Rusty, Old and Perfect!

I am so excited - I have a new bike! Well, when I say a new bike, it's ancient and rusty and falling to bits, but I adore it!

Martin found it on one of his now frequent trips to the tiny, almost forgotten except to the hardened fans (a category my son now falls happily into), old-time railway stations that are still to be found hidden and tucked away amongst the trees and valleys of our English countryside, if you know where to look. Walking along these platforms, one is literally transported back to a time when men would rattle up the lanes on their pushbikes to catch the train and, seeing it just about to pull away from the station, dump their bikes in the hedge until they returned in a few hours to pick them up. Or maybe not, but where the black plumes of steam tend to choke most visitors, they stir my imagination more effectively than the smoking of any substance.

But back to my bicycle! I think, to be honest, it's past being ridden, but I shall keep it in a sheltered spot outside the back door, graced by the inevitable pot plant, then perch on its worn-out old seat when no one's looking, and dream...