Monday 9 March 2009

Getting Off For Home

It's one of those sad little stations that lie grey and listless by the side of the tracks, skulked about by a couple of skeletal trees. Two or three straggle off the train and you wonder who would choose to live here. Dull sparrows on the bleached fence, hawthorn spiny with berries like clotting blood. There's always an old sign by British Rail, touched with the fingertips of rust. This one says: Cam & Dursley.

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