Postcards From York I

"Hey"; said I to The Husband
"Hey"
"Um..."East Coast Trains" has the train travel offers for £5"
"Uh-huh. And where do they go?"
"They mostly go to uncharted territories outside of London. More specifically...Newcastle, York, Edinburgh and...um...all the villages in between. We could go to York. There be Vikings there!!!"; I was angling for a trip.
"OK then, sold. Let's go to York."

After two more days of internet comparing the accommodation (no one can accuse me of not being thorough), I found us a haunted house to stay in. The whole house. For just the two of us.
"We'll be staying in a haunted medieval house. Hand over the cash."; I demanded.
"They don't have the hotels in York?"
"No!"; I lied.
"How much is it?" enquired The Husband.
"Not much. It is the WHOLE house, you know. It comes with all the mod cons and the ghosts thrown in for free."
"Well, how much?"
I told him. He spluttered his coffee and said: "Darling, we're done touring England."

The day of the York trip finally arrived and we made our way to London's King's Cross station.
It was teeming with people.
"Look at all them northerners. I think they're all going to Newcastle."
"What's wrong with you, woman?"
"I don't know. I'm excited to see the northerners."
The Husband rolled his eyes and hurried to our carriage.

The train was happily chugging along til we got to Doncaster. I glued my face to the window to better observe the exotic station outside London. Then I saw them. Thousands of them. Equipped with writing pads, pens, iPads, compact cameras and DSLR cameras. They were hurriedly and excitedly walking along platforms and even, occasionally, breaking into run.
"OH. MY. EFFING. GOD.", I was still glued to the window, my mouth agape.
"What? What is it?"
"Trainspotters!! Millions of them!!!"
"What's a trainspotter ?"
I explained, the best I could, about the mythical beings who, actually, are clearly well, alive and thriving in Doncaster.
"It must be really boring in Doncaster."; concluded The Husband: "They can't possibly have a decent pub here."
"Oh, they must have."; I disagreed: "It's a well known fact that a cluster of two or more houses in England forms a village and everyone knows a village has to have a pub and a train station. It's the law!"
"So, why the trainspotters?"
"I believe the British male obsession  with trains begins at an early age...they all grow up watching "Thomas The Tank Engine". I took a moment to think about British cartoons: Thomas The Tank Engine, Postman Pat, Bob The Builder....all regular folk. USA gave us Superman, Spiderman and Power Rangers and the UK gave us a cartoon about the ginger postman and his cat. The English like to appreciate the underdog. Being the underdog (and the foreign one at that) myself, I liked that fact.
While I was busy analyzing the finer points of the English psyche, the train made it to York.
"We're here!!! The Viking Central!!!" Yay, let's go!"; I pulled my husband from the train and hurried into the city.