I have never been caught by ticket inspectors on public transport, touch wood, which I can’t at this point because I am betwixt platforms three and four of Melbourne Central station, which reminds me, what would Shakespeare or… Henry Bolte, let’s say Henry Bolte, say if he turned up in
The train to Broady is always crowded, it seems, as far as Essendon and then not at all crowded thereafter. This seems to me to be a damn good reason to make some of the morning trains expresses, and since there will have to be a timetable change when the line to Craigieburn is electrified in 2044, maybe this is something the powers that will be might wanta consider (sorry about this slacker talk, I’m just feeling lackadaisical).
Everyone always assumes the Broady line is a bit like the Bronx (whatever that, strictly speaking, is – some kind of Hollywood invention, fear of east coast USA?) or Mad Max or something but in fact it is always sweet and mild in my experience except a couple of days ago when a youth jokingly insinuated he wanted to steal my laptop, or at least I think that was what he was saying, I couldn’t quite make it out but his friends immediately assured me he was a good boy and wouldn’t do such a thing. It was all a bit stupid. It made me realise what my few years of on-the-hop/job teacher ‘training’ had got me. A number of possible responses ran through my head, all of which seemed too much like engagement. So I smiled and simpered and did not get into a discussion. So easy and nice to do. They were actually quite friendly types, they were going to
There are some grouse stations along the Broady line. Kensington station is a gabulous (I meant fabulous but gabulous says it better) piece of gothickery.
Broadmeadows station deserves a post of its own someday. The day before it’s pulled down, perhaps.