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One of the Mid-Morning moles ( the informant variety, not the dig-up-your-garden variety) sidled up to me, looked left and right, sniffed and then whispered, 'I think you ought to take a look at it.'

I scanned the bar-room. There was nothing obvious that needed attention - apart from, perhaps, recently-drained glasses.

The mole tutted.

Remembering what once was

'The Guided Busway, you fool. Take your camera, and follow this map.'

I looked at the paper that the mole had handed me.

'Milk, bread, eggs, 5-piece obstruction wrench set…'

'Sorry, wrong pocket.'

The mole passed me another crumpled piece of paper.

'Here. Follow this. It'll take you out of the back of Rampton and you'll find yourself at what used to be the old railway line. I think you'll be surprised.'

So, one morning, I turned up the collar of my wax jacket against the bitter weather, and headed off.

Surprised was not the word. The last time I came down here, it was an overgrown railway track. But no longer, as these pictures show…