Week 188: In Borckenhurst

We stayed in a flat in Brockenhurst. It was above the cycle shop on the corner, a building I’ve got a memory of passing by for some thirty years. It was a lovely spot, but the best part by far was what it overlooked: a level crossing. R was rapt. Every ten minutes the lights would start flashing and she’d dash to the window and smoosh as close as she could to watch the trains go by. By the second day we’d looped into a guessing game trying to work out whether one train would come by or two. In my head, Brockenhurst is a rinkydink station with very occasional traffic. Not so. It’s on the main line that loops Pooled and Bournemouth into Waterloo. Trains are frequent and long. We got into a neat loop looking out for “rainbow trains” – commuter services in Pride livery. I’m projecting this, but the traffic queues seemed pretty chill. Like, this is the price of entry for this stretch of road. Little evident frustration, even as cars got stuck on the adjoining roads through one, two,…