As usual I like to start this blog with a thought-provoking commentary on an aspect of railways or our daily lives. But it's too hot.
I foresaw two possible scenarios this week. One was that I would be on my way down to the studios and wouldn't get the time to write the blog at all, the other that, for various reasons, there wouldn't be much to write about. I think my crystal ball wants new batteries.
Several readers speculated, after my teaser at the end of last week's edition, whether things had kicked off with Peak Rail's management again, which was logical but actually not so. 'It' has had a significant effect on events this week though, and resulted in the title being apposite (not a house move, but count them!). Plenty of pictures too, so should be a colourful edition.
Apparently my opening remarks last week about the joys of being self-employed struck a chord with a few of you – not least one of my regulars who texted me in support of it before 7am Monday morning!
I said last week that I'd have some good news to impart, but in truth I'm only going to give you half of it, as the second thing we had planned for the week didn't come off. Never mind, we've rescheduled everything back 7 days and hopefully, it'll be on the agenda for next week's blog instead.
I picked the title this week and wondered whether to start off with a “hell fire and brimstone” sermon. You know the sort of thing, you can find it on obscure satellite and cable channels, with some smartly-suited guy sat behind a desk, pronouncing how Man has lost his way and only by following the word of the Lord (or his interpretation of it) in the 'good book' (pick title of yours or his choices) can we redeem ourselves and gain ever-lasting salvation. (And there's a thought, we all know what is meant by the “good book”, but what would we understand to be meant by a “bad book”?) But then sermons aren't really my style. Meandering reminiscences, technical dissertations, maybe, but sermonising on Weekend Rails? Hardly.
First of all, let me thank all those who e-mailed during the week offering their best wishes after my daughter's nuptials. She and her husband are now somewhere in Japan and hopefully enjoying every minute of it. For us though, it is back to normal.
Aaah, where to begin. So many disparate threads this week. Welcome to the first blog of April. Again, my apologies to those of you who had difficulty last week. Some little s*d managed to get into the site and added a “script” that put the server into a tizz. Other ISPs latched on and blocked access and it took a number of hours for the good news to filter through after it was fixed. Indeed, one reader phoned me Monday afternoon to say he could get it on his phone, but his office computer still insisted the site was down. Ah well, all passwords have been changed, all computers scanned for malware and I will remain vigilant.
Firstly, my apologies if you have had difficulties getting on to Weekend Rails this week. As I write this, people are telling me that they are getting server error messages. Now I “check” WR (and Andrew Briddon Locos) every day, a legacy of the trouble that has been caused by past hacking attempts (as a matter of interest, there have been over 500 spurious attempts to “log-in” to my side of WR this month) but I do so by means of the monitoring package which has been unaffected, so remained unaware. Hopefully it will not take long to fix.
The Briddon Country Pile is far too posh to have a house number. Our house has a name, and is said to be on a road, but if you arrive by Satnav, it takes you up the road and you have already passed the side turn where we are before the voice announces you have reached, etc. This week the new fan for Libby was delivered – by a neighbour. It seems that Tuffnells, having taken the consignment correctly addressed to the house name, decided to allocate it a house number on their consignment notes, and better still, a number that is at the other end of the road. The (not-so-near) neighbour accepted delivery, but then asked the postman where this house was – Bill, our postie, directed him to us!