Every few minutes, my house shakes. I don’t live in an earthquake zone or anything. I understand we get them every so often but the authorities require special equipment for anyone to notice them. I live very close to a busy train line in suburban Glasgow and it is very busy, with most trains whirring straight past in haste for the city or the coast. If we can’t hear that then there is the constant hum of cars on the M8 just beyond the railway. There is of course one day a year when all this stops. The trains just don’t run. There are much less cars. There aren’t even any buses to be found anywhere in the greater Glasgow area. I spent that day within 200 yards of my house and I was the only person around me who noticed. I am writing this the day after, Boxing Day, and since I started writing, at least two trains have passed, plus a plane overhead bound for Glasgow Airport.
The majority of trains in Scotland don’t run on Boxing Day either. If I wanted to go on a day trip today, and I don’t, incidentally, the furthest I could get by train is Croy, in North Lanarkshire. I’ve been there before and I wouldn’t encourage it. The buses are on, though, on a Sunday service and I could go use the Subway but frankly I don’t want to.
Where I grew up is strangely well connected on Christmas Day and Boxing Day. East Lothian Council subsidises buses to run over the festive period. Unlike where I live now, Dunbar is served by hourly buses on Christmas Day and New Year’s Day. The Edinburgh area is considerably blessed with buses too. No trains either, mind, but still something.
Everything is constant in our society. There is no let up. It is good, however, to realise that things can just stop, even for a few hours, even in the biggest city in the country, and there is simply no place to go. That’s okay, at least until the 27th.