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Ipswich to Lincoln, Sunday 10th October 2004
Last time I wrote a journal-like entry for this website - ie one with no purpose, structure or outsider-interest - I was travelling across the Atlantic Ocean, thousands of feet above the rest of the world on a Boeing 757. This time, it’s slightly less impressive. I’m sat on a modest three-carriage One Railways train, on a 10-minute break in Ely.
A few minutes ago I was slightly tempted to leave my seat and step outside to the news stand and pick up a copy of the Ely Standard. This temptation departed much quicker than this train, as I remembered how despairingly dull such provincial publications can be – we all remember the length the Lincolnshire Echo went to covering a local woman with a drinking problem who wanders round the city centre getting arrested. Or at least those of us who read it do. Save the woman her dignity for god’s sake, now she’ll never be able to find her peace with tens of eager student journalists approaching her thinking it’s the next great follow-up opportunity.
This is one of the main reasons why I don’t go after follow-ups; they’re generally watered-down versions of real news – general interest pieces that in fact don’t hold much interest at all. Saying that however is to imply that I go after any news at all, no, the online net has not made that change yet. For now we retain our frivolity, for one day we may not be able to pull it off.
That is beside the point though. The point of this is the journey I’m on. This journey represents the plight I shall be going through for the next three years. It’s long, longer than it needs to be but justifiable all the same – a journey that must be made; one that can be put off to an extent but not ignored. History, just as the future, is vital to the present and as with all journeys; it is often far easier to escape from than it is to join.
Should I get off this train at the station in Retford and decline to make the next leg of my trip then I would be effectively struck for a certain period of time – not indefinitely, but in a way which breeds nothing but uncertainty. Uncertainty is something that is hard to pin down, and it’s the fear of being in that position that keeps us on our respective journeys.
I never once took a step out of alignment with mine; I met every departure early and lived by the timetable. I have the fear to thank for this.
Written by J. King
Last time I wrote a journal-like entry for this website - ie one with no purpose, structure or outsider-interest - I was travelling across the Atlantic Ocean, thousands of feet above the rest of the world on a Boeing 757. This time, it’s slightly less impressive. I’m sat on a modest three-carriage One Railways train, on a 10-minute break in Ely.
A few minutes ago I was slightly tempted to leave my seat and step outside to the news stand and pick up a copy of the Ely Standard. This temptation departed much quicker than this train, as I remembered how despairingly dull such provincial publications can be – we all remember the length the Lincolnshire Echo went to covering a local woman with a drinking problem who wanders round the city centre getting arrested. Or at least those of us who read it do. Save the woman her dignity for god’s sake, now she’ll never be able to find her peace with tens of eager student journalists approaching her thinking it’s the next great follow-up opportunity.
This is one of the main reasons why I don’t go after follow-ups; they’re generally watered-down versions of real news – general interest pieces that in fact don’t hold much interest at all. Saying that however is to imply that I go after any news at all, no, the online net has not made that change yet. For now we retain our frivolity, for one day we may not be able to pull it off.
That is beside the point though. The point of this is the journey I’m on. This journey represents the plight I shall be going through for the next three years. It’s long, longer than it needs to be but justifiable all the same – a journey that must be made; one that can be put off to an extent but not ignored. History, just as the future, is vital to the present and as with all journeys; it is often far easier to escape from than it is to join.
Should I get off this train at the station in Retford and decline to make the next leg of my trip then I would be effectively struck for a certain period of time – not indefinitely, but in a way which breeds nothing but uncertainty. Uncertainty is something that is hard to pin down, and it’s the fear of being in that position that keeps us on our respective journeys.
I never once took a step out of alignment with mine; I met every departure early and lived by the timetable. I have the fear to thank for this.
Written by J. King