Train Ride to Bungendore

A Bungendore pub. Pubs all smell the same as you walk past: a heady mixture of alcohol, perspiration and smoke - even though I'm sure nobody's allowed to smoke in there anymore.



We were warned not to rely on the loos at the station. This photo doesn't do justice to the reason why not. This is the blokes' lav. The blokes were lining up to use the ladies'; it was like that, so it was.

St Philip's Anglican church

Bungendore train station

Girls playing rugby in the distance

Bungendore School of Arts

Even the post office is an historic building

The Culprit on the train

For a mother's day treat Dan organised a train trip from Canberra to Bungendore. This was the same steam train we saw once on a trek through the Molongolo Gorge at Queanbeyan. When I saw an antique steam train chug-chugging across the crevasse I felt I'd just stepped into an Enid Blyton tale.

Entirely run by volunteers, the train trip is a good day out - we were served an early lunch (which was chicken and apricot in filo pastry), then dropped off at the historic township of Bungendore for a brief stroll, and on the way back we were served cake and coffee. (Why does 'coffee and cake' sound better?)

Today was a mothers' day special so all mothers were given chocolates as a gift. Turns out, those weren't the only chocolates I was served.

At first, I thought someone had farted. Well, there's always someone, isn't there? Letting one rip on public transport? I'm ashamed to say that it crossed my mind one of the elderly people sitting nearby might have accidentally let one slip - apparently this happens as you get older. Then I remembered that I am a mother to a one year old baby who has been known to poo her pants in public, if not lately. So both Dan and I sniffed her nappy, but decided (for some reason) that it wasn't Hannah. (Well, you don't want to be too obvious about these things - someone might be cringing in their seat, hoping no-one else has noticed.)

Then the passengers across the aisle flung open their window and I noticed everyone in our carriage had their fingers to their nose. We'd just been enjoying our sponge cake, with strawberry cream. I hoped no one thought it was me. Perhaps everyone thought the same. Perhaps they knew it was me - or as good as.

Minutes later, when the stink failed to abate, both Dan and I concluded that someone must have shit their pants, and when I re-sniffed the nappy wearing baby on my lap, there was no doubt about it: HM had disgraced our family.

Dan later admitted that he, too, initially suspected the elderly people. How terrible it must be to get old.

Apart from this minor infringement, HM was very well behaved despite obvious tiredness. A little girl further down the carriage amused her all the way back by pulling faces and clapping.