I was on a bloody train hurtling through thick drizzle between Reading and Exeter. Jammed out it was because of earlier cock-ups on the line and we had to to kick two pillocks out of our reserved seats. Didn't see a damn thing out of the windows, not a firework in sight, and the soddin' thing was late. Not only that, before that we'd had to catch a commuter train from Richmond to Reading that was like a sardine tin on wheels, and the whole bloody system was in chaos due to a busted train somewhere or other. It's a miracle we actually got out of London at all. Then an hour's drive from Exeter to Bude in the murk. We don't drink on Thursdays except that I am doing. Grrr.

"Bogie". Wow, I haven't heard that word for decades. Yeah, I remember having the guy on a bogie all right! Always somebody else's gang though. We never got round to demanding dosh for our guy, fools that we were! We used to stick our little brothers on our bogies and charge them around. You could do miracles with a pair or two of old pram wheels. More fun than a barrowload of monkeys - until a wheel or two dropped off!