Precast Hun (thanks George!)

So it was a Wednesday, and I didn't want to go to work. I mean, I really, really didn't want to go. I was just miserable at the idea. I'd already left an hour later than usual, taking a rare opportunity to actually use some of my flexitime, and I was down. My job is actually getting worse, unbelievably. I didn't want to go.

Which is why, at Capenhurst, I found myself jumping out of my seat and disembarking. I needed a quick tart to pick me up!

I'd always been unsure how and when I was going to do Capenhurst. It's miles from anywhere, so once I got off, I was going to be waiting for the next train; there was no chance I could walk to another station. And it's not exactly scenic. This is another of those bus stop stations, just a couple of shelters and that's it. Another Cheshire station you see; no money.

So off I hopped in search of the station sign... and there isn't one. So sadly I had to crouch in front of a car park sign. The things I do for this blog. Nine in the morning and I'm squatting on tarmac.

And that was it. Nothing else to do for half an hour.

I had a bit of a wander round, but to be honest, I didn't want to look too conspicuous. Right next door to the station - the reason for its continued existence no doubt - is a massive plant operated by British Nuclear Fuels (or whatever they're called now). It has something to do with uranium, and that's as much as I want to know, thanks very much (and as much as I'll put on this blog). Given the hyper sensitive reaction of some authority figures (see http://tubewhore.livejournal.com/42140.html) to people just photographing a train station, I didn't want to inadvertantly capture the plant in shot and find the blog shut down under the official secrets act. The ludicrousness of all this, and the violation of basic elementary freedoms, are I think self-evident and require no further comment from me...