There's a drawing on my wall a pen and ink impression of the old transporter bridge - a Meccano masterpiece.
It's my Tardis, my time machine, portal to a vast interior of vivid early images, sounds of a rumbling grumbling bogie pulling me back through time.
The clatter as our boarding gate swings shut, an alert pause in the varnished cabin. We listen for the next familiar step, the creaking **** towards Runcorn Gap, passing over Aethelfleda's Castle, the mid-crossing windblown waltzing, the bustling landing in the other county.