is any discussion as to why they ask for me. I treat it as a compliment, and any comments along the lines of "Yeah, that's because you're a bloody hooligan and you break everything" will be respectfully ignored.

On the subject of driving like a hooligan, I would respectfully remind you all of the approaching Swanage Railway Beer Festival with Added Diesels. Make sure your beer tokens are in order, in particular those pretty ones with the "£10" and "£20" symbols painted on them. If you wave those under the noses of the nice bar people they will give you pleasant-tasting beverages in return. And there are many different sorts of pleasant beverage on offer. There will be trains as well, but mostly I'm there for the beer. And to meet a few chums, eat some good food and have an all-round jolly time. I will enjoy it even more if it doesn't bloody rain this year. If God reads this, I would appreciate a dry and fine few days. Thinking about it I have an old university friend called Austin who is training to join the clergy (the tight bugger - he'll do anything to avoid paying a mortgage) so I shall have a word with him vis â vis getting some good weather. And if it doesn't turn up I shall treat this as proof of the non-existence of God. Or perhaps that God is real, but he doesn't listen to Austin...

Good grief. Are you impressed? Railways, knob gags, wank gags and theological debate in one Blog entry. Potter is back, guys and girls!

Right, time to bugger off. It's Friday night, I have two beers chilling in the fridge, Shaun of the Dead on DVD and no work in the morning. I shall be off to put my little feet up for the evening.

Anon, chums.

(1) - Boys, it's the 21st century. If you're gay just say so. No one cares, and it leaves more totty for the rest of us real men....*

(2) - Nothing wrong with excessive masturbation, either. Just so long as, say, the entire male population of Dudley or Folkestone doesn't do it at once. Because they have enough trouble with earthquakes as it is.** If, by the way, you have a bad short-term memory then please click here or here for an explanation for the previous comment.

* - Yes, that line was lifted from Blackadder. And no, I don't think all football fans are gay. I just like saying it, because I know how fragile some people's self-image is. And I love watching certain football fans struggling to assemble a long enough sentence in their head to start an argument with me.

** - There will now be no more knob or wank gags. There will however be vociferous apologies to my Mum, who reads this, because I've now referred to masturbation three times. And I've used the word "wank" twice. Ah well. My birthday isn't until September - she might have forgotten about this by then. Perhaps if I write this bit in the smallest font she won't notice.

(Ab)Normal Service Resumes Today

Tue, 12 Feb 2008 08:50:44 GMT

Good morning, my little puddings.

Are we well? Good for you. I'm knackered, but thanks to the appraoching combination of thick blinds and a warm duvet I am about to become both less knackered and more asleep. Yes, it's night shift time: night shift in the fog, no less, and as such we have had great fun driving around the yard with the nose-end doors open and waving bloody great white sticks around lest we bump into trains coming the other way*. It wasn't so bad on Monday morning with ice being more of a nuisance than the poor visibility but today trying to see more than 50 feet was tricky. Our mainline blokes are earning their money this morning and no mistake. Those little coloured lights appearing out of the murk and flashing past the cab tests ones nerves, you know. I doubt the travelling public give it much thought, being more worried about getting a seat than whether the driver can see, but I for one am glad to have a professional in the big seat at the front in weather like this.

I apologise for the intermittent service of late. A combination of apathy, work and a seriously unreliable broadband connection have rather hampered my efforts to scale the heights of no-wage anorak journalism. Well, the broadband is sorted, work is calming down a bit and I am resolving myself to maintain a few Blog entries a month. I know how you all long for the thoughts (yes folks, sometimes more than one) of Chairman Potter so I shall be making the effort. In return I expect you all to be writing to the Times on a weekly basis demanding to know why I'm notgetting paid for this rubbish.

So what news of the Park? Well, work goes on. It's full of fragile Junipers, 455s that don't work as well painted red as they did when they wore red, blue, orange and dirt, 3417 still goes out for her weekly constitutional - usually with me in the chair - grumbling depot drivers, more food than is good for me, less exercise than is good for me, shunting, prepping, waiting for SWT to get their arse in gear for the mainline recruitment. Oh, life is one big party...

It looks like I've driven my last Class 73, I'm sorry to say. 73 201 has been handed back to the leasing company, hopefully it will be joining the National Collection at York, 73 235 has gone off-lease as well and 73 109 is stuck at Bournemouth for the foreseeable future. Of all of them 73 109 is the best, 201 and 235 being best described as "sorely in need of extensive TLC", and I can but hope that we get to see her out on the mainline soon. It's just a shame that we didn't have 3 locomotive available to use when they would have been of real use. Up until 2005 they would have been very handy for shunting slammers and Piggies. But now, in the Brave New SWT World of AC motors and Dellner couplings, they are just an anachronism. They're fun to drive but expensive to keep, and in a company where price is everything they have to pay their way.

The photography continues to delight and frustrate in equal measure. The delight comes when I see a picture that I either didn't remember taking, or better yet do remember taking and am astonished at the results. I fear I can take less credit than Nikon, who thoughtfully added the idiot-proof "Full Auto" setting on my lovely D50. This means, of course, that I can stop worrying that I don't know what any of this ISO and f-stop bollocks means and get on with concentrating on what I'm taking pictures of. The frustration part, oddly, is also provided by Nikon: they make lots of lovely lenses, allow you to try them out, and only then tell you that the zoom lens that you've just fallen in love with actually costs £1,400. "Bugger", said Potter. If anyone has £1,400 that they're not doing anything with and would like to buy a present for a short fat man with a railway fixation (and Nigella Lawson, with chocolate sauce & whipped cream) then please feel free to get in touch. By the way, if this person should happen to be Nigella Lawson then so much the better.

I am happy to report that the endangered 4-car 4TC set, threatened with the cutters torch a few months ago, has been saved. It's imediate future lies with the Midland Railway Centre, where it will undergo a full restoration to mainline running condition. And, as I think I have mentioned before, from there it will travel to the Swanage Railway where it will provide the Isle of Purbeck with a permanent link to the National Network for the first time in 40 years. Massive credit should go to the three gentlemen who have co-ordinated the purchase and subsequent rescue against all odds. Oh, and to me of course because I'm given them certain monies on a monthly basis. But mostly to them. On a drink buying scale, they deserve a bottle of single-malt each whilst I deserve... well, maybe half a bitter shandy. It's not much but a drink is a drink and anyhow I'm driving. I hope to be the first South Western driver to have my hands on the controls of unit No.415 for over twenty five years. Another little tick on the Potter Book of Anorak Things To Do, and another good reason for keeping the legend "400-series" very much alive on my driving licence.

But enough from me for now. I apologise in advance for the typing errors, of which I'm sure there are dozens: when you lot can type lucid and almost witty prose at the end of a 10 hour shift I'll be happy accept your criticisms. I hope I find you all well, and that you will keep popping back. The lack of service is now over - and intensive timetable operates from here on in. And on that gratuitous and cringeworthy railway reference, I'm off to kip.

* - Alright, not really. We don't fit our trains with white sticks for use in fog. That would be silly, after all. When the fog closes in we tow ours around with teams of guide dogs instead. So safety conscious and environmentally friendly!

PS:

Personal Messages:

LeDuc - Beards are bad for you. Behave yourself...

Snapper - Don't forget the road from Scarborough to Hull, will you?

The Wanderer - The Grafitti on 86101 was terrible. Next time, use bigger letters!

Miffly - Yes, I had seen the article but thanks for emailing it over anyway. I think I want one for Christmas.