Why is it that all men seem to get jealous at any talk of handsome pilots? Believe me, they do. All the chaps I know, including my beloved Chris (back here in England while I was away), used to wince every time I mentioned the handsome pilot who lives just three doors down from my house-sit abode at Loganholme, Queensland, where I spent eight weeks recently, even though the pilot is a family man with a gorgeous wife and children.

Today, after our lovely morning cycle ride to Cockwood Harbour, I was downloading my photographs when Chris noticed a nice shot of a train coming along the track at Cockwood.

“You must be a train-spotter,” he said, laughing (I said the same of him yesterday when I discovered that he knew all about the Sir Nigel Grisley (okay, Gresley!) train, which came through Dawlish twice – down and back – in the afternoon.)

“Not really, but it’s only natural to take photo’s when you live right by a famous railway line,” I answered after a little thought.

My explanation made some sense although I must confess that I was starting to worry a bit because the train in my photograph was just an ordinary, everyday, common old Intercity train passing through.

“I always wanted to be a train driver,” Chris added wistfully.

Hey presto! His wish has come true…