THE other day, I had cause to call in at Narborough station, a small semi-urban location in Leicestershire. It was my first visit for a few years and I distinctly remembered the drab, graffiti-daubed, run-down condition it had been in on the previous occasion. What passed as its car park had been a rough piece of wasteland, unlit and full of potholes. It was the sort of place you'd hesitate to leave your vehicle in for a whole day. Youths were yawping outside a nearby pub and the atmosphere was frankly rather intimidating.
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