That saying comes to you courtesy of the big book of stupid platitudes. The saying is not quite as grating as "it's all good", but it's certainly right up there with that ridiculous utterance "time heals everything" and that particular saying's dimmer twin "time heals all wounds".

Time does not heal everything. Ridiculous assertion.

Time heals all wounds. ber-blather.

There's more.

"People are our most important asset"- especially when presented as a large lettered breakout quote in an annual report of a government department - suggests imminent lay-offs of staff and HR's unified commitment to casualising the remaining dispirited workforce.

"Follow your passion"? Not good advice when someone's passion is heroin.

"What doesn't kill you only makes you stronger"? Pass me a very big bucket.

"It's better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all"? Please. Ergh.

If anyone says to you "it's all good", it is a completely acceptable and perhaps necessary form of self-defence to stare them in the eye and inquire as to whether they have always been a moron, or if they just release their inner-moron when they wish to check if their inner-moron is still available.

But "the more things change...the more they stay the same"?

I'm not totes opposed to that platitude, despite its logical fallacy. Why? Because trains.

New shiny stations in NSW, but...

I reckon I've caught the #shitkansen intercity between Newy and Sydney and back probs around 500 times in the past 20 years, which is small beer compared to those who do the daily commute.

I like trains. Even the trains to-and-from Sydney. Looking forward to the delayed new ones. I don't like trains in the "better watch that bloke" kind of train-liking, but as a civilised form of travel. The M1 is too much like life resembling art and the art is Steven Spielberg's 1971 classic Duel where the semi-trailer is way up Dennis Weaver's clacker.

Trains are my preferred form of moving between places. This preference stuns friends who seem to enjoy harbouring a morbid fear of public transport while simultaneously banging on about the big coal industrial complex and the selfishness of those who murder dolphins with their callous grasping of plastic straws.

I've been caught on trains that have stopped dead because of bushfire or because of summer heat buckling the line and for my favourite reason - no explanation given. That's sorta the train equivalent of a bus going past a stop on Maitland Road at 10pm with a "Not in Service" sign while the bus driver waves at you.

Might move to that suburb "Not in Service" - they seem to get more buses.

When the train stops and no announcement is given, I like to think it's because the PA is cooked. Maybe the driver has no idea what is happening and there's a policy not to misinform. The train stops, five minutes, ten minutes...waiting, waiting, waiting. No information forthcoming.

How long will this be? Will I miss an appointment, a connecting train, a plane?

And then there's the two words that unleash fear from deep in the heart and send it flooding through even the most cheese infested arteries.

Track work.

Track. Work.

Even when NBN's Mitch Hughes is talking about some early morning capers at the Newcastle Jockey Club, the mere mention of "track work" can trigger sweating and tremors.

It's almost worth a small punt - please gamble responsibly - that the weekend off in the distance you have planned to go to Sydney will coincide with track work.

The train fare remains fair enough. Getting to Sydney from Newy for under $9 remains a bargain - especially compared to the price of train travel in places such as the UK, where privatisation has sent fares into the stratosphere. We must never let it happen in NSW. No.

I'm not the only one who likes train travel. One week ago yesterday, I caught the 10.18am out of Central. It was a four-carriage train and was near full when it pulled out. But after it departed Strathfield, customers had no option but to stand in the aisles or sit on the stairs. It got worse at Hornsby. People started alighting at Wyong and it gradually got better, but why there are only four carriages on a Sunday train at that time is a question for the minister.

I guess the more things change, the more they stay the same. Maybe they just get slower and more crowded.

It's all good, except when it's not.

Plus ca change...