God, I love trains. Not in the trainspotting sense, which is the same drive that impels numismatists to pinion stamps, entomologists to net our decllining butterflies or card sharps to buy one more pack of pokemon. No, my love’s aesthetic and entirely prideful. I love these great bolts that shoot from one great interlaced quiver to another, in the way a termite might love the great progresion his race had made, were he ever to consider his hive. It’s an entirely subjective love to do with organised complexity on multiple scales, from the pneumatic sibilance of the opening doors to the steel backbone s of Brunel’s indestructible hangars.