We're driving along a quiet coast road that's also bordered by a railway line. My good lady spots a group of men in
anoraks, all fondling binoculars and notebooks. They're waiting for
something; hoping that whatever it is will soon appear and make their lives
just a little more complete, on this day at least. “Stop”, she
yells. It's a command I
cannot ignore. We pull over and she rushes back along the road to
the group, not even remembering to close the car door such is her
concentration, her devotion, her passion. My wife, you see, is a
birder. Is this is a twitch she just can't ignore? Is it an
unfortunate sea bird blown in from some far away shore; a poor
creature who should by rights never touch English sand? No. In no
time at all she slumps back into the passenger seat beside me. “Train
spotters” she exclaims. “Train spotters”, she repeats,
incredulously. “Train spotters”. There it is again, only now
she's shaking her head in disbelief. “What is the point?” She
says, as we drive off leaving the anoraks staring along the rails; happy, oblivious.
Meet Roger, he collects small pieces of paper no
bigger than a postage stamps. Well, that's because they are postage
stamps, if they weren't they would be just small pieces of paper no
bigger than postage stamps, and who would collect those? Well, I bet
someone would. But what would be the point, at least stamps represent
something: far off places, travel, history, great people, important
events from a particular time and place. Collecting small pieces of
paper could be nice, though. You could divide them into different categories:
colours and materials, for example, glossy, newsprint and so on. And
put them into binders labelled, 'Small pieces of paper, waste bin,
European, 2010 onwards'. Used stamps are themselves just
old small pieces of paper, they're useless, they no longer serve any
purpose. Except that it's nice to collect them.
Alan is obsessed with
Eddie Stobart. He not only collects models of the famous fleet of
trucks, he buys anything related to the company. Alan has a room in
his home dedicated to Stobart, it's filled with posters, books and
even toys bearing the 'Stobart' logo. He is particularly keen to
acquire the names the company gives to each of its vehicles. He's
often seen standing on motorway bridges close to where he lives,
hoping to photograph a passing Stobart lorry; hoping to write down
another name. Holidays are spent in part travelling the country's
motorways from service station to service station, lorry park to
lorry park in the heady anticipation of seeing and recording. Alan
is so dedicated to the pursuit of all things Eddie Stobart, you would
think his life depended on on it.
I think, over the years,
I've accumulated tools for just about every conceivable job you could
come across in a truck workshop. I've even got Whitworth sockets.
There are quarter, three-eights, half inch, and three-quarter drive ratchets; and spanners of all sorts, too many to mention.
They're good kit too, Smap-on and Britool, and I
literally love them all. I keep them in tool chests that take up half
a wall at one end of the shop; chests that cost an arm and a leg. And
I know where every tool is, what shelf, in which drawer. They are
all clean and oiled, and laid out neatly. I'm very particular about
that: I don't like disorder and I don't like corrosion of any kind.
With my tools I can deal with anything that comes along; complete any
job; put food on the table.
