Failed again.

Well, we've reached the end of the year and how has the Smartie Challenge gone?

As you can tell from the lack of posting, completely rubbish.

It's not that I haven't visited any of these places, more that I didn't do it by train with the express intention of writing a blog post. In my defence, I've been very, very, busy this year. No holidays for Phil and not as many days off as I should have had.

So, despite having a new calendar this year, I'm going to stick to the 2015 list and do my best to tick them off as promised. I'll also try and drop in a few travelling related posts along the way.

If I can get myself organised, maybe I won't be so embarrassed next year.

The Smartie Challenge

Back in 2009, I decided to try and visit every location on the National Railway Museum's poster calendar. That year I failed miserably with only one town ticked off in 12 months.

Well, although my travelling track record has improved recent, what with Australia and the Isle of Man again, I still need more inspiration. So, I'm going to try again.

To make things easier, I'm using a more restricted calendar - The Midlands Poster Art Calendar isn't going to send me to Scotland or Ireland. This way everything can be done in a day trip and for sensible money even on our stupidly over-priced (Thank you John Major) rail system.

The list of targets is:

• Lincoln
• Ashby-de-la-Zouch
• Stratford-upon-Avon
• Malvern
• Shrewsbury
• Derbyshire
• Droitwich
• Rugby
• The Wye Valley
• Nottingham
• Stafford
• Warwick

A bit mixed - Ashby and the Wye Valley don't have railway stations so I'll have to get as close as I can by train and then bus the rest.

Warwick and Stratford are a whole lot easier since both are within a few miles of Leamington Spa.

Each visit will generate a blog post and also a nice day out for me - which is the point of the whole thing. And if I don't get a move on, I bet a weeks work and a RailRover could see pretty much all of them ticked off.

Whitlocks End

Every time I go to Birmingham on the train, there seems to be a service leaving another platform running to Whitlocks End. This has been going on for months and made me wonder exactly what is so special about the place. After all, if every train seems to be going there, maybe I'm missing something if I don't follow suit !

A quick squiz on Google maps shows it to be a bit isolated. The nearest conurbation is 20 minutes walk away and on the boundaries of Solihull. Not a obvious choice as a desirable destination, but the name has a certain appeal.

The first choice the traveller faces is at the ticket machine. Leamington to Birmingham return costs a substantial £12.50. Leamington to Whitlocks End is £6.30. Same train, same route. Both trips involve going into Brum, it's just the cheaper trip requires you to change trains to reach your destination. If you were minded to do so, you could visit the second city by taking a train to Birmingham New Street and then not bothering with the second stage of the journey thus saving you 6 quid - swivel on that John "I'm going the smash the railways" Major !

Of course, I was a good boy and changed trains at Moor Street station like I was supposed to and found myself returning back down the line the way I had come from ten minutes before heading out along the "Shakespeare Line". The bucolic name hides some grim bits of city although these are quickly replaced by fields largely populated by horses.

Arriving at Whitlocks End station still doesn't explain why trains terminate there. It's a parkway style place. There's lots of space to leave a car, minimal covered facilities, a broken ticket machine and very little else. Certainly nothing to delay the traveller unless he has a skateboard and fancies trying his skills out on the zig-zag ramps provided for wheelchair access.

I had taken the precaution of bringing  a map so decided that the nearby town of Dicken's Heath would be worth a stroll. Heading out from the station, the first thing I noticed is that while there aren't many buildings, the area is home to most of the UK's budding football stars. Shirley Town Football club (Founded 1926) have their ground opposite the station entrance and for the weary traveller offer cafe facilities. Around the corner there are Highgate United FC, Monkspath Pumas, Leafield Athletic Football club and Wychall Wanderers Junior FC. Can there be a greater concentration of dribbling talent anywhere in the UK ? More than in the current England team I suspect.

My visit was on a frosty Tuesday so the footballers were at work or school I assume, certainly the fields were empty. Once past them though, I came across the greatest surprise of the day - an elephant.



Pachyderms aren't native to this part of the West Midlands. Neither are gorillas, gazelle or crocodiles, but that were all found on the country lane. Specifically at a garden centre called Akamba which specialises in hardy tropical plants (good to -12 degrees C) and full-sized metal animals sculpted in metal. The elephant was around 8 feet high - slightly difficult to load into the car but a bit different from the more common garden gnomes other people have.

Another 5 minutes stroll brought me to the edge of Dicken's Heath. The first few buildings look to have some age but only the first few. Almost instantly you are in to modern housing estate territory. The whole place appears to have been built in the last 5 years but in the manner of a modern take on the traditional village. Someone even thought to construct a barn conversion that I doubt ever saw any hay. A village green abuts the village hall, library and health centre. There is a reasonable shopping arcade. Food comes courtesy of Tesco Metro.

Apart from there there are two cosmetic dentists, one promoting a "Winter whitening" offer because gleaming gnashers are so important over the festive period. You can also get your hair styled by one of at least three hairdressers, buy a property from one of several estate agents and then drown your sorrow at the bill with one of the two wine importers. Don't think we are talking off-licence, one made a great play of the quality of the champagne they stocked. At least it won't stain your newly gleaming teeth.

There is a waterfront area complete with a customs house. The water turns out to be a sculpture in a square pool that looked ideal for sailing model boats. This flows down a stepped waterfall about 15 feet to the canal. Around all this were the sort of loft style apartments that have taken over any traditional warehouse found near real quaysides.

The customs officers, by the way, now seem to specialise in selling art.

Sitting in the Cloud Cafe, I pondered the place. For the life of me I can't work out whether I like it or not. On one hand it is a very practical "village". There is a lot of living space nicely arranged near to the shops and with a decent play area for kids too young to head off to the many footie clubs. All the basic facilities are there: library (afternoons only), parish council office, supermarket, plastic pub, or at least a bar and village hall. A limited bus service runs to Solihull and as I discovered, the station isn't too far to walk.

But there was something about it that unnerved me and finally I worked out what it was. Inspiration came from the special of the day - Chorizo Red Pepper, Butter Bean and Spinach Salad. That's not real food, it's the sort of perfect lunch that you think you would like to eat but instead opt for a turkey sandwich, a bag of crisps and bottle of fizzy drink. I'm sure it would be lovely, my carrot cake certainly was, but it's like real life is somewhere else, outside the bubble that the village exists in.

It put me in mind of Portmeirion, the village in Wales where they filmed "The Prisoner". Someone has collected a lot of random architecture together and put it in one place. The buildings are "nice" and certainly far more varied than any similar modern built place I've been in, but it's all so new and, well, plastic. Give it 10 years and I wonder if they will look as pretty. I hope so. It would be lovely to think that community spirit keeps the streets clean and safe, that the recession ends and all the shop units fill up with useful places to buy stuff rather than gift shops and those selling decorating items like Walnut and Weave.

I'm not hopeful. On leaving the cafe I wandered off without the soundtrack provided by my iPod. Suddenly I realised that there was no noise. None at all. This was due to the complete absence of people on the streets. In fact the largest group I'd seen all morning were some young mums in the coffee shop, and they looked like they were devoting a serious chunk of day to this. Apart from those running the shops, the place was deserted.

All the occupants were either abducted by aliens, or had taken the family 4X4 to the station and parked it in the generous parking. At least by the time I got back there, someone was fixing the ticket machine.

More photos on Flickr

Going down to Liverpool, to do nothing

This trip started like many others. I spotted an advert by London Midland Trains for a £10 travelcard covering trips to anywhere on their network and though, "I fancy a bit of that".

A quick look at the website confirmed two things. The first was that the furthest I could go on such a ticket was Liverpool. Obviously you don't want to go a couple of miles do you ? No matter where the end of the line is, that is the place to go.

The second was that while in theory, Leamington Spa sees this companies trains, in truth I needed to go to Birmingham or even Coventry to get on board.

So I bought my day ticket online and then picked up a ticket to Brum for nearly as much. I wasn't too worried about this as the total day out would cost less than 20 quid. That's if you ignore the delicious chocolate muffin I knew I'd be buying at New Street anyway. Well, you've got to do it. There might not be food shops in the north you know...

Standing on the platform at New Street, the train to the 'pewel was late. 10.36 comes and goes with no sign of transport. We were treated to announcements that the platform had changed, to the one we were all standing on, every 5 minutes. I don't know if the refurbishments have affected the tannoy yet but the things seemed louder and even more annoying than usual.

A train arrived at 10.54 and the passengers were disgorged onto the platform. The announcements then changed to inform us that if we wanted to go anywhere, we had to get on the "front set". That's not the handiest thing to tell us in the world since how the heck are you supposed to tell which IS the front set ? Once upon a time trains had engines, even ones powered by steam, at the front making things easy for the non-technical passenger. Now both ends look the same and the only way to work it out is to guess which way the train will go - not easy at New Street thanks to what are termed "bi-directional platforms", basically they all swing either way.

Apart from this, looking at the crowds attempting to board, I had a funny feeling that any trip would be spent standing up. A quick look at the timetable showed that the 10.36 departure would be followed by an 11.01 but plans to use this were scuppered as soon as I checked with the platform staff. It seems that London Midland Trains is having staff difficulties and their advice was "If you see a train, get on it. We probably don't have a driver for the 11 o'clock one". Presumably they have trains dumped all over the country due to lack of staff !

As it happens I managed to bag a seat and enjoyed the trip. There was a good book in my bag, a fully charged iPod for music and yummy muffin goodness. There was also a safety sign in front of me that some idiot designer sitting in front of his giant screen Macintosh computer had decided would be enhanced if all the capitals were expunged from the text. Now maybe I'm getting old but had I been in possession of a marker pen, I'd probably have fixed this. How abandoning one of the most basic rules of punctuation is supposed to help people beats me. Presumably this was done to appear "modern" in the same way 50 year olds wearing clothes designed for teenagers works so well.

Liverpool Lime Street station is very impressive. A proper overall arched roof tells you that you are arriving in a seriously prosperous city, or at least one that wanted to tell you it was.

On the concourse I was pleased to see a statue of Liverpool's greatest son. No, not the bloody Beatles who are everywhere else - for half an hour the announcement on the train had informed us we would soon be at "Liverpool South Parkway for John Lennon International Airport", so called because when this great son of the 'pool got some money it was the first place he went - but Ken Dodd. Yes, a life size (I've met him, it is) bronze man with tickling stick and a bag with a diddyman sticking out of it.

As I say, the Beatles are everywhere in Liverpool and so I'm not going to mention them again. If you want more, try this statue that looks nothing like them.

More excitingly, the other bit of civic art you see a lot of is the Superlambanana. This really ought to be the sort of arty toss that I hate but the idea of grafting a banana on the back of the lamb looks so funny that even I can't help liking it. This was good as for the next couple of days I had a touretes like urge to say "superlambanana" all the time.

My plan for the day, such as it was involved a trip to a local model shop, the maritime museum and perhaps if I could fit it in, wandering over to see Paddy's Wigwam. The first required a bus trip so I wandered into the centre and was distracted by spotting a Wimpy Bar. I can't resist a chance to see how we got it all so wrong with fast food and still do.

The staff were friendly, the burger can in a wholemeal bun (why ? It's not health food) and arrived with a knife and fork ten minutes after I ordered it. Slower, and it didn't taste as good as a McDonalds either. The Brown Derby, a ring doughnut with a swirl of ice cream and nuts on top was nice but in a traditional way. God knows who thought it up but I for one am glad they did.

Heading to the bus stop I was confused. I mean I recon on being pretty good with public transport but finding the appropriate stop defeated me. I found one that looked like it would do but according to the timetable, the thing only ran twice a day and before 8.30am at that. Asking in the travel centre didn't help much. Yes it ran but I wanted an 83A not an 83C. Despite scouring all the stops, not easy as they are either side of a difficult to cross road, helped not at all. By the time I'd wasted half an hour I was half way to the docks so I gave up on my plan and headed for the museum.

The stroll to the Albert Dock takes the visitor through the shopping centre and shows just what a modern city Liverpool is. The stores are large and brightly lit. Many wouldn't look out of place as flagship stores on Oxford Street and if the local population is managing to buy enough stuff to keep them in business then the city has shrugged off it's reputation for poor employment and wages.

Albert Dock also shows the changes in Liverpool. Where once stevedores would have hefted loads on and off ships you now find trendy wine bars and restaurants. Being a Monday, these were pretty empty but I'm sure at the weekend the cobbles throng with revellers. Another feature of Monday is that Tate Liverpool is shut so not arty fix for me then.

Talking of cobbles, most of the dockside seemed to be being dug up for one reason or another. Along with a huge shiny black monolith of a building, the museum of Liverpool is under construction. I'm not sure there are many cities with the chutzpa to put such a huge building up in such a prime location, a few yards from the iconic Liver Building, to celebrate the history of the place. All the work had turned finding your way to the museum into a maze of dead ends which at least wore off the burger and most of the pudding.

While Monday might not be the best day for visiting and getting in to the Tate, it's a fantastic choice if you want to enjoy a museum without dodging screaming kits who've been dragged in there by well meaning adults. It was so quiet that I was even able to try the customs boat simulator without an audience. Try that in the school holidays and you'd never get the near the controls for kids throwing them around with little or no interest in the results.

As a boat modeller, I've an interest in things ship-shape and there is plenty to look at with models of all sorts of vessels in glass cases. The museum is lucky in that ship buyers would normally commission a model of their purchase from the yard building it. These lived in board rooms and offices and so survived to end up on display for future generations. Thus you get different types of ship and different liveries as well. Nowadays we are used to a very small number of companies running things but years ago there were a huge number of lines. It's not just British stuff either, we had an empire once and mach of the output from this came though Liverpool and so is represented. It's a world long gone, goods arrive on massive boat in standard size containers rather than in the hold of a ship to be unloaded by gangs of men.

Once historied out, I headed back into the centre of town. Passing the base of the Radio City Tower. Outside there was a banner promising tours of the tower and to ask at reception for details. As I walked up to door a young bloke came out so I asked about this. "No problem", he replied expaling that he ran these and would be back in a few minutes if I waited inside.

As promised, a few minutes of hanging around in reception he returned and relieved me of £4.75. Apparently business had been light that day which is why he was so happy to give me a chance to have a look when normally they would shut up 5 minutes after I arrived. I was only the 5th person he'd seen whereas the previous week much larger parties had been the norm.

The lift to the top of the tower is large and takes seconds to raise you up through it's narrow stem. Stepping out and meeting the view is a bit of a shock. The windows lean outward. Apparently everyone does a double-take at this point since the view extends to the floor and does seem to falling away from you. What a view though.



You can see for miles up the Mersey. More importantly though, you see the city from a rare viewpoint. Everything is literally at your feet. OK, so the tops of modern buildings aren't particularly exciting being a mass of aircon units, heating pipes and fire escapes but look a little further and there are some real gems. Small green areas appear. Squares suddenly look as their designers intended and the road system is a bit more like a map. Once my initial shock subsided looking straight down there were lots of teeny tiny people wandering around completely unaware that they were being watched from above.

The building started life looking very different from the way it does now. It was originally built as a ventilation shaft for St Johns Market, a role it never fulfilled thanks to a change of legislation just as it was finished. A view gallery and revolving restaurant were constructed at the top. The eatery closed in the late 70's and as far as I can tell the revolving mechanism no longer exists. Years later a second desk was added in a £5m refurbishment. The radio station moved in and had studios in the centre of the building. I suppose for traffic reporting thay are ideally placed !

At the back of the tower are the offices which leaves about 2/3rds of the circumference for visitors to enjoy. Sadly this means Lime Street Station can only be glimpsed but everything else you'd like to see if available. I might be a bit sad but one of the things that fascinated me were the ugly vents for the Mersey Tunnels. I'd seen these years ago from the ferry and my guide was able to explain exactly which ones were which.

While up there I had one of those "Glad I don't have to do that moments." The glass was a bit grubby. Apparently it gets a clean every year by specialists but last year there was a problem. The light bulbs on the outside of the deck also get replaced by the same people so if their illumination replacement budget is stretched then the window cleaning budget takes the hit. A lot of bulbs blew last year, hence the state of the glass.

The trip up the tower was fantastic. Had I know trips were available I'd have planned my day around one. As it was I caught the last rays of sun giving me darker photos to remember the visit. Thanks too to my guide, the excellent Kyle Mansell, who was so generous with his time and knowledge.

Radio City Tours

From the tower I spotted the other place I wanted to visit. The Catholic Cathedral, affectionately known as "Paddy's Wigwam" because all the money was raised by the Catholic community who were mainly of Irish descent, it is one of the most striking religious buildings in the country. According to the map I'd looked at, the walk would take about 15 minutes from the centre and despite getting a bit lost (for a big building, it's surprisingly difficult to see until you find it) that worked out about right.

The current cathedral was a compromise. Originally a magnificent structure to rival the nearby Anglican cathedral was planned with the largest unsupported dome outside the Vatican. The crypt was built but then the budget soared to an amazing £27m, which in the 1920's was an impossible sum to raise. Various plans were developed to bring the scheme under control but none ever reached fruition.

In 1960 a new competition was held. The budget was set at £1m for the shell and the new building had to make use, and relate to, the already constructed crypt. The result, designed by  Sir Frederick Gibberd, was modern and eye catching. It encapsulated the spirit if the times.Everyone can see the service as the plan allows for "religion in the round" with a central alter and circular seating.

Needless to say I've had to take this stuff on trust as by the time I pitched up, about 6:30pm, the place was locked up tight. I climbed the steps to wander around the outside of the main building and it's very impressive. Much 60's architecture looks very dated but this doesn't. In fact I suspect that it's the sort of building that come along very, very rarely. The design doesn't date because it doesn't fit in to any category.

Metropolitan Cathedral website

Modern lighting and some sympathetic glass sculptural panels show the building off to best effect today. I had the place to myself and enjoyed the serenity before wandering back to my train home. The streets weren't busy other than trickles of people making their way back from work. In one window I got the biggest shock of the day. One of the kebab shops said "All our products conform to ISO..."

Who knew that kebabs had a British Standard number ? Liverpool truly is full of surprises.

My photos on Flickr

The last train to Wrexham

I had my Wednesday all planned out. Mostly it involved getting things ready for a trip at the weekend. Then on the local news came the story that made me change my plans.

Wrexham and Shropshire Railway is to close on Friday.

Friday ?! That was only a couple of days away !

My panic wasn't down to some trainspottery sadness at the loss of a railway company. It was because I had always promised myself a trip to Wrexham on one of these trains. I've used them a few times and have always been hugely impressed, not just by the comfort but by the superb staff. So far my journeys had been restricted to Cosford and a return from Wolverhampton (you might argue that any journey out of Wolverhampton would be pleasant but that would be rude. And incur the wrath of the Black Country), neither of which are long runs. Using these trains is a pleasure to be wallowed in. Michael Williams wrote about his trip down to London using them in the excellent book "The Slow Train" and feels the same way. This is old-fashioned rail travel in the best meaning of the phrase.

To be honest I've never had a particular desire to go to Wrexham other than to enjoy watching the countryside roll by while sitting in comfort. Which is why I dropped my plans and grabbed the 10:54 from Leamington to Wrexham.

W&S are what is called an "Open Access" operator which means they are an independent company that have to negotiate the rights to stop at certain stations, use odd routes and generally have to fit in between everyone else. They tried to differentiate themselves by the quality of the experience and the reasonable price of the tickets.

The train arrived at Leamington looking very clean and smart. My coach had recently been fitted out with dark grey curtains and seat covers. Even though the end wall proclaimed "Standard Class", it was on a par with the first class on most other services.

My idea of a good train journey involves a good book, some music, something nice in the way of a cakey bun to eat and a drink of some sort, usually diet coke or hot chocolate. In the coach next to mine was the small buffet counter. But it was unmanned.

You might think this wasn't a surprise. After all, 12 hour earlier the staff had been told they were losing their jobs and with a company less than two years old there wasn't going to be any nice redundancy package to ease the pain. I can fully understand why you just wouldn't bother.

As it was our excellent train manager, Jane Meredith, did the honours. Despite sounding a bit chocked a few times as she talked to us on the tanoy or in person, she provided a very professional service. I recognised her from the Cosford trip and remembered how impressed I'd been with the way she'd handled a group of kids with not enough supervisory grown-ups too.

In the absence of buffet staff, Jane dished up drinks and food for the few passengers on board. The service is mainly about getting people to London in the morning and back in the evening. The traffic into Wales isn't huge, especially in January. All food and drink was free so I enjoyed a very nice fruit scone and jam along with some chocolate to drink. To be honest I'd planned to buy this anyway but I suppose there isn't any point in messing around with change by this point.



Jane made an announcement about the closure of the service as we passed through Coventry (W&S don't have the rights to stop there which hasn't helped the finances I suspect) and the lady next to me was not impressed. She was a regular user of the service from Gobowen to Banbury and was really going to miss it. Her daughter seemed more interested in the raggy toy but will undoubtedly wonder why she doesn't get a nice comfy train in future and has to walk across Birmingham instead.

Another passenger seemed more interested in what was going to happen to the sets, that is the trains themselves. For once I was really ashamed to be interested, however lightly, in railways. I mean, here we have someone who's just been told she is losing her job and her job and all this idiot wanted to know about was what would happen to the train. He was lucky not to have been told exactly where he could have put it !

The journey itself was a pleasure. We wiggled around the edges of Birmingham which made for a far more interesting view then if the train had charged through New Street, another station closed to the company. For the non-anorak I have to point out that the company uses proper coaches pulled by an engine rather than the more common version where each vehicle has an engine under the floor. This give a better ride and the surroundings are quieter. You can hear the gentle clickety-clack as you cross rail joints and the odd soft toot from the engine horn at the front. These coaches are over 25 years old of course but that's progress for you. If I have a complaint, it's that the fixed arms make sliding your legs out from under the table a bit tricky but I can live with that for the roomy seats.

As we approached Wales it was apparent that I wasn't the only one interested in the demise of these fine grey trains. At both Ruabon and Gobowen there were people on the platforms with cameras. Once we reached our destination and crunched our way up a salt-covered platform, even the BBC had turned up to film our arrival. Some local radio person stuffed a microphone in my face and asked my opinion on the ending of the service. I said something along the lines of it being a shame a quality service can't survive in Britain any more and this was a terrible shame. Not that it mattered - there are already some half-hearted attempts to save it, the local MP is jumping on the bandwagon rather faster than he jumped on the train apparently, but it's no good. In future you'll have to do what I did on the way back and change at Birmingham or Smethick. The "sets" will doubtless be packed off to a siding somewhere and left to rot while everyone carries on with noisy and uncomfortable trains, because it's what we do nowadays.

Along with several other passengers, I wished Jane good luck in the future. She disappeared through a door into a room in which it could be glimpsed, was fullof other W&S staff in the same boat. I hope they are lucky in the future. They deserve it.

More photos on Flickr.

Welshpool

Birmingham News Street station isn’t an appealing place at the best of times. With half the lights switched off thanks to an electrical fault, the resulting gloom does nothing to improve it’s appeal.

More of a worry that as well the escalators, the electrical mishap had closed all the concessions on the concourse, apart from a dimply lit branch of WH Smith. While this might have been a minor inconvenience for those in the magazine rack reading library, for me it could have been disastrous as my favourite muffin supplier was out of action. I was facing a long train journey at the mercy of the onboard catering trolley.

A quick dash up to the shopping centre above the station and a bit of hammering on the counter sorted things out as I purchased the last double-chocolate muffin in the place. Even better, it was so freshly baked the choccy chips were gooey as I sat and ate it three-quarters of an hour later.

My trip to Welshpool was a spur of the moment decision. Faced with a department meeting which didn’t concern me but promised to be limb-gnawingly dull and held in some out of the way centre that I suspected would tax my limited ability to navigate the roads of Coventry, I decided that a day off and a nice train ride was in order. The destination was one I’d promised to myself a couple of times looking out of carriage windows from passing trains. The weather was threatened to be superb, what was stopping me ?

Birmingham to Welshpool is served by a surprisingly long train that was unsurprisingly low of passengers. In my carriage there were no more than half a dozen of us. A couple of seats in from sat a sharply dressed man in a pale grey suit that contrasted with his Virgin Media t-shirt. When the guard arrived to check tickets he surprised me by pulling out an old-fashioned roll of cash rather than a piece of plastic to pay up – more Dell Boy than Gordon Gecko.

Some say that England is disappearing under concrete. I disagree as the gaps between towns are still huge when viewed from the train. “They” may need to revise there opinions however as the latest thing seems to be to cover fields in plastic sheet. Long, shiny strips of the stuff are laid in neat rows covering and protecting (I assume) the precious seedlings. For anyone who complains about bright yellow fields of oilseed rape, the sight of striped grown visible from miles away should have them prepareing to fire off a missive to the Daily Telegraph.

At Telford the sharp dressed man left and was replaced by two very clean cut men in identical suits and ties who sat facing each other around a table. On the lapel of the one facing me was a large black badge on which I could read the words “Elder O’Brien” and “Jesus Christ”. I’d guess that it was Mr O’Brien on the train and not his boss, although if I’m wrong then the journey was surprisingly uneventful – no water into wine, raising the dead or that sort of thing. Closer inspection later allowed me to read the full text showed him to be a representative of the Church of Jesus Christ and the laterday saints – more commonly called a Mormon. Followers of this faith often carry out 18 months to 2 years full-time missionary work around the world apparently (OK, I looked it up on Wikipedia). It would appear that Elder O’Brien and his colleague were off to the wild lands of deepest Wales to print religion to an area where strange people spoke a funny language...

To be frank, the scenery on this trip isn’t much to write home, or even a blog post, about. It’s green and pleasant enough but rarely diverted me from my book, a slightly turgid tomb on the history of Radio 4. When we reached Shrewsbury the keen observer would notice some slight changes. The railway signals are the old-fashioned semaphore type rather than traffic lights.

The station entrance is guarded by a huge signal box and the multiple platforms speak of a town of considerable importance. The platforms are graced with a brace of train-spotters, the first I’ve seen. Where once would have been displayed adverts there is now an art show by the Shrewsbury Youth Project. Each arch on a wall is home to a large canvas that has been decorated in a style the cognoscenti would call “Street Art” and others “Graffiti”. I suppose it ads a splash of colour to the scene and keeps the kids off the streets where they might choose to paint surfaces that can’t be easily replaced. You have to wonder if the architects and builders of the station ever envisaged that we’d be less interested in repairing the canopies than hanging up aerosol cartoons of people on bikes by “Shaz”.

The hills arrive as we approach journeys end. I could tell that I was in Wales thanks to the local speed camera van having something unpronounceable written in big letters on the side. Presumably “Safety Camera Partnership” or similar doesn’t translate naturally but you don’t want to annoy someone who has just been nicked for racing his Ford Escort down a windy road built for sheep by imposing law from a blatantly English vehicle”. Business looked slow as the only powered transport other than the train was a distant tractor.

Welshpool has several stations but the one travellers arrive at is a single platform affair with a bus stop shelter and connections to the town on both sides via a straggly metal footbridge. In an effort to completely avoid any steps and the straddle the neighbouring bypass the designer produced a structure looking like an enormous daddy-longlegs that someone painted in pale, municipal, grey. Contrasted against this were several fluorescent jackets belonging to one of the largest Police presences I’d seen for a long while.

Exiting the giant insect I wandered over to the Old Station. It was this building that caught my eye as I’d travelled past previously. A magnificent bring building obviously intended as a show-off gesture by a confident railway company. Now separated from the platforms by the main road, it has been turned into a sort of shopping centre where women buy clothes inspired by the countryside, rather than the sort of thing real country people wear which is mostly wellingtons and baler twine, for themselves and their husbands. For the gentleman there is a golf shop and surprisingly a small room full of Hornby trains and Scalextric cars. For the tourists, Welsh fudge and rock plus all manner of lovely souvenirs were on offer for that last minute present buying spree. While poking around and realising that even I was too fashionable for the garments on offer, I asked why the local constabulary were out in force.

“The Queen has come by train to open the new livestock market” was the reply. This explained it, when the monarch arrives then every copper locally is expected to polish his or her boots and keep the local population under control. Judging by the numbers on duty, it would have been a field day for burglars in the surrounding areas. Even though there was no sign of the royal train, every exit on the footbridge was guarded and a small group sat on borrowed chairs by the end of the station building.

Now the livestock market appeared to be on the other side of the tracks to the town in an industrial area. On that basis I didn’t expect to see HRH during my visit. How wrong I was. At the end of the short walk into town were streets bedecked with bunting and crowds filling the pavements – only prevented from encroaching on the road by cattle barriers and even more burly coppers. In the distance were some official looking cars and in front of these were some armed forces cadets, a lady in mayoral garb, lots of press wielding cameras and in the middle of the scrum, a very short lady dressed in blue.

To my right was the Royal Hotel, obviously the destination for the party and outside there more official types who were presumably wishing her maj had stayed in the car and ignored the crowds so they could have something to eat. Instead she was making her way down one side of the street talking and collecting bouquets from the public. On the other side of the road, Prince Phillip performed the same function although you get the feeling that those there felt they had got Wise and not Morecombe – good but you wanted to meet the bigger star.

Eventually the Queen got as far as me to the sound of cameras and mobile phones snapping away. A spontaneous burst of applause rang out – presumably clapping to congratulate her on being Queen or something. The general feeling was “Isn’t she tiny” and “Doesn’t she look lovely” followed by “Thank God she’s got here, now we can have something to eat” from those by the hotel.

Even then the entertainment was not finished. The BBC correspondent Andrew Marr was doing a piece to camera, presumably desperate to link the new market into some election farming story. “Hello Mr Andrew Marr” shouted someone close to me although he received no acknowledgement. Possibly Marr had already discovered that the big political story of the day was happening elsewhere...

With the Queen in the hotel feasting on the best this part of Wales can offer, the crowd dispersed. I headed off down a side street – fighting up the main road wasn’t an option as everyone had decided they needed to be somewhere they weren’t. Feeling a bit peckish myself I found a fish and chip shop with attached café and ordered fish (unspecified and no options were offered) chip and peas (mushy, again, not options). I’d picked up the local paper to read as it had a suitably apocalyptic story on the front page regarding the recent Icelandic Volcano. The editor had obviously decided that this was a bandwagon not to be missed and leapt on it with aplomb - “Volcano wreaks havoc in Powys” - which translates into “bowls players held up abroad thanks to lack of flights” . The food was very hot and very tasty. If I'm being picky, the peas and chips got a bit mixed up on the plate but who cares ? Not the local population as the place was filling up nicely as I finished munching. You could hardly hear “Loose Women” playing on the large screen telly opposite the serving counter.

After this I took a gentle stroll up the high street. For pudding I tried a shortbread biscuit, which was disgusting, and then a chocolate covered ring doughnut from a different shop which wasn't that much better. Handy diet hint: only eat food that you throw away before the second bite.

The town hall has been turned into a rather nice indoor market. Lots of local food on offer plus hardware, second hand books and two stalls of “stuff”, those weird gift like things involving far too many fairies and elves plus added dream catchers. How do they make a living ? Also, perhaps I was being unfair but on seeing another bakers stall, I decided against more cake attempts in that direction even though the comestibles on offer looked tempting and home made in a good way.

Over the top of the hill is the third station which belongs to the Welshpool and Llanfair Light Railway which although it closed in 1956, lives on in the hands of enthusiasts who run steam engines on days when I'm not there leaving me with a view not much better than that available from Google Streetview.

Never mind, I wasn't there to look at steam trains. Even if I'd wanted to I didn't have time. Besides, the canal museum spotted on the way into town looked very interesting with an unusually shaped warehouse. Back in town the Queen had started to move so the straight route was blocked but some nifty navigation past the chip shop circumnavigated her. It's at that point my luck ran out – for future notice, the museum is shut on Wednesdays. Still, there were some nice wooden sculptures outside to look at, if you like giant handbags and fake birds anyway.

Back at the station the royal train was parked in the platform looking very nice and purple. Wale's best were blocking all entrances to the footbridge just in case anyone tried to find a seat on-board. A few people hung around but by this point she was ensconced in the travelling throne so there was nothing to see. Eventually the train pulled out and the plebs were allowed to wait for their own rather less grand conveyance.

Sitting on the platform a concrete mixer drove past with a fantastic claim, “Longest concrete conveyor in the world” . What a claim and what a way to finish up the day.

In summary: Welshpool, lovely town but give it a miss on Wednesday and try to avoid your visit clashing with the Queen.

See more photos on Flickr

Chester

Exactly a year ago I set myself a challenge. The plan was to visit every town on my NRM Railway posters Calendar. Those who know me won't be that surprised that I failed. By the 30th of December I had visited exactly none of the places. So with one day to go, I made a dash for Chester.

The trip involved 35 quid and 2 changes of train but at least I'd have achieved one goal. That and I've been off work between Christmas and New Year so I needed to get out and about a bit to ease the effects of close proximity to chocolate. Even the weather seemed to be on my side.

First stop was Birmingham which is easy enough. A quick walk from Moor Street to New Street and on the departure board leaving in under 5 minutes was a train to Crewe, my next stop. This left me with a dilemma, I could make progress or catch the next train while purchasing my preferred travelling fare, vis a muffin from the Millie Cookies beside the ticket barrier and some soft drink. (Note: Other muffin outlets are available but for some strange reason they just don't seem to taste as good). Abstemiousness won and a few minutes later, after a search for the mysterious hidden platform 4C, I was on an electric train that made noises last heard emanating from the BBC Radiographic workshop in the 1960's.

Fear not dear reader, I did not starve. On the train I was able to fill up on a chocolate orange muffin notable for it's unworldly colour. To be honest if you sat in front of it for long enough you'd get a suntan. I own an orange colour car and even that isn't this orange. It probably doesn't taste as nice as this did either.

The trolley operator was surprised when I purchased my food. She'd obviously spent the day dragging the thing up and down a quiet train and from the look of the stock my travelling companions weren't hungry. Mind you, the only other people in the coach were a couple who seemed to be studying closely the Daily Mail which was proclaiming that dissatisfaction with rubbish collections was resulting in 3 attacks on bin men every day. Presumably the writers of the paper though this was a good thing as they sat in a warm office in front of a computer having arrived at their desk some time after 9am. Later the couple turned to the Telegraph and the husband took great delight in reading items from the letters page agreeing with the Chinese Governments deployment of the death penalty.

Crewe is a station with a small town attached. Until 1831 it was a village with only 70 residents, then the Grand Junction Railway decided that it would be a nice spot for an engine works and station. Even today the station is impressive in a ramshackle kind of way. The low winter sun made for some spectacular photographic possibilities and I think I took what is possibly my best railway photo ever.



Of course Crewe station is home to the much maligned train spotter. Even on a cold New Years Eve there will still a dozen of so men in their late middle age and hearty outdoor clothing hanging around the platform ends watching trains. I feel a bit sorry for them - not only does the general population and mass media stigmatise their hobby as being worse than terrorism and mass murder, the railway have let them down. Once upon a time trains were made up of coaches with a locomotive at the front. Nowadays the coaches have engines and all look the same. On this one day though, with the sun shining, the trainspotters got a gift - into platform 10 (I think, Crewe is a bit of a maze) came 3 engines, being moved around for something technical to happen. 3 in one train ! You could see the faces light up.

More photos of Crewe.

I seemed to be one of the few heading to Chester. The train was quiet again although at one end of the coach there was a lady with one of those wheely suitcases who insisted on standing up with it in the aisle rather than availing herself of the many comfy seats available. From the way she clung on grimly to her luggage I assume that she was moving the crown jewels...

Chester starts with a huge railway station. The frontage is enormous - it's far too wide for my camera and even a decent panoramic outfit would struggle. The signposts point two ways into the city centre and I took the one that lead over the canal and past the slightly over restored Steam Mill. Once this will have made something useful but now it's a multipurpose nightclub and small business venue with what appears to be a greenhouse placed very tastefully on to. It's a very handsome building and rather more industrial than I'd expected to find in a historic Roman town.

Once into the city centre there was another surprise. It shouldn't have been of course as even the most cursory research (or looking things up on Wikipedia) would have forewarned me about the Rows. Chester's shops are a curious and unique design with two floors of frontage. The top row is set slightly back from the front and has a walkway along it. Therefore to see any street properly you need to make 4 passes, 2 at ground level and 2 at the first floor. On a rainy day I can see the upper levels doing good business as people shelter from the weather. Even those buildings that have been re-built maintain the design. Most of the structures are black and white wooden but there are a few that date from the 1960's and later yet have been incorporated into the frontage sympathetically.



Another rarity are the city walls. For the casual visitor a quick nip along them allows you to loop from one area of town to another without retracing your steps. They afford excellent views of the cathedral and surrounding area. Some bookshops have even taken up residence along side them. In fact one of the joys is wandering as there are so many side streets and little alleyways to explore. Knowing I was tight for time I didn't had to pass many of these by but a weekend would be more appropriate to do the place justice. A complete circumnavigation by walking the walls ought to take a couple of hours, although this isn't possible at present due to a collapse earlier this year. At present repairs are being made but the archaeologists are taking the opportunity to find out more about the construction while access is available. Things should be back to normal by summer 2010 though.

Chester doesn't stand still though. A major re-working of the town cetre is planned, in fact the tower cranes are already looming. One casualty would appear to be the indoor market. Always a fan of these, this isn't one of the best but it has atmosphere, a lot of variety and a Christmas display that left the song "Rudolph the Red Nose Raindeer" rattling around my head for the next couple of hours...

My train home left in a different direction from the way I'd arrived which was exciting as that means a trip through Wales via Wrexham, Ruabon and Gobowen. This last stop is somewhere I've been before. For the leisure train traveller it represents the furthest west you can go on a West Midlands ranger ticket - any further and the network is Welsh (Gobowen is in Shropshire) and you'll need a different ticket sir. Sadly although the station is intact, the enormous coal conveyer and sorting system that delighted those of a mechanical bent is long gone and replaced by an icy puddle of a car park.

On the train, half the passengers were Arriva trains staff who told "war stories" to each other. One recent tale involved a passenger who was unhappy that people kept checking her ticket. She refused to show it to the guard on the grounds that he'd seen it several times already. As told the man said, "The more she protested, the more determined I was to see this ticket" and his comrades nodded in ageement, doubtless all with simialr stores to tell. Not all end quite the same way though. Eventually the woman reaslised that she hadn't show this guard her ticket after all because, "The last person I showed it to was a female." and promtly produced said item.

The trip through Wales was beautiful, or at least world have been if Arriva ever cleaned thier trains. If you are going to paint the coaches silver, get a system to wash them as they look terrible when covered in muck. Worse, from the effect from inside of a glorious sunset over snow topped hills was slightly lessened by all the mud on the windows.



More Chester Photos.

So I made one destination and thoroughly enjoyed it. Let's hope 2010 works better !

New year. New idea.

In April, which seems an obscenely long time ago, I started writing this blog with the intention of documenting my travels in the time I had taken off work. As you can tell from the derisory number of postings this plan didn't work out too well and I've not been nearly as far as I dreamed I would be going. In fact most people could manage to get about more in a standard holiday allowance from work than I've managed to do in 8 months free of responsibility.

The immediate excuses that come to mind involve a combination of the UK economy going belly up, petrol prices rising faster than house prices a couple of years ago and my poorly camper van (It's better now, thanks for asking). These are fair but to be honest, rubbish. Truth is that I have discovered I like having travelled much more than the act itself. And the thing I hate more is getting stuck in to the minutiae of planning a trip. Some people can head off without a care in the world and enjoy the fun of dealing with problems, such as not having a bed for the night, as they arise. Sadly, I'm not one of them.

Which all adds up to a pretty quiet blog. And that is embarrassing. So embarrassing that I have been pondering making this post the last one. A big "The End" would finish up the column and the web pages would sit unloved on-line as a memorial to a stupid dream. People would still trip over them, probably searching for "Jurby Junk" on Google, but there would be nothing new to read.

The trouble with this is twofold:
Some people have been whining about the lack of updates (you know who you are...) and so knocking this on the head would be tantamount to admitting complete defeat and accepting that there isn't much more point in leaving the front door.
Also the campervan is running OK at the moment (touches wood and crosses fingers). If the weather warms up a bit it might actually see some action.

So, I need to look at my limits a bit and try and work out how to "travel" on my terms. The trip I've enjoyed most this year was the run to Thurso. Now, I went there because I saw the place on a map and that created the urge to go. So all I need to to identify some places on maps and persuade myself I want to go.

This leads me to my 2009 challenge. Every year I get a calendar. No surprise there - lots of people do. My calendar is better than yours though, it's a National Railway Museum one showing vintage advertising posters for towns around the UK. These are great as while the UK railway system hasn't always been great at actually running trains, the marketing departments have often snapped up some of the greatest artists in the country to design the posters. Most present impossibly attractive views of the subject where the days are always sunny and the people smile all day. Every year I hang this on my wall and every year I wonder about trying to visit all the locations.

This year I'm going to do it.

So, here is the list:
Glenariff
Blackpool
The Yorkshire Coast
Suffolk
St Andrews
New Brighton (no I didn't know either. The Wirral peninsular apparently. Lovely)
The Broads
Cornwall
St Ives
Chester
North Wales
and er The French Riviera. Damn the calendar editor for wanting a foreign destination...

I'll try and do these by train and tick them off as I go. Next stop a map to work out where to go. In the meantime, visit the NRM website to see more posters, just so you understand what I'm talking about.

Tickets to ride

Tickets
Originally uploaded by Phil_Parker

How many tickets does it take to get one person from Leamington Spa to Gloucester ?

7, Made up as follows:

Single L/Spa to Gloucester.
Mandatory seat reservation, L/Spa to Birmingham.
Mandatory seat reservation, Birmingham to Gloucester.
Single Gloucester to L/Spa.
Mandatory seat reservation Gloucester to Birmingham.
Mandatory seat reservation Birmingham to L/Spa
Collection receipt - Marked NOT VALID FOR TRAVEL

OK, so I booked the ticket online and bought to singles to save money (Cost - £12) but that's still a lot of cardboard. And only the tickets were checked, no one was interested in the rest.

Caernarfon and the Welsh Highland Railway

Time for an admission. My trip to Wales is all about train spotting. Well spotting a particular locomotive anyway. That locomotive is one designed by Garratt and hardly used in this country. I won't bore the casual reader any more than normal by explaining what is so special about this design, suffice to say I've always been fascinated by them. A few years ago the Welsh Highland Railway decided to re-import some Manchester made examples from South Africa to run the new (OK, reinstated) railway from Caernarfon to Porthmadog. This runs through the Snowdonia National Park, an area known for being hilly. Garratts are designed to haul heavy trains over steep and windy tracks - just what we have here.

For technical details, go to Wikipedia

Of course the first thing to do is get the right Welsh Highland Railway. On arrival at Porthmadog station you see the Welsh Highland Railway just over the road. However for Garratt spotting you need the Welsh Highland Railway (Caernarfon) - a company set up by the Ffestiniog Railway which the line will eventually join. The other WHR will form a branch line to this. I think there was some argument when the scheme was first proposed but by the time all the lines are finished the area will have both a major tourist attraction and useful extra transport infrastructure.

Looking at the map I had two options, get to the main station at Caenarfon or the nearer option of Rhyd Ddu. The later needed two buses. Both little ones. And both to places I couldn't pronounce. On that basis I went for the easy but longer option - at least I can say Caenarfon even if I have to look every time I type it to get the right spelling !

According to the helpful tourist information people the bus left from Tesco at 9.15. Not being sure which side of the road I needed I was examining the stops half an hour early when a lady in the shelter tried to help. "THE BUS COMES AT QUARTER TO NINE" she told me in the manner of someone who needs to turn the sound down on their headphones. "The one to Caenarfon ?" I asked. She replied something about the Pwllhei bus going there. "Caenarfon, the one with the castle ?" I checked since I'd not understood what she said and was beginning to think she was more than a little mad. This was confirmed when it became apparent she didn't know of the castle or believe it existed looking at me like I had fallen out of the sky.

The bus driver said I needed the other side of the road and at 9.15 a double decker turned up to take me. £4.50 return. Compared to fares around Leamington, this is a bargain. It's a hell of a ride too. The top deck of a bus has always been a fabulous place to see the world from but when the scenery is as impressively lumpy as this. The driver has a real challenge to navigate around the narrow and twisty roads.

The station is more than a little basic and when I arrived - empty of trains. A short stroll and an ice cream later the carriages had arrived, complete with the much anticipated Garrett locomotive. Tickets for the trip are a whopping £17.50 return or a rover covering both WHR's and the Ffestiniog comes in at £34. That's a saving but not as impressive as it sounds - the standard ticket allows you to ride all day, the rover only covers a single return trip on each line. For most people this is fine but an enthusiast is likely to want to travel behind both the engines in use yet are just the market the "rover" is aimed at.

Gricers may wish to watch the loco taking on water on YouTube.

While on the subject of ticket prices, for an extra small fee you get to travel first class. Nice if you want bigger seats and posh tables in the fax-Pullman coach. Everyone else sits in perfectly normal coaches except those hardy souls like me who pick the open sided vehicle. Well it's behind the loco and the weather is lovely so why be shut away ?

For the first half of the trip I wondered if for anyone who just wanted to enjoy the scenery , the bus would be a much better bet. Then we made it into the mountains. Even our powerful locomotive struggled a bit only able to maintain a walking pace for some sections. The American couple behind me started rushing from side to side grabbing photographs. Streams, fields, heather covered glowering mountains and hills rolled by. With no glass between us and the outside world you really feel part of the view and not just a mere spectator.

Rhyd Ddu is the current southern terminus of the line. For those who don't speak Welsh, the name means "Arse end of nowhere". It's a temporary end point and there isn't anything to do other than take photos and wait to get back on for the ride back. You can see Snowdon so it's not all bad. There are defintly worse places to be stuck for half an hour, at least when the sun is shining.

Entertainment on the return leg was provided by a family group who delighted in a couple of their number who were chasing the train in the car. Every couple of miles they would be waving from the lineside and received a great cheer for their efforts. It was the only consolation though - this was a seriously prepared party with enough food to keep a small army going. Granddad seemed to be concerned that the youngsters were going to fade away during the trip judging by the number of sandwiches he plied them with.

And there was Frankie the dog. A lovely friendly animal. I spent plenty of time trying to guess his breed only based on his funny little legs only to discover he was the result of a liaison between a beagle and a retriever.

Caenarfon is a lovely little port. It has still got an enormous castle whatever woman at bus stop may think. The square is currently dominated by a giant Ferris wheel and has been joined by a mobile PA system. Lunch was enlivened by a band doing covers - from Chris Rea (Road to Hell, interesting choice for an opening number) to some 60's and 70's stuff. They weren't bad but a bright sunny afternoon with a crowd isn't that conducive to a great performance. You want a seething mass of fans jumping around, not a motley collection of bored kids, tired tourists and grannies.

Yet again the chains had made little impact on the high street which, for a change, is a nuisance. Thanks to a drippy ice cream I was in the market for a new polo shirt. But could I buy one ? Where do the Welsh buy clothes ?

No double decker for the ride back - this time a truncated single deck bus followed by a normal sized version that was so new the smell of unsquashed upholstery was overpowering. The mountains were starting to disappear behind wisps of cloud that only served to make them look even more appealing. At the end of the day I can't decide which is the best way to see the view - but then if you are on holiday, why decide when you can have both ?

More pictures on Flickr

Groudle Glen

The highlight of any trip to the Isle of Man must be a visit to the Groudle Glen. It is officially the most beautiful place on the planet and worth a few hours of anybodies time.

The weather wasn't kind, with drizzle and high winds (60 mph+, the radio was full of ferry sailing postponements) . The tram I caught had only a single car as the open sided trailer was felt unnecessary. The run was noisy with the windows rattling away as we ran along the cliff edge watching the sea hurling itself at rocks and cliffs. Most of the passengers had the same plan as me and hopped off at Groudle station where a ranch style sign announces the entrance.

It's worth explaining a little history at this point. Groudle Glen hasn't always been a scenic feature. In Victorian times it was more akin to today's theme parks. After paying the entrance fee, the visitor would be entertained by fortune tellers, fairy lights powered by the amazing innovation of electricity, bands playing by the dance floor and finally a small zoo with ferocious animals. There was the largest crevasse in the world and other amazing sights depending on the time of year. All this and the bracing coastal air thus combining entertainment with health outdoor pursuits. Most of this is now long gone but there are still attractions, and no entry fee either !

This isn't a trip to do in high heels. The path down into the Glen is reasonably steep - not difficult but you want shoes or trainers on and if the weather has been inclement (inclement: a day of driving rain) recently they better not be your best shoes or trainers either. This drops you underneath a tall, stone, curving viaduct that carries the Manx Electric railway over the drop. A rushing stream runs under this and down the valley. You can follow this in either direction but most people head toward the sea.
Several things strike you here. First, the colours. Groudle Glen is, in my experience, always green. Ferns and moss cling to the cliff sides. Flowers and shrubs fill the space. It's not garden pretty with lots of showy colours but has more of a jungle pallet.
Next you hears the sounds, or rather the lack of sound. That stream, which runs over numerous small waterfalls is the loudest noise followed by birdsong. If you fancied a bit of meditation I'm sure all that rushing water would be just the thing to help you centre. There isn't a toilet in the glen though so if that's the effect it has you better no listen too hard !
To be honest the pictures give a better impression than words and even they can't give fully convey the wonderful, peaceful atmosphere that comes over you.
Half way along the path is one of the few remnants of the Victorian theme park past - a small building with a bright red waterwheel. Apparently this used to power the fairy lights once upon a time. Nowadays it's the think everyone takes a picture of. Quite how this was moved into position isn't clear as there is no road access. Still, when labour is cheap I suppose anything is possible.
Passing past the bandstand and over a little bridge the path splits. Down takes you to the sea - not a friendly place when I visited. Go up and you reach another Victorian triumph and the jewel of the Glen - the Groudle Glen Railway.
The GGR has a great slogan - the railway that runs uphill to the sea. While accurate a better phrase might be "the railway that runs from the edge of nowhere to the back of beyond.". It is a line that is utterly and beautifully pointless.
The main station is Lhen Coan, a Swiss style structure covering two tracks. As I arrive the coaches are waiting and the locomotives being prepared. One of these, Sealion, is the railways original loco and is over 100 years old. Next to it is Polar Bear a replica of one of the battery electric locos built to the replace the steam engines. As it was these wore out and steam took over again !
Polar Bear is sent off to check the track is clear from the previous days storms. I chatted to the guard and was given a brief tour of the engine and carriage sheds. This isn't a privilege normally accorded to visitors as some are stupid and hurt themselves or don't realise that standing in front of a moving train isn't clever. Others are light fingered and will help themselves to anything not nailed down. The Manx people are very friendly and showing interest usually gets volunteers on attractions like this to open up and enjoy showing off what they do.
Inside the engine shed is a new locmotive for the line - a steam engine shaped diesel that is famously shown running on a Butlins railway in the opening credits of the BBC TV show "Hi-De-Hi". Currently under restoration it will give the GGR some quick motive power for quiet days along with another attraction to bring high-spending railway enthusiasts back time and time again.
As train rides go this isn't bad. You start off in forest and climb (yes climb) towards the sea. Greasy wet track and a full train, not bad for 11am on a Sunday morning, gave Sealion problems but one of the team hopped off and spread sand along the rails so we could continue. For a little engine (Most people tower over the trains) it certainly pulls well although we were treated to a good show of smoke and cinders from the chimney.
At Lime Kiln Halt the line curves along the cliff edge and finishes before it runs out of land. This is Sealion rocks, so called because the next stop for the intrepid Victorian would be a stroll down to the Sealion and Polar Bear pools. Some blockwork and part of a bridge still remain from these although the animals left many years ago. For me, the cafe was a more appealing prospect. Hot tea and special cake made from biscuits, marshmallows and choccie goo fortified the inner man for some sea watching. With no mains electricity out on the cliffs, power comes from a very eco-friendly wind turbine which was going great guns and could probably run most of the island at the time.
The train back was much more relaxed if slightly wetter until we reached tree cover. You can watch a short video of the cliff section here. Back at the start there is the obligatory souvenir shop, soon to be replaced with a more impressive emporium. With the line at full length and as much rolling stock as they need, the small team who look after this line and have saved it from vanishing, are concentrating on improving the infrastructure. Good luck to them.
More photos on Flickr
Visit the official Groudle Glen Railway Website

Hereford & Worcester

The weatherman said it was going to be wet. Very wet. Very, very wet, all down the centre of the country. So I decided to head west to Hereford. It's a nice journey with plenty of time to read a book and that's what I was in the mood for.

Conveniently the trip can be broken up so there is the chance to mooch around three different places in a day. First up is Birmingham where the shopper is presented with the chance to stock their wardrobe with the products of a hundred sweat shops - not ethical, but cheap. To be fair if the first train had arrived five minutes earlier I wouldn't have had the time to kill. As it was after asking the helpful Virgin Trains employee on the concourse, tried the travel centre (too busy but with only 4 customers) and then the Customer Reception I realised that my next train ran in about 2 hours. Fortunately as a service to Worcester left in 45 minutes there wasn't too long to wait.

The train leaves the city following one of the many canals (more than Venice TM) and past the university with it's bizarre central clock spire. I'd have been interested to go to the meeting that discussed that, "We need to put a pointy tower in the middle of the campus with a clock on it in case the students can't remember to wear a watch.". Canals used to be seen as liabilities with adjoining buildings facing away from the water. This has changed, now the houses along this stretch had all built their gardens down to the back with various decking arrangements so the occupants can sip their drinks watching the boats sail by.

On arrival at the station I managed to remember (for a change) to check the time of my next connection. I'm not sure who is running the Travel Centre there but I assume they won't be remaining in post for much longer. For some reason they seem to think that their job is to encourage rail travel. The place is stacked out with leaflets that I'd not seen before - Cornish rail based real ale trails, wildlife watching by train, touring Wales - what is going on ? How come none of this stuff is stocked in the much larger Birmingham centre ?

Worcester is a lovely city with loads of little side roads to explore. The small shop hasn't been banished, even if they aren't found on the main shopping drag. Fans of the indoor market will be please to find a small one with 2 floors. Downstairs you buy cheese and large electrical items, upstairs second hand books, records, juggling equipment and clothes for Goths (What, nothing in pastel shades ?) - nice mix. I tripped over a couple of model shops and a really excellent old fashioned sweet shop. Why is it that buying sweets from jars is fun ? And how come these places didn't all die off when they had to start selling 100g instead of "a quarter" as the anti-metric brigade told us they would ?

My packet of mis-shapes stayed firmly shut for nearly an hour. Then on the train for the next leg I realised that on a hot day the unwrapped chocolates needed to regularly sampled for quality purposes. My initial experiments were satisfactory but you can't be too careful and the experiment was repeated as required. It's this sort of commitment that has made British science what it is today.

Hereford arrived after more lush green rolling hills. The size of the station gives a good indication of the cities importance locally. Once there, was a very imposing goods shed, which has now been turned into a ten pin bowling centre. At least this means that have to look after the fabric of the building which is in reasonable condition.

The station is on the edge of the city and you have to cut through a supermarket car park and walk for five minutes to get there. I'll be honest and say this isn't my first visit but after paying a visit to the excellent model shop and a brief wander in the shopping centre I've usually headed back. This time I had the luxury of proper exploring time which was handy as it's a bit of a maze.

Ticking the second box on my list of things that make towns great we get a proper indoor market. The entrance to the Buttermarket is impressive but leads on to a bit of a corridor. This opens out to a proper halls stalls that get extra points for looking like that have been open since the 50's. OK so there is a mobile phone seller but its mainly people whose stand can be best described as "indeterminate" with a few electrical bits, some haberdashery, gifts, bit of stationery etc. All good stuff to the connoisseur. The cafe wasn't properly greasy spoon perhaps but not bad.

More by luck than judgement I found myself at the Cathedral - and realised why its famous. Back in the 1980's the people in charge decided that to raise funds (don't say publicity stunt) they would sell the Mappa Mundi. Of course there was an outcry as Johnny Foreigner might get his filthy hands on one of the country's greatest treasures apparently. Cash was found and the map was "saved". I'd taken little notice of this at the time but since I was there it seemed churlish not to go and see the thing. To be honest had it not been combined with the chained library the £4.50 admission charge might have put me off...

Having parted with my cash I read every bit of the display that covers the two attractions. To be fair there has been a lot of effort put in with translations of the map and explanations of why it matters and how it was created. The library gets similar treatment and you even see a couple of book cases with the contents chained up. All of this means that once you get to the end of the museum and see the real thing, it's a bit of an anticlimax.

When I saw the map the first thing it brought to mid was the Mona Lisa. Both are a lot more brown than you would expect, the later because it's displayed behind the lens from a pair of sunglasses to stop the Americans photographing it, the former because goats skin is not the best material for maps. The room the map is housed in is dark for obvious reasons and the map only dimly lit but you can tell it is old well away from sparkling condition. Without the previous explanations the document would make no sense at all. Even with them I can't help feeling that it's main claim to fame is not having been thrown away rather than the content. I'd stick to Ordinance Survey if I wanted to navigate.

The library is worse though. Having seen a couple of shelves all you get is a few rows of the same. The room they are housed in is made of stone but modern stone. Crucially, for me at least, any atmosphere and context has been wrenched away by the decision to move them from the room they were intended to be in.

The cathedral itself is very impressive. Like most is is overly ornate and the stained glass is fabulous. Even the floor is worth a look and uses early swastikas in some places - a reminder that the symbol was appropriated rather than designed. In fact I think the floor was more interesting that the vaulted ceiling, a reversal of the norm for religious buildings. Perhaps the good people of Hereford spent more time looking down than up ?

Back outside I found the best thing about Hereford Cathedral - the ice cream stand. The 99 is large and comes with the best raspberry sauce I've ever had. It's so tangy and flavoursome that there have clearly been no raspberries involved in the production. And while I chomped and slurped the was entertainment watching the stone masons carving. I'm assuming that they are a permanent team on the job as the rate you can carve stone must be slower than the weather can erode it. I was also pleased to see a modern Type 2 van. The radiator for the evil water-cooled engine doesn't do the looks any favours but I suppose that is progress for you. Nice van otherwise, I wouldn't mind the drivers seats for mine.



More pictures on Flickr

Scotland - Day 6 - Final leg

My final hotel was special. Special in that it was the most expensive nights stay I've ever paid for myself. £97 for bed & breakfast at the Belford Hotel. In comparison, the first night at the excellent Regent House Hotel cost £27. The choice was forced on me thanks to Edinburgh Marathon occurring the same weekend. Getting a room anywhere in the city was pretty much impossible, especially since I needed to be within walking distance of the station.

The room was as nice as any commercial style hotel is. Spacious and clean. There were a couple of issues though. The first was that every time I flushed the toilet the handle lost connection to the flush mechanism. So using the loo had to be followed by a call to reception to get someone sent up to fix it. And the shower was, a shower. Hopeless, with a weak dribble coming out of the head. Compared to the pummelling I got in Inverness this wasn't impressive.

My plan had been to make up for the expense by eating my own body weight in breakfast. At least that would save getting lunch on the run home. To be fair, for the first time during my trip, haggis was on offer at the buffet. Good news as I like fried haggis - but not this stuff. I'm not sure what was wrong but it tasted weird. The rest of the food was fine if a bit on the bland side. I even tried a vegetarian sausage but that was like eating compost so it was given up as a bad idea. On the plus side, the teapot didn't dribble.

Oh, and they charge for WiFi - what's that about ?

Hiking (best word for it, think half an hour walk. The hotel is in the back of beyond) back to the station I passed the Drumsheuch Swimming and Turkish Baths company. Perhaps I should have booked there for my ablutions. Excellent building though.

Princess Street is a bit chaotic at present. There are a lot of roadworks in preparation for the new tramway system. There is a lot of pride in this, or at least a lot of stands explaining why it will be A Good Thing. Comparing the street with a vintage photo in a magazine I bought for the trip, there is a lot less traffic already so I wonder how much difference the trams will make. Hopefully this busy street will become easier to cross as it's a nightmare now !

Edinburgh station was very busy. I'd expected it to be quiet on a Sunday morning but apparently it is the place to be. My train arrived and fortunately was pretty quiet. With the seat reservation system not working I just grabbed a spot in the quiet coach and relaxed. The run south was as easy as could be. The weather gradually got worse as we neared Birmingham but I didn't care much. The two lads who had got on at Crewe and sat nearby did though. Their tracksuits weren't going to protect them much and they hadn't brought anything more suitable for the conditions. In fact apart from mobile phones they didn't seem to have brought anything. At one point we briefly stopped in the countryside and one asked me if I knew why we had been held up. I'm not sure why I was thought to be an expert on this or what information I might have that he didn't at that point.

A couple of stations before Brum a mother sat down with her two kids. They were fractious but no problem to me but the boy was slightly unnerving. He was singing a song that started off:

We are the boys.
We know what to do.
Take all the girls.
And flush them down the loo.

He ran through this a couple of times and then added:

We are the strong.
We know what to do.
Take all the weak.
And flush them down the loo.

We are the beautiful.
We know what to do.
Take all the ugly.
And flush them down the loo.

Anyway, once at New Street a quick and damp stroll took me to Snow Hill. I remembered just in time that I needed to buy a ticket (force of habit, I normally have a return half at this point) for the Marylebone bound train that brought me home after an enjoyable trip. Stepping onto the platform I bumped into a friend who was busy packing her boyfriend off onto the train I'd just got off. Strangely she didn't seem to want to chat about my holiday...

To be honest I should have done this years ago as it's a fantastic ride and I've seen some beautiful places and met interesting people. Time to start planning the next one I think.

As usual, photos on Flickr