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The Gricer’s Tale
…or, how to enrage a complete stranger without even trying
The following sorry tale of woe happened at Moorgates, just south of Goathland, on the North Yorkshire Moors Railway. I had walked through the gate and was making my way to the location from which I intended to photograph the next southbound train. As I was walking across the field I noticed that there was a small group of people gathered at the spot from where it was my intention to shoot. After a brief verbal exchange with the group I picked a spot that was to the right of the group which did not hinder any of them as the train would be coming from the left. There was a fence about three or four feet in front of me and beyond that a steep banking that was overgrown with dense, thick, vegetation, which dropped down to the railway line. After a few minutes two of the men from the group set up camp just to my right, and right up against the fence. I should point out that the area where we were was very well trodden, firm, level, and vegetation free. The first thing these two men did was to erect their lightweight tripods at the other side of the fence on the banking which was covered in very thick vegetation and also slopped steeply. Leaning over the fence it took them both quite a while to make their tripods steady but eventually this was accomplish. At one point one of the blokes was actually picking up rocks from the field and dropping them over the fence to build a solid foundation for this tripod to stand on (at times you do have to question the mentality of some people). To reiterate, the ground that they were actually standing on was flat, firm, level, and vegetation free. In fact it was the ideal sort of ground for standing a tripod on. So after many minutes of faffing about both of their tripods were now erected and about six inches apart from each other. They then attached a small video camera to each tripod. Now they both picked up their stills cameras and stood shoulder to shoulder waiting for the train to arrive. In the distance we could hear the train tooting its whistle in Goathland station. Everybody is happy, no-one is in the way of anyone else, we’re all waiting with baited breath for the train to emerge from behind the trees, what could possibly go wrong.
Suddenly the air turned blue. One of the blokes on my right was now effing and blinding, and running around the field like a demented-headless-chicken, effing this and effing that. The bloke was fuming. It was as if his soul was being tormented by vexation and wrath. So what could have caused this expletive riddled barrage of invective. Had his tripod toppled over and fallen down the banking, no. Had his battery died in his camera and he hadn’t got a spare, no. Had his memory card become corrupted and he hadn’t got a replacement, no. Apparently, half a mile away in the distance, someone had committed the ultimate cardinal sin of standing next to the railway bridge whilst wearing a white coat. He was totally consumed by outrageous indignation. He came back to the fence, grabbed hold of his tripod, yanked it over the fence and then started running around the field again. His mate, now caught up in all of the excitement, followed his example and did the same. They were both now trying to find a spot where the person in the white coat would be hidden from view. As I knew that the train was fast approaching I was concentrating on my photography, anticipating the arrival of the train. I had absolutely no idea where these two demented-headless-chickens were, other than that they were somewhere behind me, but how near or how far I could not say. Whether to my left or to my right, I did not know. Whether immediately behind me or at the top of the slight slope several yards away, I had absolutely no idea.
The train arrived, I fired of a few frames and then turned to my left to make my way back to my car. I had only taken one stride when the air turned blue again. Unbeknown to me the mentally negligible halfwit had only gone and set his video camera up about a foot away from my left shoulder.
Now if this befuddled buffoon had had the gumption, intelligence, and foresight to tell me that he had placed his video camera behind my left shoulder, I would of been aware of it and there would not have been a problem, I could have moved to my right and then around the back of the camera, but he didn’t.
Who would have thought that a person in a white coat, half a mile away, could be the cause of so much anguish, distress, and torment.
…or, how to enrage a complete stranger without even trying
The following sorry tale of woe happened at Moorgates, just south of Goathland, on the North Yorkshire Moors Railway. I had walked through the gate and was making my way to the location from which I intended to photograph the next southbound train. As I was walking across the field I noticed that there was a small group of people gathered at the spot from where it was my intention to shoot. After a brief verbal exchange with the group I picked a spot that was to the right of the group which did not hinder any of them as the train would be coming from the left. There was a fence about three or four feet in front of me and beyond that a steep banking that was overgrown with dense, thick, vegetation, which dropped down to the railway line. After a few minutes two of the men from the group set up camp just to my right, and right up against the fence. I should point out that the area where we were was very well trodden, firm, level, and vegetation free. The first thing these two men did was to erect their lightweight tripods at the other side of the fence on the banking which was covered in very thick vegetation and also slopped steeply. Leaning over the fence it took them both quite a while to make their tripods steady but eventually this was accomplish. At one point one of the blokes was actually picking up rocks from the field and dropping them over the fence to build a solid foundation for this tripod to stand on (at times you do have to question the mentality of some people). To reiterate, the ground that they were actually standing on was flat, firm, level, and vegetation free. In fact it was the ideal sort of ground for standing a tripod on. So after many minutes of faffing about both of their tripods were now erected and about six inches apart from each other. They then attached a small video camera to each tripod. Now they both picked up their stills cameras and stood shoulder to shoulder waiting for the train to arrive. In the distance we could hear the train tooting its whistle in Goathland station. Everybody is happy, no-one is in the way of anyone else, we’re all waiting with baited breath for the train to emerge from behind the trees, what could possibly go wrong.
Suddenly the air turned blue. One of the blokes on my right was now effing and blinding, and running around the field like a demented-headless-chicken, effing this and effing that. The bloke was fuming. It was as if his soul was being tormented by vexation and wrath. So what could have caused this expletive riddled barrage of invective. Had his tripod toppled over and fallen down the banking, no. Had his battery died in his camera and he hadn’t got a spare, no. Had his memory card become corrupted and he hadn’t got a replacement, no. Apparently, half a mile away in the distance, someone had committed the ultimate cardinal sin of standing next to the railway bridge whilst wearing a white coat. He was totally consumed by outrageous indignation. He came back to the fence, grabbed hold of his tripod, yanked it over the fence and then started running around the field again. His mate, now caught up in all of the excitement, followed his example and did the same. They were both now trying to find a spot where the person in the white coat would be hidden from view. As I knew that the train was fast approaching I was concentrating on my photography, anticipating the arrival of the train. I had absolutely no idea where these two demented-headless-chickens were, other than that they were somewhere behind me, but how near or how far I could not say. Whether to my left or to my right, I did not know. Whether immediately behind me or at the top of the slight slope several yards away, I had absolutely no idea.
The train arrived, I fired of a few frames and then turned to my left to make my way back to my car. I had only taken one stride when the air turned blue again. Unbeknown to me the mentally negligible halfwit had only gone and set his video camera up about a foot away from my left shoulder.
Now if this befuddled buffoon had had the gumption, intelligence, and foresight to tell me that he had placed his video camera behind my left shoulder, I would of been aware of it and there would not have been a problem, I could have moved to my right and then around the back of the camera, but he didn’t.
Who would have thought that a person in a white coat, half a mile away, could be the cause of so much anguish, distress, and torment.
