It’s 9:40pm, and it’s still light. The train has just passed Carluke, and, before that, fields full of cows and horses happily eating grass. I’m now gazing out at a field full of sheep and lambs.
Just a couple of months ago, on pretty much the same train journey, I’d have had nothing to look at but darkness and the occasional cluster of lights. This time, though, as the train slows, getting into the Greater Glasgow area, I get to look at Hawthorns in flower. Oh look, there’s a couple of swans.
Two months ago, coming up from a London in the throes of spring towards a Glasgow still shrugging off winter, barely North of Watford suddenly all the lights went out. This time around, thanks to a change in season, I got a double-whammy.
In a summer-ish time of year, getting on a train at London and travelling North, the passage of time is nothing compared to the change of latitude. The remaining length of the day locally increases significantly faster than the total amount of time spent in the train. Thus, almost four hours since the train left London in mid-afternoon, it’s barely twilight.
If only the nice steward guy had refilled my glass, this would be a perfect night.
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