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| By Burneside Station |
It was another bright, sunny morning after a very wet night. It hadn't been on the day's game plan to spend over half an hour stuck at a signal in Trafford Park on my way into Manchester. Which rather scotched the day's plans for a trip out to Leighton Moss, the connections being as they are I'd get an hour in before sunset.
I caught the late-running Blackpool train to try and retrieve something from the day, the Barrow train sits at Preston for quarter of an hour and there was an outside chance we could catch it up (if you look at the timetables there's no chance but I've ridden the rails long enough to know how driver switchover works when there are delays on the network). We just missed it so I kicked my heels waiting for the Windermere train and weighed up the pros and cons of changing at Lancaster and having that hour at Leighton Moss.
The weather turned cooler and greyer as we travelled North and I was dead browned off. I decided to give up and go home via Windermere, my thinking being that an hour or two travelling through a landscape of sheep grazing islands in flooded fields with a backdrop of glowering grey hills merging with glowering grey skies might cheer me up. And so it did.
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