Back in the Saddle Again

I'm getting there, I'm getting there. A month after my foot accident, I'm finally able to leave the house. I've managed to limp round Sainsbury's, I've had a potter round the garden, and now, finally, I've been able to return to the trains.

The occasion was another of those epoch-defining moments where I met up with another of my trusty readers. This time it was a case of Hello Sailor!, as the person I was meeting was Roy, a regular in the comment section who was currently on leave from his job in the Navy. We met up, along with Robert, and chucked back a few lagers. It was a good way to spend the afternoon, and once again reassured me that my readers are not insane losers. It's strange - when I started writing this blog, my terminal shyness would have stopped me from going anywhere near someone off the net. Now I seem to spend every month befriending another person I've only ever known through the odd e-mail. Who knew? You're nice people!

After that, I staggered back to Moorfields for the true highlight of the afternoon: riding the rails again! (I'd got a lift across to Liverpool). Disappointingly, Merseyrail has managed to carry on without me. There wasn't even a brass band in the ticket hall to welcome me back.

One thing had changed on the platform: the countdown clocks now had a little begging message, asking you to spread along the station. I've never seen this before, but it's about time.

I'm still not completely fixed, as the three-quarter of a mile walk home from the station reminded me: by the time I staggered through my front door I was in something approaching agony. I was also embarrassingly slow on the stair-ramp at Birkenhead Park. Normally I'm nimbly scaling the stairs like a mountain goat on a cliff face: yesterday I was overtaken by a pensioner with a tartan zip-up shopping trolley.

Still, it was nice to be back out there, and surely a return to tarting can't be far off. I'll leave you with a shot of my joy-filled face as I was carried home:

FEEL THE LOVE.

I'm Going Slightly Mad

I am so BORED.

This broken foot thing is no fun. At first it had a sort of charm to it: I never broke anything as a child, so I'd always felt I'd missed out on a rites of passage experience. And it was great sitting around on my backside while the Bf ran around making me cups of tea and my favourite dinners.

But now... now I'd just like to be able to leave the house. I'd like to go for a walk to the nearest pub. I'd like to get myself a cup of tea. I'd like to get some exercise, because I strongly suspect that I've put on about twelve stone just sitting here. Most of all, I want to go out and get some train stations.

What makes it worse is that, as I sit around here, my mind wanders to the practicalities of Tarting, and I get thinking about the hows and whys of the next trip. I have plenty of time to make fantasies of where to go, how to get about; I'm scanning timetables, running through Google Maps. I've even started wondering what I'll do once I've collected all the stations on the map (Stations in Wales? Northern England? The tramlines of Rotterdam? The New York subway?).

For now I'll content myself with a brief update of what's still to be done, care of the black splodged map:

The biggest area I've ignored so far is in Cheshire.

Eight stations there, on two lines, with irregular services (Acton Bridge is served only on feast days when there is a full moon and the Duke's wife is with child) or request-only stops (Delamere). They're also some distance apart, what with it being the countryside. Some thought required.

Another stretch of country line to be collected is in Lancashire:

The Wigan-Southport line's been partially collected, at Parbold and Burscough Bridge, but there's still the rest of it to go. Once again, we have stations in the middle of nowhere - New Lane is barely a station at all.

We've also got the Blackpool branch in Lancashire, which still fills me with dread as I promised never ever to go back to that Sodom-on-Sea. Argh.

Beyond that, there are odds and sods. The Bromborough Rake-Bromborough-Eastham Rake complex on the Wirral Line. Birkdale and Southport on the Northern Line. Both of those will signal the end of their respective routes, so I'll leave them for a while longer. Two rogue stations that have been missed out by accident - Bryn and Widnes. And Leyland and Euxton Balshaw Lane on the West Coast Main Line.

Then, right at the end, a final sweep of the Loop. That'll give me James Street, Moorfields, Lime Street and Central, all of which I've got in one way or another but which don't properly count (e.g. I've only done the Water Street entrance to James Street, or the main line of Lime Street). That's a final, victory sweep, one that I hope to accompany with beer at local train-themed pubs, and hopefully with some of the marvellous people I've met through this blog.

It's not much to do, is it? Twenty-nine stations, by my count. Soon it'll all be over and done with. Which makes me sad...

Crocked

Oh dear. Followers of my Twitterfeed will be aware that I've had an accident. Thursday morning, I went to take out the bins. I took one step out my front door and my foot went over on itself. I thought I'd just bruised it, but when the side of my foot started to swell and the pain didn't go away, I took a trip to casualty.

Turns out I have broken my fifth metatarsal (the same as David Beckham, celebrity injury fans). So I ended up looking like this:

The plaster's gone now, replaced by a big clunky boot shoe which holds the foot in place, but I'm still on crutches and wincing every time it moves. It's really quite annoying, and it's put a real crimp in my tarting activity. I've already had to cancel a trip to London next week. I was planning on working my way down the East London Line, the new, gleaming extension to the Overground, but it's going to have to wait now. I can't tell you how disappointed by this I am.

So basically what I'm saying is, bear with me. I'll be away for a while - unless I can think of any little posts I can do without leaving the comfort of my sofa - but I promise I'll be back. Don't go anywhere!