Crotch Fug

 It’s, ‘The Front’s at the Other End Friday’ aka #FATOEF init. 

It’s mid September and autumn is well and truly underway, as an unidentified Class 3 tank engine departs Combwich with the 10.05am service to Evercreech Junction. 

A heathy breeze is coming off the Bristol Channel, those heavy laden clouds bringing plenty of ‘squally showers’, the favourite autumnal phrase adopted by television weather forecasters across Little England. 

As usual the only ‘passenger’ is the guard, for nobody wants to travel at this time of day from almost nowhere to really the middle of nowhere, apart from the occasional railway enthusiast who got on to the wrong train. The year before, this service consisted of 2 ex LMS suburban coaches and a van, but now a single GWR designed Hawksworth brake composite is more than adequate and has the bonus of being a little more comfortable. 

However the bogie parcels van still sees much use transporting cheese, apples, vintage cider and a late strawberry harvest. Also there is the usual moonshine in glass jars hidden inside cuddly toys, and almost anything else that won’t attract attention like Nasal Nigel’s backpack (okay, that attracts plenty of attention, but would you go anywhere near it?). Of course it isn’t  Nigel’s actual backpack, but the booze runners have produced a whole load of identical copies, but without the stickiness and mild pong of ambient crotch fug, mothballs and pickled eggs. 

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