Being a little on the edge of sanity myself I do tend to feel sorry for the droolers in the railfan hobby. Drooling is a common worldwide thing, but when events like this happen you have to wonder if its not time to go jump under a bus, or throw yourself totally drunk off a Manly ferry.
Was returning home from the RSL lunch raffle in bad need of a shower when I was suddenly hit with a strange desire to check out the return of that Yenoora train through Campsie.
Rocked up to the station, brief talk to Ian, then headed on down to the platform for a squiz and wait for the train in question to come rolling by.
Now I like Campsie stations. It is usually free of societies degenerates and buttburglars, while, usually other, shall we call them railfans, head to stations further east.
Today was the exception though. Some older DROOLER in a tartan shirt with shorts twenty sizes to small for him stood at the end of the platform, two cameras around the neck and a distinct look of, well I am unsure how you could describe it. But lets ay one would not be immediately enticed to go near the person.
Most disturbing of all was the unusual habbit of putting his hands down his pants for extended periods of time. I know, being men we must occasionally rearrange the assets, I understand this. But this lad was doing a lot of rearranging, I mean, a florist spends less time arranging at Xmas than this guy was. While the florist dosen't feel a need to smell their fingers each time either.
In the end I was just so sickened I left soon after a coal train rolled by, joined by usual two finger salute by the crew.
Is it any wonder crews hate us so, it just takes one plum player to ruin it for everyone.
1 comment:
Hey, i loved your photo, i used it in my blog, hope you dont mind :)
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