The Travelling Philbury

Whitlocks End

2012-01-17T12:21:00.000-08:00

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

Long Itchington Beer Festival 2011

2011-04-30T14:11:00.001-07:00

"What we need", someone will have mused, "Is an excuse for a really good party. Tell you, what, have a word with that Royal chap and tell him it's time to make an honest woman of his girlfriend, then everyone can have an extra day off and bunting sales will go through the roof."

And so it is that this years Long Itch beer festival runs for 4 days, and the whole village is bedecked with more bunting than you'll see in the rest of your life. It's everywhere.

Anyway, this year there was a plan. Turn up early and go home having drunk some beer but not on the last bus in case that nice Mr Cameron cancels it before it arrives leaving us to hijack the dray that provides a pub-to-pub service for those unable to walk the distance.

First stop, The two boats for a nice Maldon Gold. Standing on the towpath in the glorious sunshine, you don't get much better. A single boat chugged by, people walked past - sometimes with dogs dragging them along and apart from two kids racing past on their bikes (one nearly ended up in the canal, there would have been a cheer), nothing to disturb the massed crowd of drinkers spilling along the banks.

Then a quick stroll through the village centre to the Green Man where I had been promised a free pint involved passing a couple of shire horses working the Hook Norton brewery dray. How nice it was to see these fine beast and how unsurprising to watch as a BMW pull up beside them, honked his horn and then drove off. The horses looked unperturbed but the dray man wasn't impressed. I'm not sure where the car ended up, and I looked out for it as we continued, but if there is any justice it was in a stone wall at the loneliest spot on the road network.

Reaching the Green Man and squeezing inside, the staff were very busy and so I decided to hang on and pay for my pint as well as the commemorative festival glass. Looking at the signs, I knew there was only one beer for me - Chocoholic.

The contents of the glass were dark brown and at first tasted of very little. Then, all of a sudden, there was a real taste of chocolate. Good stuff too. Not strong, but pleasant. I'll confess to being a little wary as this sort of thing can be a bit gimmicky but it's not bad. One pint was sufficient but definitely worth a try.

Wandering around the back of the pub, past a sign that said "Slow Children Playing" - handy as you know you won't have to try too hard to hit them - we found the pub garden along with another bar. This time I was determined. After waiting for the queue to subside, I enquired and my glass was filled with some Flying Dutchman. A really nice golden pint, all the better for being free.

After a few sips I felt the need to make a trip to the gents, partly for the obvious reasons and partly for journalistic purposes. After last years write up, I had been advised that the facilities had been refurbished. I didn't think there was anything wrong with them before but had mentioned an odd barrier to stop people falling into the urinal. This has gone to be replaced with a unit further up the wall. While performing a full test of this, another person arrived and stood alongside me.

"God, wearing this skirt really gets in the way." he said.

For some of you, these might not be unusual words to hear in a toilet. Me, I quickly finished up, washed my hands and left him to it.

All quickly became clear though a few minutes later. Into the middle of the garden strode St George, The Black Knight, a couple of other characters and a bearded mad wearing a dress. Think Snow White with a few days stubble. These were the Coventry Mummers who were putting on short plays at each of the pubs in return for donations and beer.

St George took on the Black Knight in a fight and was killed. A Doctor brought him back to life with a few drops of Speckled Hen beer. They fought again, the Knight managed to wrest Georges sword away from him and things were looking bad. At the last minute the patron saint of England pulled out a pistol and shot the Knight.

We all cheered. It's not Ibson but than you don't want heavy drama when you are in a sunny pub garden drinking beer do you ?

As well as checking out the toilets, I'd been recommended toward the Noodle Bar in front of the pub. This was a good move - the cardboard box of freshly cooked sweet & sour chicken noodles was delicious. I did try with the chopsticks but quickly reverted to the wooden fork instead.

You know what it's like though. You have a Chinese meal and a few minutes later you fancy another one. We wandered back to the Harvester where I bought some Liemass Fruit beer. Pricey at over a fiver a pint but since it contains fruit it must be healthy. Mind you I think Jaffa Cakes count as one of your "five a day" so I might not be any more reliable than "Dr" Gillian McKeef on this score. The colour was a lovely red and it tasted nice.

It also made the idea accompaniment for a Water Buffalo burger. The meat is finer textured than normal beef, but otherwise I'll be honest and admit I couldn't really tell the difference. Perhaps less ketchup would have helped my palate ! Nice though and this year I didn't manage to get it all over my shirt which was a bonus.

The pub car park/garden was busy. In the corner were some of the local youth who provided entertainment for those who spotted them. One wearing florescent sunglasses managed to accidentally snap the leg off his metal char - the ground isn't level and I think he tried leaning back on it. For the rest of the time we were there one or other of them could be seen perched on it concentrating hard trying to pretend that 3 legs was as good as 4 so the landlord didn't spot them.

Finally, with the sun setting it was off the Buck and Bell. Our timing was excellent as we managed to get the drinks just before the beer ran out and customers were greeted by pumps with no labels and a cry that the barrels were being changed. My final pint of May Queen was light and refreshing but it's delivery from so near the bottom of the cask might have strengthened the flowery/washing up liquid taste a bit, something I can never decide if I like or not - for at least one pint anyway ! Still, at least we were inside as the temperature dropped and the place was quiet apart from the huge scrum on the road at the front. It's not often the biggest crowd is on the road.

Another good event. Lots of nice beer, too much to drink in a single day anyway. As the T-shirt says, Same again next year please !

See all my photos including every pint and bite here.

Visit the official beer festival website

Going down to Liverpool, to do nothing

2011-04-21T02:39:00.000-07:00

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

2011-01-27T10:23:00.000-08:00

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.

Long Itchington Beer Festival 2010

2010-05-04T13:32:00.000-07:00

The trouble with this interweb thingy is that you don’t know who’s reading your words. Worse, you can’t tell how upset they are going to be when they do read them. So it was that after last years trip to the Long Itchington beer festival, the organiser got in touch with me and moaned that I hadn’t given his pub a mention, instead describing it as the mystery pub we couldn’t find.

Therefore, this year I had absolutely no choice but to go and try the festival again. It’s not ‘cos I wanted to you understand, it was my duty.

According to the weatherman, the village would probably be washed away by the monsoon conditions predicted. Luckily the afternoon was fine, dry and the bus into the wilds of the Warwickshire countryside, not too late. Riding in unusual backward facing seats didn’t provide the greatest start especially as after a couple of miles, one of the other passengers shut the only open window so that he could feel the full effects of the vehicles very effective heating system. It’s a measure of the true nature of the British people that we politely allowed him to decide on the temperature despite being unable to understand the correct way to wear a pair of trousers. After all, someone who wakes up in the morning and decided that the waistband should be low enough that he has to do a belt up tightly over his own wedding tackle is possibly slightly odd. And can sing falsetto.

I’d taken the precaution of printing a map off from the festival website but we didn’t need it to find the first stop – The Buck and Bell just behind the duck pond. The roads around the building had become a temporary beer garden with crowds standing around enjoying a drink and watching others pass by on the way to their next refreshment stop. Rather than confine us inside, the Buck had laid on a small bar under a gazebo at one end of the building and a very tempting hot food stand at the other.

Last year we had a little bit of a problem explain that the beer should be served in the commemorative glass. This year the problem was getting the glass itself ! The outdoor barman was under the impression that they weren’t on offer this year. A little training was obviously in order along the lines of reading the pubs advert in the festival guide which said, “Festival shirts and glassware available here” Oooops !

On the other hand the beer, Darling Buds from the Warwickshire Brewery, was delicious and more than made up for slight confusion. While enjoying the pint there were plenty of traditional British beer festival characters on hand to provide some entertainment too. For example, “The Trainspotters” were carefully working through the list of brews and highlighting those they had already sampled so as not to waste time repeating a tasting. When I say highlighting I mean with a real, bright yellow, highlighter pen one of the team had probably pinched from their office. Judging by the dayglo effect on the pages they’d been working hard for most of the day too – a glimpse of the book was both blinding and sufficient to provide the viewer with a healthy looking suntan...

Underneath a tree was rarer sight – a genuine drunk person. You might think that a festival devoted to beer would be full of people out of their heads, and ready to make an appearance on a Channel 5 documentary on “Broken Britain” but no, festival goers are decent, honest and upstanding people who are there to sample and appreciate the panoply of tastes on offer. Not for us the “shot” of alcohpop, no we want to savour our drinks – just like people say they do on the continent but without having to learn French or wear a beret. Our drunk may have had an unusual haircut but all he did was sit on the grass drift off to sleep while everyone around him carried on as normal.

Finally there were a few people in costume. At least one St George was present plus some cohorts dressed in related attire. One was carrying an enormous axe – that would have given the TV people a shock, no concealed weapon here – another appeared as a ginger wigged woman. Admittedly this last costume was not very convincing, you’d have needed big, thick beer goggles to have been fooled. And of course there were Morris Dancers. Luckily there performances had finished but the law says morrismen must drink their own bodyweight in real ale every day and that’s what they were trying to do.

After the first pint we moved on to the Harvester. Inside the small bar there was a healthy queue. Better still, commemorative glasses were on offer but I couldn’t decide what I wanted to drink. Eventually I delayed the glass buying and went for halves of “Lilly the pink” and something that mentioned lemons. While waiting one of the other customers, who looked like an aficionado, asked if there were any more pumps. Exhibiting my local knowledge I said this was the entire bar, upon which news he mumbled something about the beer being gassy. Then he ordered a Budweiser. The Englishman in me nearly saw him dragged out to the street and given a stern dressing down – dammit, it’s a beer festival there is no need to order an American “beer” when nice stuff is available.

Anyway, The Square became the beer garden for the crowds unable to fit in the pub. Local planning has not been kind to this street as despite its name, the half timbered houses look out onto a sea of tarmac. Along here drove one or two locals not looking too impressed at the revelries taking place. Mind you, they looked like the sort of people you can’t please any of the time as they sat in air-conditioned and very clean 4 wheel drives and Mercedes so we just made way politely and carried on supporting the local economy.

We also made way for the horse drawn dray that was doing the rounds. Well, once we’d all had a stroke of the cute horsies anyway. There’s a little something in everyone that is drawn to fuss hairy animals and these good natured beasts were obviously well used to it. Even when one of the cars squeezed past they stood their ground although the look their handler gave them would have scorched the paintwork...

Then off on a voyage of discovery. Past the school. Past the Co-op with its handy cash machine. Past quite a few houses and eventually we found the Green Man. I’d been keen to come here since festival organiser Mark promised me a free pint last year for my previous blog entry. If you are thinking this is mercenary then you are right and yes appearance can be bought on this website for the price of a beer.

Yet again, the pub was packed. My first call was to relieve myself of earlier drinks in the Gents. Ladies may wish to turn away now as I have to describe the room. If a man needs a quick pee, there is a nice wide porcelain urinal available. It’s the white wall with gutter communal variety rather than a series of single receptacles. So far so normal. However in front of the gutter there is a solidly constructed, stainless steel device – a fence with a sloping (towards the gutter you’ll be pleased to note) top about shin or knee height depending how tall you are. Neither myself or the man who walked in after me had seen anything like this before.

“Bloody hell, what’s that ?” he exclaimed.

As a guess, I suggested, it’s to stop us falling in.

“Hmmmm” he replied and then got on with the job in hand.

All I can assume is that the male population of Long Itchington are prone to a bit of urinal snorkelling or that they have a tendency to fall in to the inch deep channel and need to be rescued, hence a fence to keep them out and stop soggy feet returning to the carpeted confines of the bar. To be fair, it worked and no one drowned while I was in there.

Back in the bar there was no immediate sign of Mark and I wasn’t going to push my luck trying for the free pint with anyone else, the man with the giant axe had been heading this way last time I saw him. Some amusingly named “Bear Ass” was available (The Warwickshire heraldic device is a bear and staff) and a nice new souvenir glass came my way too. In a side room a folk band played away but it was too crowded to stay inside and listen – anyway one strummer was sitting in front of the door so as to block any potential audience out. Assuming the sound would be audible outside we repaired to the wooden benches in the sun.

Outside again we discovered that the musicians had been put in a room with no open windows. Whether this was an oversight or comment on their standards of playing I didn’t get the chance to find out as Mark found me to say hello. It appears that despite me being rude about all the pubs last year, I wasn’t about to be chased out of the village by pitchfork wielding locals. In fact his disappointment was that I hadn’t been rude about his pub, which of course is his own fault for not putting any maps out for us last year. This year, much better and we could all get around as well as someone who has been living there for several generations.

Finally able to sit, I perused the enormous beer list and discovered that there was drink from the Castletown brewery based on the Isle of Man available at the Two Boats. Being a big fan of all things Manx, once the glass was empty, it was time for the trip to the canal.

On the way a stop was made for a Buck and Bell burger. At first glance a fiver might have looked steep but this was a proper burger. Un-round in the way only a decent hand-made burger can be, it was best part of an inch thick and complete with plenty of salad. It was this that was my undoing. I’ve always had a problem with tomatoes in sandwiches. They always seem to squirt juice over me as I eat and after just one bite, my shirt was splattered. Thus the rest of the evening was spent looking like the sort of sad act who walks around with food down his front.

It was worth it though. Delicious. Ronald Mac can only dream of producing such quality fayre.

The Two Boats is a canal side pub. To my disappointment the Castletown beer hadn’t lasted very long into the day so I drowned my sorrows with an alternative. The towpath drinking area was full but taking a stroll up the cut a bit seemed popular with most drinkers getting as far as the nearby lock before returning with a thirst. It certainly seemed a less wet option that the inflatable canoe being tested by a couple of hardy souls. I wondered if the large number of barges moored were related to the festival but then spotted glasses of wine sitting on the roof of one and a couple drinking canned poncy lager on another so perhaps it was just chance. The wall of boats probably did save the odd drinker from a dunking though later on as you couldn’t easily fall into the water.

Finally there was just time for a quick half at the Cuttle Inn the only other pub we hadn’t tried this year or last. It’s a posh place which is probably a haven for those who feel a bit pushed out by the incomers who only turn up once a year and can't be bothered to walk up the hill a bit. Behind the bar they discussed how Peroni glasses are more trouble than they are worth because they just keep breaking. Not knowing what one of these is, I took my Owl Screech and departed to the patio area. Here it was, overlooking the car park with Porches sporting signs warning the owners not to leave them here all the time as the spaces are wanted for other people, that we saw the only proper, TV style drunkenness.

A group of lads were out for the night and some were wearing fancy dress. In particular, one of their number who I seem to recall was named “Seth”, was dressed up like a polyester Richard Gere from “An Officer and a gentleman” in a suit slightly to big for him. For some reason he decided a beer throwing session was in order despite the protestations of his friends. Well, here is a handy hint for the future – If you are wearing a bright white suit, presumably with the intention of standing out in the eyes of the opposite sex, do not get beer and lager all over it. At the end of the film, Debra Winger was not swept off her feet by someone who looked like he’s been urinal snorkelling.

And so back to the bus. Just in time to escape before the predicted monsoon. With a bit of luck I’ll still be able to go back next year. Seth will have dried out and I might even claim my free pint.

Official Long Ithington Beer Festival website

I took a load of photos which are on Flickr for your amusement.

Welshpool

2010-04-29T11:25:00.000-07:00

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

2010-01-01T02:21:00.000-08:00

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 !

London sights

2009-10-28T01:56:00.001-07:00

Not all visits work out as well as expected - my trip to the cartoon gallery would have been more successful if I'd checked and realised that it doesn't open on Monday - but that doesn't mean a wasted day.

Strolling around London, in the grounds of Burlington House is the amazing sculpture "The Tall Tree and the Eye" by Anish Kapoor. At a guess, it's over 80 feet tall and absolutely amazing.

The mirror finish on the spheres reflects the view of the courtyard from many slightly different vantage points. Unsurprisingly, it was surrounded by photographers all shooting their reflections. Even those who don't like modern art will appreciate this - I wish it could go on a tour as I'd love to see it appearing in other cities. Victoria Square in Birmingham would be a good start - watching the fountain in reflection would be a treat.

It's not just art that caught my eye though. Wandering down to the International Magic shop I happened upon Holborn Bars which is just the most stunning brick built building. Now home to the Prudential and RBS, it stands on the site of the building that was lived in by Charles Dickens.

The place was built in an age was labour was cheap and civic buildings were erected with pride and intended to stand for many, many years to come.

Beetle Drive, Crich Tramway Museum

2009-09-07T13:54:00.000-07:00

Terrible isn't it – you wait ages for a VeeDub event and then two come along all at once ! At least that's what the organisers of the annual Beelte Drive (geddit ?) must have thought when their low key show clashed with the much bigger VW Action. However I didn't know this at the time, so chose Crich for a day out. Anyway, Action won't be the same at any venue other than the Stoneliegh park site I remember visiting all those years ago just after I got my bug...

Another reason to go is that as a member of the Tramway museum getting in would be free. Besides, I haven't been there since last year and there has been quite a bit of building work on site since then and it's fun to spot the changes.

For those not familiar with the museum at Crich, it has a street scene at one end where you can board one of the many beautifully restored tramcars. You then ride up the line, turn around and return to stop off at the half way point where there is a mining display (the site is shared with a quarry) followed by another ride back to the tram sheds and displays. Trust me, if you like vintage transport, it's fantastic.

Add to this a load of old Volkswagens, not just Beetles but Type 2's, Wedge's, Ghias and (grits teeth) some of the watercooled stuff and what better way to spend a Sunday, even if it does involve a drive up the M1 ?

When we arrived, there were old VW's everywhere. In the car park, around the bandstand and filling the street scene. All the time the trams kept up a shuttle service and seemed to be doing excellent business. I don't remember the average age of the audience being so young either which shows that the museum is very cleverly attracting a new audience with these special events.

After a tea and choccie cake stop we took a ride on the top deck of a Liverpool Green Goddess. The weather was fine and the Derbyshire countryside looked lovely. Even the farm in the next door valley appeared to have been tided up a bit. Well the vehicle graveyard looked a bit smaller anyway.

At the mining exhibition there is a little hut where a fantastic, enthusiastic and very knowledgeable lady sells you some rocks from around the world. I can't resist this every time – there is no high pressure sales technique, just fascinating things which she insists you don't leave with until you understand what they are and where they come from.

Back at the street end we arrived just in time for the first parade. Most of the cars withdrew to the car parks and then drove in convoy back down the street, turned around and did another lap. There were so many of them that the tail was quickly caught by the head of the line and we had a few minutes of continuous dubbin'

Lots of exuberant horn blowing was quickly stopped – the local residents don't appreciate it apparently. Shame really as it was a very happy sound and can't be any louder than the blasting in the quarry can it ? Most of the drivers complied but there are always one or two especially an idiot in a while bug wearing a neck brace who seemed to be under the impression none of the shouting applied to him. The brace was obviously not to hold up the great weight of his brain...

Because of the clash, trade was limited to a model stall and one selling the coolest VW shirts I've ever seen. Very sensible prices too. If they had take plastic or I hadn't spent so much the night before my wardrobe would be even fuller At least I bagged one which will be on a trip to the pub very soon.

All in all, a really lovely little event. OK so there wasn't the pizazz of the bigger shows but this was fun. People laughed and smiled and clearly enjoyed themselves even if there weren't the tradition piles of rusty exhaust bits to sort though found at bigger shows.

By now all you want to do is see photos, so please head off to my Flickr collection where they are waiting for you.

Tramway Museum official web site.

Little bits of London

2009-06-14T07:22:00.000-07:00

A couple of months ago the Guardian printed a couple of booklets entitled "Secret Britain". Normally these head sort of things head straight for the recycling box as soon as the paper is opened but this one caught my imagination. Reading through, the obvious starting point was to try and "do" the London bits. I love London but need an incentive to visit the areas I've not been to before. The easiest way to see the city properly is to pick some destinations and then walk between them, then who knows what you might find ?

For me, the capital is about 90 minutes away by train. Chiltern Railways provide a nice efficient service and also sell "e-tickets". My plan involved killing two birds with one stone and trying out one of these as well as getting a cheap trip. An e- ticket has to be bought on-line in advance. The "ticket" is then texted to your mobile 'phone as a picture of a bar code. No trees are harmed in the production of this ticket. To be honest, once these arrived I wasn't entirely convinced that this would work but maybe this technology stuff will catch on one day.

From the guide I picked a couple of secret objects to visit: The smallest Police station in Trafalgar Square and Samuel Gurney's drinking fountain in Holburn. To this I added one of my own, the prototype red telephone box at Burlington House. According to the map these were walkable in the time available and would allow me to travel through places I'd never been.

At Leamington station the ticket barrier monitor didn't look at me stupid when I showed him my phone - he just opened the barriers for me (as an aside, where is the saving if you have to employ someone to man the automatic barriers) and I wandered up the the platform. With all the efficiency you'd hope for, my train arrived and just before lunchtime I was in the big smoke. Price to get there - a tenner.

Normally I make an effort to get in to "town" early to get the most out of the day. Buying cheap tickets limits this a lot during the week as Chiltern can fill all the commuter trains they like with people paying full fare and so have no desire to make things easy for the plebs wanting to play tourist. The benefit of a lunchtime(ish) arrival was that I managed to tick off another London thing - sausage, egg & chips at the cafe opposite Marylebone station. London cafs are great and for £2.95 I had 2 sausages, egg and chips. Tea in a mug and a cookie (to eat while wandering around) brought the total to just over the fiver. Excellent value and very delicious thank you very much. Just the thing to set you up for a good stroll. And I took a picture since it seems everyone likes photos of food judging by the response to a recent shot of some Yorkshire pud I posted once.

The first destination was Burlington Arcade, first introduced to me by AA Milne in his delightful 1920 collection of essays, "If I may". Milne used the arcade as a place to shelter from the rain before a lunch appointment. He describes the vendors as offering choices between regimental colour pajamas and strings of beads. Nowadays things have changed little. The pajamas are probably still available but mostly the gentleman is presented with a selection of cashmere sweaters and brogues. The former seem to me to be like normal jumpers, just rather more expensive. One even looked just like the sort of thing a granny might present you with at Christmas - the chest was a picture of a yacht deck with the sleeves in a gaudy blue and yellow. Yours sir, for a shade under 600 quid. Yes really.

The jewelers fared a little better. Perhaps the London Jewelry week promotions, the arcade was carpeted with a red rug decorated with crystal designs, we helping move some stock but not much. Inside one shop the laptop on the counter was set to the Windows Vista game section of the programs screen. Someone was presumably having a lot of Patience while they waited to sell a Solitaire...

A couple of doors down was my first objective, Burlington House. In the entrance archway there are two traditional London telephone boxes, K2's for the cognoscente. The one on the right is extra special. Thanks to John Timpson's book "Requiem for a Red Box" I know that this is the prototype for this archetypal British building designed by Sir Giles Gilbery Scott. A small British Telecom plaque inside tells the visitor that this was the original, as does tapping on the sides - it's made of wood rather than the cast iron of production versions.

Of course most people ignore the box - London is littered with them as well as the later and slightly smaller K6 versions - they are heading for the art gallery inside. By accident I had happened upon the Summer Exhibition. This is when 10,000 artworks are submitted by absolutely anyone and 1000 are chosen for display. It's an annual event that often appears on TV with some presenter trying to get their daub through the judging process and on to the wall. I've never been so in the spirit of adventure, I paid my 7 quid and went in.

I don't know much about art, but I know what I like (who said that, oh, me just now). What I know is that on that basis, an awful lot of this was rubbish. And quite badly displayed. For example, the Small Western room is a small side gallery, the walls of which are covered in pictures. Many of these are wonderful small pictures but are displayed 10 feet above the ground. How are you supposed to appreciate them from the floor ?

Other rooms feature larger works with much more space around them. Perhaps my favorite showed off architects models on black shelving. Again, the person "hanging" these ought to realise we don't all come on stilts and if it's too high off the ground we can't see through the shelf either. Some nice stuff though and I appreciate the skill involved in making the models. One point, those who are comissioning the new Newport Station might want to do a quick search on "Ladies reproductive organs" before approving the model that was on display. You will thank me for that advice.

Having said that, the sheer variety of work on display meant there is something for everyone. Postcard from Heaven was simple enough, the back of a postcard asking the judging panel to put this in the exhibition because her mum would be so proud. Winter Allotments was another joy, a slightly cartoonish painting of a man on his allotment surrounded by plants and other horticultural stuff. It was one of those pictures you could look at again and again and see something new each time. Sadly even if I could have afforded it, the painting had sold by the time I visited, as had much of the art on display.

Exiting the main exhibition, via the room with video art (all video art is shite by the way so I won't bore you with it) and pausing only to discover that the meagre selection of postcards in the shop didn't include any of the works I'd liked, I wandered across the stairs to the free, fine art part of the hall. Here, in incredibly ornate rooms, were some of the most serious and dull oil paintings you can find, However, even here I learnt something. I am an Aestheticist. Basically I take my art at face value and consider that if something has to be explained to me, it's probably rubbish. Actually this isn't entirely true, I can appreciate the workmanship in producing something too but if it's badly made and looks a mess then it can go in a skip rather than a gallery. This will not endear me to the art world which prefers inaccessible toss.

Enough art however, I needed to be on my way but outside Burlington House was another distraction - Fortnum & Mason. For those not familiar with the name, it's a posh grocer. They still display the Queen Mother's crest proudly although I wonder if someone ought tell them there is a reason she's not been in to pay her bill recently. This is one of those shops on the tourist trail along with Harrods and probably Hamleys. Inside is sumptuous and full of pricey stuff. I'd love to be the sort of person who considered this to be a handy local shop I nipped in to regularly for provisions, it's so wonderfully olde-worlde.

A short stroll led me to Trafalgar Square and my second objective - the world's smallest police station. Stone built with slit windows and surmounted by a lantern, this was apparently used to keep look out during political demonstrations and had a telephone hot line to Scotland Yard. This isn't as unusual as you might think, those famous police boxes a la Dr Who were also used for the same purpose. Some were even made large enough to house a temporary cell. Nowadays radios and squad cars have left the station as a cleaners cupboard.

Next stop was to be Holburn and this was reached via The Strand and a short stretch of Fleet Street. En route I took in such gems as Somerset House and the Royal Courts of justice. Tripping over locations like this so often makes you realise how small London really is. As a tube user you simply don't get the geography or the concentration of good things in such a small area.

Gurney's fountain took a little finding but it's in the railing of St Sepulchre's church oppose the the Old Bailey. I'll admit I wouldn't fancy trying it, even if the water were working. The cups attached by chains my be nice an original but I feel hygiene may have been compromised in the 150 years since it was installed.

Having completed my mission and still with several hours to kill before the return train I looked around and spotted sign - the Smithfield Market. Now I've heard of this but again, never been there. Smithfield is the last surviving wholesale market in London. Once upon a time Covent Garden used to be the place to go for fruit and veg and not a tourist attraction and there were others. Times change and only the meat trade still works in this way. Even they have had to make changes as you aren't allowed to hang carcases on hooks in the open air any more.

The first thing that strikes you, or at least me, is the sheer size of the place. It's enormous. Apparently during WW2 the market was evacuated as it was easy to spot from the air and the authorities didn't feel regular concentrations of people in such a good target was a good idea. Arriving mid afternoon, everything was pretty much shut down apart from a couple of people hosing down a stand hidden behind some thick plastic curtains. Even empty though, the hall was striking. Imagining, with the help of a photo display handily provided for tourists, a market in full swing wasn't difficult and it must have been some sight. Apparently all the work was helped by local pubs opening early in the morning to lubricate workers who had clocked on well before dawn.

After this, my route is a bit of a blur. Trusting my sense of direction, and not being able to work out properly on my little map where I was I picked my way across the city heading in what I hoped was the right direction. Working on the basis that the Post Office Tower was too north and too west of where I wanted to be helped.

A couple of discoveries helped my trip. International Magic is a small shop but in the back of its dark interior you can buy magic tricks and have them demonstrated to you. A few doors down there is another business selling stainless steel screws...

All this walking made me peckish and by chance there was an "All you can eat" Thai Buffet. The food looked good and indeed the first plate was. Washing this down with some guava juice I headed up for a second dose, well you want to get value for money don't you, and it seemed the a switch had been thrown to make all the food taste less nice. Not nasty but just bad enough to stop the casual diner from eating all day. Do they all do this ? Is it just me ? If not, can this trick be patented - I foresee big sales in similar restaurants !

Last stop was Marylebone village. To me Marylebone is just the name of a station but it appears once upon a time this was a discrete area of the capital, probably in the days where there was hunting in Soho, and some marketing guru has decided that it would be profitable to keep the concept. Hence in a few days, there will be the Marylebone Village Fayre. Probably with maypoles and other rustic stuff. This is a reminder that London is home to around 7.5 million people, some of whom live in very nice little places indeed. Real communities exist so I suppose stores like Fortnum & Mason really are some peoples local shop.

As the sun set, crowds gathered outside pubs for traditional post work drinks. They spilled out over every pavement as the hot weather made sitting inside less appealing. Others relaxed with a cup of tea and puff on a hookah beside several cafes. Many hurried back to their last commute of the day gathering the free papers for entertainment on the journey. Even the half seven train was busy but with my £5 ticket scanned by the man on the gate I was assured of a seat through the countryside as my feet recovered a bit from the pounding. Why are London pavements so hard ?

I took some more pictures, go and have a look.

Long Itchington Beer Festival

2009-05-08T01:54:00.001-07:00

Ah, the joys of the English village. Where better to while away spring evenings with delightful, locally brewed, warm beer* beside the duck pond whilst morris dancers whack each other with sticks in a traditional manner ?

In theory, this is just what Long Itchington beer festival promises, apart from the men in bells. The website takes a bit of a dig at nearby Harbury's festival by trumpeting the fact that the festival is spread over 6 pubs rather than the village hall. That way you get to sample the ambiance of the area rather than just one anonymous building, or at least that's the theory. In other words, you can have a drink and see our waterfowl, not be stuck in a municipal building albeit one with alcoholic beverages.

Pub One: The Duck on the Pond.
Nice pub with but with pretensions top be a restaurant, the drinking space is seriously filled with tables, chairs and diners (the pub gets good food reviews in at least one guide to my knowledge). Annoyingly, that drinking space there is in the bar was filled with a circle of friends who hadn't cottoned on that they were taking up all the space where people wish to order and were oblivious to anyone else so didn't move down the bar.

The festival glass is a couple of quid and the beer that fills it eats the rest of the fiver. My mate also buys a glass and then orders beer – which the barman pours into a different, ordinary glass. “I thought you would want to keep this one as a souvenir” he says when the faus pas is pointed out, but then pours the beer from one to another after it's explained that the souvenir would be even better if it had been christened.

With no space inside, thanks to the aforementioned bar hoggers, we move outside to the er, car park. While the village pond, complete with baby ducklings, swans and other wildlife, can be seen from the pub doorway, it is separated from it by a tarmac car park which is home to a collection of exceedingly clean four wheel drives and executive saloons. To make things a little more hospitable tables are set out at the pub end with umbrellas. Nice touch but it's still a car park. The beer's not bad though.

Pub Two: The Harvester.
The plan was to drink a pint in each pub before catching the last bus home. Strolling past the pond we headed for what will soon be known as pub three. It looked a bit busy so we aimed around the corner for The Harvester. To be honest, as none of us knew Long Itchington we just followed people who looked like they were heading for beer. Clutching a pint pot is both a giveaway and helpful sign for those who “Bain't be from round 'ere” and don't know where all the pubs are.

Despite it's name this isn't a chain pub, more your traditional working man's village local. Again, food seemed to be the thing that kept the place afloat and the warren of interconnecting rooms were again full of tables and chairs. Decor was in the manner of a seaside bed & breakfast in a lower class resort so I'd suspect this is where the locals ate or those for whom price mattered more than presentation. The bar staff didn't have to wear corporate clothing or name badges, just like a proper British pub where if you want to know who someone is, you simply ask them.

The bar was heaving. One group of women were discussing the smell of one of the beers. By chance I ordered the allegedly aromatic one and so a round of sniffing ensured. The consensus was that it (unsurprisingly) smelt of beer. Not having a problem with this I took a sip and it tasted of beer too. The complainants then decided that it must have been a different beer and that one had definitely smelt odd. The barman tried sniffing the others on offer but they also smelt of beer. Scooby Doo not being available to solve the mystery we looked for a space to drink – and it was suggested that it was “nice out back” so out we went.

Into the car park.

And what a car park. For a start there were no cars. Hardly surprising as it turned out – access is through a locked gate under a archway. There was a reasonable sized crowd sitting round a couple of tables beside a pile of aluminium beer kegs. We sat at the other tables under some see through corrugated plastic. This was the legally mandated smoking area – hardly salubrious and probably going to put you off your fag in winter, which I suppose is the point. The view, apart from the crowd and kegs, was uninspiring being a wall and back of a few buildings. According to the fancy brickwork, one of these was built in 1861 but that didn't make it any more interesting. Again, a good pint and a busy little pub.

Pub 3: Buck and Bell
Escaping from the tarmac beer garden another attempt was made to get into the Buck. Crowds outside (the beer garden is a 6ft wide strip next to the road) promised a busy pub and we weren't disappointed. Inside, painted signs on the beams pointed us in the direction of the back bar and inevitably, a restaurant. Reaching the end we queued behind a large group already wearing the official festival T-shirts and ordered the same as they were having. While the beer was good I have a feeling that the attraction was the pretty blonde barmaid who had both the main attributes required in excellent bar staff – looks to bring the punters in and the confidence and personality to put them in their place when required !

The place looked like it had been on the end of a redesign from someone who had seen too many makeover programmes on TV. I think the style is called “Faux Posh”, a modern take on the traditional local. Not too many farm implements nailed to the wall I'm pleased to say but plenty of traditional features that were just a bit mock traditional. Add to this some accessorising straight out of a style magazine (sticks in a vase – why ?) and I bet the place does good business with the “travelling out to a little country pub” crowd. One pair of drinkers could be overhead commiserating with each other on the problems of owning a little place in another country. It seems that the Bergerac region isn't that easy to get to regularly and friends and family don't seem to want to use it as often as they expected so it's over three grand a year just for a couple of weeks. And you can't sell them either, not with the market in the state its in now...

Pub 4: The Two Boats
I like a canal side pub and had spotted this one as we came in on the bus. Now it might be the effect of the beer but the stroll out to it didn't seem as long as expected, little more than five minutes from the centre. We arrived to the sound of a live band, who promptly announced a break in the set. No matter, there were more crowds to struggle through and this is a tiny pub. Two rooms, each with a bar, a few tables and lots of people. Waiting time was around 15 minutes, despite the best efforts of the staff who were hurling beer across the counter as quickly as the pumps could pour it. When we were served the barmaid said this had been the second day of this and, “we've two more to go.”. It's obvious this sort of festival works so you have to wonder why more villages aren't trying it.

Beer in hand it was out to the garden, or towpath as it is more accuratly described. All the tables were full outside, often with people we'd seen in the other pubs. The entire crowd from the Harvester seemed to have made it there, or at least the memorable ones anyway.
For the first time in the evening, the beer wasn't to my taste. It's my own fault, above the bar had been a label saying that it had a licorice taste and like every right minded individual I can't stand the stuff so I ought to have known better. Mind you it still took half a pint to decide this, possible due to the pain killing effects of the previous three !

On the other side of the canal and up a slight hill there was another pub. That was where the band were. A Beatles tribute group, they were set up on some terracing so both groups of drinkers could benefit from the performance – and an excellent one it was too. From the short distance you'd have been forgiven, if you were a bit stupid and knew no pop music history, that you were seeing the real thing. Of course that might have been the beer again.

Chatting in the bar, people said that the other pub was even fuller. Quite where all these people had come from was a mystery as the last bus back home wasn't exactly heaving. Harbury certainly generates more green transport users for its festival. Where ever the source though, there were a lot of people having a good time. The pubs did excellent business so everyone wins.

Next year – I think a visit earlier in the day. Lunchtime perhaps, although it might need several lunchtimes to sample everything on offer. There is also a mystery sixth pub to find as well so it's worth the trip.

*Note for American readers. In Britain, proper beer, often known as bitter, mild or stout, is served luke warm. The only reason beer is served cold is to hide the taste. Our beer tastes nice so we don't need the refrigeration.

Living history re-enactment fair

2009-03-03T01:46:00.000-08:00

As many people have pointed out, all towns look the same. You wander the high street and see the same shops, or at least boarded up premises that you see in every other town. To travel isn't to expand your mind, it's just to find a branch of Next that you've not seen before. Anyone wanting to get properly off the beaten track increasingly has to fly half way around the planet and find themselves somewhere with no roads or mains sanitation. Even then there will be a McDonalds and Starbucks.

Perhaps in this globally connected world we need to form a new paradigm to describe the travel experience. Instead of visiting a place, we should visit a community. And since we aren't constrained by geography any more then these can be spread across the planet. A personal example: I belong to the Type2.com mailing list, a real community where we chat and help each other with our shared interest in aged VW vans. I know some of these people better than I know many of those who live in my street.

In practical terms this means that simply changing geography isn't enough. Ever since the first printing press stopped knocking out bibles and started on newspapers we have formed links beyond out immediate area. In modern terms, social networking web sites means that where ever we are physically located there is a good chance that we will still know someone. Years ago marrying outside your village was unusual. Now you are likely to work in a different county to your home and think nothing of travelling 50 miles twice a day to do this. To put this into context, the Isle of Man had a railway system even though it's only 30 miles long. And there were lots of stations en route serving local communities whose lives were revolutionised this way. 30 miles is a trip to the shops nowadays.

Anyway, all this pretentious waffle is to say that maybe there is no point going to places any more. Far better to go to communities. Thing is I'm not heading off to live with a tribe in the Amazon, I want something with more clothing you'll be pleased to hear; which is why when I drove past the Warwickshire Exhibition Centre recently, I took note of the banner advertising the Living history re-enactment fair.

I've never felt the urge to live in a tent pretending to be a Saxon or Viking. But lots of people do and so a dip into their world could be interesting. Besides, it's only £3.50 to go in so how much had I got to lose ? I've been in this exhibition hall many times but for the first time I really didn't know what would be in the doors. Not a clue. I suppose I hoped to see people making swords and stuff but as I know little of the subject it was a mystery.

First impressions were - wow, what a lot of people. And clothes, lots of clothes. And lots of the people are wearing the weird clothes. And look there is a man making a longbow. He appears to run a bow and arrow stall. And that looks like a nice suit of armour. With accessories. Nice. Oh, shiny things. Shiny things that could kill someone.

Actually that pretty much sums up my experience. To find a modern parallel, image an indoor market but with all the stalls selling second hand clothes being purveyors of (new) Victorian and earlier apparel. The mobile 'phone stalls (as an aside, am I the last person in the world to prefer an apostrophe before the word 'phone ?) are no more but in their place you can buy bows and arrows. Drapery stalls still exist of course but the cloth is much coarser and looks like it would be as itchy as the jumper your granny knits for your Christmas present. Of course you can buy shoes but these are rather more leather than normal, with quite a high wood content too, especially in the clogs. No slightly icky underwear sellers of course but some serious corsetry in both whalebone and leather (diet, nah just do the laces up tighter and give me more cake...). And those dodgy guys selling "collectable" knives to sad acts ? They are selling various swords and battle axes...

It was fantastic. I still have no desire to live in a suitably period tent or to run around fields attacking people but the hardware fascinates me. OK so I've always enjoyed making things so watching a guy dressed in a medieval smock carving away at a lump of wood is my sort of thing (the carving, not the smock obviously). The craftsmanship is truly amazing too. Knowing a little about metal forming I marvel at how a flat piece of steel can be turned into armour without any evidence of the required hammering. Even the weapons are things of beauty - and very blunt in case you were wondering. In fact if your recreation requires a lot of hitting people with swords then hard foam ones were available so that mock battlefields aren't strewn with real casualties.

Probably the biggest surprise was the amount of Victorian attire on sale. Who exactly is dressing up in the stuff and when ? I'm pretty certain there isn't a big scene recreating workhouses and sadly no one sends children up chimneys as entertainment now. Not that there were many urchin tailors anyway. The styles preferred were landed gentry or perhaps a beadle for those in charge of dishing out punishment.

Of course those manning the stands were especially friendly - they really care about and love what they do. You can't be a blacksmith specialising in creating authentic cooking equipment and not enjoy it I suppose. While all jobs have their dull days, being able to hit bits of metal hard at least allows for some stress relief ! My dumb questions were answered and at no point was I made to feel like an idiot outsider.

OK, so I'm not Bruce Parry but at least I went and had a look. And I think I might go back to have another. Once I've carved the horn I bought anyway. Never worked in horn, I wonder what I can make with it ?

As usual, more pictures on Flickr.

And the official website.

Slimbridge in January

2009-02-03T02:46:00.001-08:00

Slimbridge
Originally uploaded by Phil_Parker

Where better to spend a parky January day than wandering around some wet fields ? Yes, the sun is out and the temperature is in single figures but the car park at the Slimbridge Wetland Trust is absolutely chocka.

The facts: WWT Slimbridge is a wetland reserve managed by the Wildfowl and Wetlands Trust on Gloucestershire. Created by artist and naturalist Sir Peter Scott the reserve was opened on 10 November 1946. The site covers 3 square kilometers, a portion of which is landscaped for public wanderings with the rest given over to the birds although there are several hides to allow us to watch.

On arrival adults are relieved of a hefty £8.75 in the visitor centre, an impressive building home to a restaurant, art gallery, inevitable shop and a viewing tower. Most then head straight through to to see the birds. En route the centre helpfully sells you a bag (or if you have been before and know what you are about see, bags) of bird seed. Celever idea this - the birds need feeding and we are happy to pay to do it !

Outside again and there are ponds. And birds. Lots of birds. More waterfowl than you can shake a stick at unless you spend a lot of time stick shaking having trained for many months to build up stamina. Since the trust take a dim view of activities involving wobbling wood, it's better to throw some of the seed. Of course this attracts the birds allowing a closer look. Actually, near the centre they aren't so bothered as everyone lobs food and therefore they are all pretty full.

Next you pass "Welly Boot Land", a brightly coloured children's playground that does its best to educate and entertain. Being rather too old for this attraction I can't describe its charms. The boots on sticks looked pretty though.

The grounds are cleverly laid out to take the visitor through various enclosures which provide different habitats for the winter visitors. The route winds its way around with no need to retrace your steps. Allowing for lots of feeding and cup of hot chocolate at the far side of the site, 3 hours seems like a reasonable day out for someone only passingly interested in birds. Several of the visitors wearing camouflage gear and toting cameras the size of a bazooka were obviously planning a longer stay.

To be honest I can't claim to be able to identify most of the birds I saw as you'll be able to tell from the photos on Flickr but I can tell them apart. And I enjoy feeding them especially in winter. Many of the geese will take seed from your hand, the Nay Nays (Hawaiian geese) seem to expect this and gently pursue anyone who hasn't handed over suitable amounts of grub.

January was being kind, the day was dry and bright with no wind. Plenty of winter clothes made for a pleasant stroll. Some relief is provided by a tropical house half way round. Not that I saw much as the warmth steamed up my glasses and camera lens. Thoughtfully a hot air hand dried is provided just inside the door to sort this out. Again I can't identify the species but there were some of the cutest pygmy ducks ever in there.

Back outside the careless visitors will be wishing they had paced themselves with the seed or bought more bags. With quite a lot of walking and loads more attractive feathered friends demanding your attention stocks can be running low.

For the serious twitcher, several hides are provided. These are covered and nicely wind and rain proof. Although the views over the marshes towards the Malvern hills do little for me, those birds on view seemed to be the same as seen in the park, I can well understand the appeal of watching them in their natural habitat. It's also nice to see that the Trust is committed to serious work - I'd suspect that the main park is a little too Disney (it isn't unless you own camo gear and chase up and down the country in search of a twitch) for the real bird enthusiast.

My favorite hide is Kingfisher. Not entirely finished at the time of visiting, it is a stunning piece of architecture. The walls are designed and decorated to look like mud and giant model birds nesting in the sides. The windows look out in three directions one of which has domestic bird feeders hung up attracting finches. I would guess that this is partly to encourage people to go home and look after the birds in their garden. It's a complete break from huts that owe more to the garden shed industry and will be fantastic in the summer.

Apart from this I can't say that much more about Slimbridge. It's nice, the paths are tarmaced (no need for off-road boots, but don't try it in high heels), lots of signs with pictures help explain what is going on in each enclose, you get to feed the birds and at the end of it there is serious conservation work going on. And of course, each visit is different as the population changes during the year.

Go on, take a look at the pictures.
Slimbridge Web Site

Giles Exhibition - Cartoon Museum

2009-01-26T12:07:00.000-08:00

I grew up with Giles cartoons. Every Christmas the Giles annual would arrive via Santa for my Father and would be quickly passed around the family with each of us taking time to work our way through the pages enjoying the humorous contents. The books were, and still are, collected together in pride of place on the bookshelf in our baronial library. As long as I can remember we've had a nearly complete set missing only a few of the earliest copies. Special editions, Guiness and RNLI stuff and a couple of jigsaws also form part of the collection. For a long while the Daily Express was delivered primarily for its cartoon (they also syndicated Garfield) content. Good job too as it was, and remains, a terrible useless newspaper that seems to gather copy from an infinite number of monkeys having a crack at Shakespeare. Even their most famous cartoonist didn't like them much often killing off one of thier other "stars", Rupert Bear, in the background of his scenes.

I digress. It is possible that some of my readers have been unlucky enough not to be exposed to a Giles cartoon and don't know what I'm going on about. If that is you then I suggest you first head off to Wikipedia for a brief and unusually accurate history or possible the British Cartoon Archive for those with longer attention spans. Then visit Giles Cartoons - A celebration and keep pressing F5 for new pictures.

The cartoons as I knew them normally featured the Giles family. Giles didn't actually have a family of his own but invented possibly one of the best known in the country. Pride of place goes to Grandma, a vision in heavy black coats and hat over a black dress. Permanently scowling she glares out from the Cartoon Museum window. This is my second trip to the museum, dig back in the blog for my first visit and more details on the place itself. This time I was to see an artist whose work I knew and loved.

It's strange but despite all those years of enjoying Giles work, I knew next to nothing about the man himself. Fortunately the exhibition has changed this. .The display, which fills the ground floor, takes the visitor through his life. Lots of original artwork is on display along with personal documents such as wartime identity and NUJ cards. Without sounding pretentious (moi ?) this does help me to understand the cartoons. For example before becoming a cartoonist Giles filled in frames in cartoon films - literally drawing the transitions between key frames created by the main artist. This shows later as the pictures are often a moment in time, you can imaging what has happened in the run up to the scene and what will happen afterwards. I'd not though of this before but can see it now.

Discovering that there was such a thing as a War Cartoonist was a revelation too. Giles was sent out by the Express and visited the Breendonck and Belson concentration camps. The paper wanted him to send them drawings but he refused, unable to cartoon the horrors he witnessed. Only photographs could show the truth of the camps he argued. Even towards the end of his life he said "There is not a day when I do not remember Belson.". That panel is the most moving of the exhibition and provides a counterpoint for the rest of the hilarity.

So important were the Giles family that the history of the man and the family become intertwined. Understandable as people will want to know about the development of the characters and trace thier development over time. This isn't unfair as in many was the fictional family were Giles, or at least parts of the man and his past.

Aside from the pictures, there is a recreation of Giles studio with lots of objects he owned and used to help with the pictures providing clutter. Some short films he was responsible for, including a slightly surreal one about the life of a hand grenade, are presented albeit without enough sound for my liking.

My favourite item was the original painting for the 34th Annual in 1980. It's a masterpiece. The workmanship is exquisite. Better still, seeing it in the flesh and perhaps studying it in more detail than I would have done on the cover, you see so much more. OK the picture is a bigger but even so. Another surprise joy is an undated drawing of trams in London. It's not funny and very impressionistic in style but encapsulates the feel of the scene. If only it were available as a poster or postcard !

This exhibition is a joy. Whether you look at it from a social history perspective (the cartoons document and comment on current events over a long period and can often only be understood if you know the history) or just as a chance to see again wonderful humorous pictures it's worth a visit.

Final handy hint - the green painted cafe at the end of the road (opposite the pub) on the corner near the museum is excellent. Top quality food at a reasonable price. I reckon I could have enjoyed sampling at least 10 of the cakes on display !

Map with Smarties

2009-01-02T07:54:00.001-08:00

Map with Smarties
Originally uploaded by Phil_Parker

OK, so I've decided to try and visit every place on my calendar. I have a list but my geography is rubbish. Digging out a rail map of the UK I thought I'd take a look to see where these places really are.

First surprise: Glenariff is in Ireland. Whose stupid idea was that ? Are there not enough good railway posters of UK subjects for the editor to stick to the mainland ? Last year we had Stratford upon Avon for April - and easy one for me. This year, two toughies.

Second: The French Riviera looks easier than you might hing. Nice is £175 return according to the Eurostar web site.

Third: Marking the UK towns with red sugar coated bean shaped confectionery gave me an idea of the size of the problem. Those in the north west can be grouped together and possibly covered with a travelcard and B&B. Norfolk and Suffolk likewise. In the later the station on the poster is closed so I fancy Bury St Edmunds as a nearby replacement. Norfolk broads is pretty vague too so anywhere in the area with a puddle will do me. Finally St Ives is in Cornwall - two months in one go !

New year. New idea.

2009-01-01T01:01:00.000-08:00

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.

Traditional German Market, Birmingham

2008-12-13T08:27:00.000-08:00

As they say in Germany: Hilfe. Ich bin durch die Elfe und morgens entführt worden, die im Digbeth Busbahnhof gehalten wird. Meine nur Mittel von ciommunication ist über diesen Blog. Retten Sie mich bitte.

Birmingham doesn't have the best of histories with celebrations at Christmas time. In the late 80's an attempt was made to brand the season as "Winterval". Not a bad idea as the festive season now seams to go on longer than any other but despite only happening for a couple of years, still finds it's way into the popular press at this time of year. You can always spot it in a story about BANNING Christmas to appease MUSLIM terrorists or some other made up tale filling tomorrows chip wrapping. The city now proudly proclaims it is celebrating crimbo and to prove it for many years has hosted the largest tradition German market outside the Rhineland.

What this means of course is the streets are filled with sheds. The sheds sell the sort of stuff only available at Christmas except for those that sell German beer and sickly hot wines. The former of course is for sale in any pub at any time but here you can buy it in the traditional continental litre measure instead of the good British pint. To be fair, I've seen one of these events in it's home and you really do get exactly the same thing. The shed are the same. The stuff for sale is the same and the beer is the same. In fact the only difference is that in Brum a few staff are recruited locally so Fraulein might have a Black Country accent.

But I am being churlish. 'tis the season to buy rubbish and there are few better places to do it than here. To loosten your purse string the beer kellers, now grouped well away from the steps in Victoria Square (health & safety gone mad I say), will help break down your resistance if required.

On the Friday afternoon I visited it looked like half the office staff in the city had decided to knock off early for a bevy and the stalls were crowded. Were it not for the language heard you really would believe that you'd ended up in Germany as the atmosphere was fantastic. The place smelled right too. I'd only just eaten (a good English all day breakfast no less) which saved me from stuffing my face with odd names sausages and weird sweeties that would probably have been bad for me but oh so delicious. Food always smells better outside and this stuff worked its magic like nasal sirens. None of your dodgy market style burger and chips either, proper food which you wouldn't regret a couple of hour later. Unless temptation lead you to too many cakes or sweets of course...

There are incongruities - Queen Victoria probably feels right at home surrounded by all this. After all it was here husband, Albert, who introduced many of our festive traditions from his homeland and she wasn't un-german herself. On the other hand Anthony Gormley's Iron Man looks like its list has been caused by the arrival of a helter skelter landing like a rocket. The rusting figure contrasts well with the gaudy paintwork elsewhere.

Wandering along the stalls, I do feel a Scrooge like desire to ask "Why ?". The stuff on offer is very nice but mostly decorative and pointless. The kind of thing you buy as a gift rather than wanting it yourself. The recipient will like the present, because it looks nice, and then never take it out of the box again. But then I've never understood how shops that sell candles exist so perhaps I'm not the best judge of these things.

What I do know is that this is Christmas. Perhaps some Roy Wood or Slade playing in the background would top things off but you simply don't get much more atmosphere than this. Other cities may try, Manchester has a similar market corralled into a single square instead of filling all the streets like a market should, but Birmingham seems to do this best. Perhaps one day the Daily Mail will forgive them for Winterval.

Anyway, get in the mood with some more pictures on Flickr

BBC Tour

2008-10-04T10:21:00.000-07:00

The BBC is an iconic organisation occupying several iconic buildings. We all know what Television Centre looks like from the outside - it appears on telly often enough during Children in Need and many other programmes. But apart from a few glimpses you don't get to see the inside, apart from the studios obviously, very often. I fancied peeking behind the magic curtain so booked onto one of the tours now available.

To get there the nearest tube station is Shepherds Bush Market, which is literally on top of the stalls. With time to kill I took a wander. Quite a fast wander actually as it's a lot bigger than I expected. A bit more permanent too with many stall extending their roofs with clear corrugated plastic to give an indoor market feel on the cheap. As befits this area of the capital the stallholders and their clientele are very cosmopolitan. Your larder can be stocked with food from around the globe should you have a sufficiently strong stomach.

Around every corner I expected to see a Del Boy trading in dodgy goods but I was to be disappointed. While it might look like an archetypal scruffy market, the quality and more importantly, variety of stalls is higher than most. For example there are only a couple dealing in mobile 'phones - Birmingham Rag Market can manage 3 times that and it's not as big.

Heading away from the market, a stroll up Frithville Gardens ends in a modest park complete with Japanese Garden. One of the joys of London is that you can be in the busiest, nosiest area and a few minutes later find an oasis of calm. The park curls around the back of the Beeb and affords a fine view of myriad satellite dishes and other aerials. At the end a sign announces a bowling club - but there is no sign of a green. Better news comes from a poster telling everyone that a missing dog has been found. Nice to see someone tidying up the end of the story, how many of the forlorn notices pinned to lampposts for missing pets ever bear fruit I wonder.

My group was to meet up the the "Media Village" which is a poncy name for a group of office blocks 5 minutes walk from TV centre. As far as I can tell the entire site is occupied by the BBC and I think they even use some of the buildings as studios. As expected you can buy coffee from Starbucks, drinks from a wine bar and eats in a couple of cafes where the word "organic" prefaces everything on the menu. I ate a mediocre tuna wrap and supped organic hot chocolate (nice but I couldn't tell it from the ordinary, pre-processed, chemical filled variety sold elsewhere) while struggling with a couple of Guardian crossword crews and trying to spot famous people wandering out to lunch. In both cases I failed miserably.

Having gathered our group we headed off to the Centre to meet up in the main reception. This isn't the one that appears on TV, this one is full of Daleks which are shorter than expected, terminals to listen to the radio and big TV screens. Our guides met us there and took us along back out along the street to security.

I'm a bit of a connoisseur of London security having visited several Government departments and the Buckingham Palace office suite. Suffice to say the BBC is by far the toughest by far. Think airport style with all bags x-rayed and a metal scanner to walk through. Gentlemen, please remove your belts so they can go through the scanner too and don't bring anything sharp or it will be confiscated. How they get an entire studio audience through this is beyond me as 15 people took nearly 10 minutes. Good job it wasn't raining either as there isn't much shelter space other than the small gatehouse.

Once past this the ground rules were laid down - no photography unless specifically authorised, leave people alone (no autographs), stay together (2 guides, one each end of the line so we couldn't get lost) and single file so the corridors don't get blocked. Oh, and yes you can take a picture of the Tardis over there, I didn't bother 'cos it looked a bit rubbish.

The tour starts in the newsroom. Or rather a glass walled room on the edge of the newsroom. To get there the party is led through a canteen where apparently there was a newsreader although we only saw the back of her head. Actually I'm a bit rubbish at spotting celebrities so this is going to be a bit light on name dropping. I did see the guy who was the chief correspondent at the Olympics in the lift...

Once a promotional DVD (Wow, the BBC is great. And it makes Dr Who...) had been shown to us we were talked through the newsroom. This IS like it looks on TV but of course we only got to look at the staffers not the stars. I certainly wouldn't have liked to have a desk backing on to our goldfish bowl - no messing around on the web instead of working as the visiting licence payers can see what you are up to ! Various views of studios were show, mostly involving Simon Mayo looking bored in a 5 Live radio studio. Sadly the room wasn't full of people running around in a flap. It was explained that 80% of the news is known about in advance which might explain things. Or BBC people take late lunches and were out.

The newsroom is huge - 5 floors of it. When asked what news you watch, don't say "Ceefax" as you get scowled at and marked down as an idiot. Actually, this isn't so bad as there is a bit of audience participation later and I think I escaped because they didn't trust me with the equipment. I don't think the BBC is proud of Ceefax any more...

Anyway, after the news we went to see a studio via the celebrity reception. That's the one you see on the screen with cars pulling up outside. The decor is apparently protected in some way which means they can't change it leaving a relic of the 1950's which is a bit fantastic. One wall has a huge tiled abstract mural. Apparently it represents waves or something, no one is really sure but it's definitely not just a way for the builder to use up some old tiles from various bathrooms he'd done in the past. Joking aside, it is very impressive as the few modern touches don't interfere with the overall design. I suspect the cost savings of not redesigning the place every couple of years are worthwhile too.

Outside in the donut part of the building the only design flaw was demonstrated. A single person clapping their hands echos off all the concrete walls terribly. So when the designer placed a large fountain in the middle it lasted about 6 weeks before being turned off to stop the staff needing the loo all day !

The fountain area was the best place for star spotting. I copped, Miranda Hart, Christine Bleakley and the one with dark curly hair from Strictly Come Dancing. There were others but since I don't watch Strictly (if I keep repeating this it will improve my Google ranking) they all look the same to me. Oh and quite a lot of BBC employees having a fag in shelters that we were told weren't for that purpose at all as it's a non-smoking site.

Anyway, the dancing is taking place in Studio 1 which meant that all we saw from the viewing gallery was the inside of a black curtain. A screen showed the feed from the cameras during rehearsal which meant we saw Jodie Kidd and Cherie Lughi limbering up but it's just like watching telly so seemed a bit pointless. There was a little to see at the bottom of the blackout, but only odd lights reflected off the back of the scenery.

Next stop, the weather corridor. It's got pictures of each of the presenters currently working plus some black and white shots of "The Good Old Days". In the middle of this is a wall mounted camera and a blue panel. This means one "lucky" person can have a go at presenting the weather complete with chromakey background of maps etc. For those who don't get it, the guide gets someone to wear a cloak of invisibility - or blue cloth that makes you vanish when the system replaces all the blue it can see with background. What larks ! And this takes place in an office block corridor - how Glamorous !

Studio 3 was much better. From the viewing room we could see the set of the ITV (yes, ITV, they have to rent out 30% of the studio time) daytime quiz, Goldenballs. Our view was right up in the gods so we looked through the impressive lighting rig at the crowd being warmed up. Apparently Goldenballs isn't very popular, that combined with a daytime filming meant the audience was about 25 people. The warm up artist was struggling to whip them into a frenzy.

In this studio we actually learned a bit about how telly works. The floors for example are resin coated concrete and get re-painted regularly. They have to be perfectly smooth for the cameras to move. Like (proper) Daleks they don't do rough or soft surfaces. Therefore if you see a carpet in a comedy show, it's painted on the floor. Dramas are shot on location but comedy's and game shows need an audience, hence they happen in a studio.

The studio was surprisingly small, especially since it was the same one used years ago for Top of the Pops. Think tennis court and you get the idea. Studio 1 (the biggest on the site)is the size of half a football pitch. They all look bigger thanks to wide angle lenses on the cameras - which have also make the people on screen look wider. People who have visited Chelsea Flower Show report that the same effect works on the show gardens there which are little more than postage stamps but look sumptuous on screen.

Next stop was a "green room". This is where those appearing on a show are corralled before they get to the studio. We went into number 2, which is the one used by the Strictly judges according to the sign on the door. Inside it's nicely laid out with soft furnishings and, surprisingly, red walls. There was no sign of the food, drink or other substances that rumour has are laid on in these places but I'm sure they are cleaned out before tour parties arrive. I'm not sure this is officially on the tour but our guides seemed to know the place inside out and wanted us to get the most out of it.

Further along the corridor and things went downhill. In a special room we could try out some of the facilities. This means one person gets lumbered with trying to read the news on an autocue while three others play a quiz. For the three positions on offer, only one person volunteered. The news reading looked the worst. Stuck on your own reading from a screen in between some automatically played film clips of "news". Still our victim did a good job which means I'm sure she's about to be snapped up for a newsreaders £250k salary...

The quiz was just as rubbish. The contestants watched a film and then answered questions on it. They all had buzzers but normally you'd expect that when the first person presses the button, the others wouldn't work. Apparently this is beyond BBC technology so our host had to guess who had won. To be fair there was a prize, a BBC Breakfast Mug, but I'm not sure anyone would have missed this bit of the tour if it hadn't been there. We'd have preferredlook in more studios or perhaps the place they make props.

Finally the party arrived at the BBC shop. Selling DVD's and branded tat it's the last stop in the journey. I wanted to know why it existed inside the centre at the side of the canteen. Only BBC employees and tour parties can get in there. Why not put it on the street ?

It's not the only retail opportunity either. We'd already passed a branch of Costa Coffee and a WH Smith on our travels. A hair dressers didn't seem so daft except it wasn't part of the TV make-up service but a private salon that anyone who worked there could use.

After about an hour and a half we were back in (non-celeb) reception It's an enjoyable tour and you certainly learn a bit more about the Beeb. The guides are excellent and seem to know and care about the organisation. Those not happy with the licence fee won't be happy about the extravagantdecoration and displays in some of the areas but then they probably wouldn't bother with this tour anyway. I'd have liked to see more behind the scenes stuff and less hands on, although if they'd let me have a go with a camera perhaps I'd change my mind...

More on BBC tours
More pictures here.

Tory Party Conference, in seach of John Major.

2008-10-01T01:27:00.001-07:00

"You went to the Conservative Party conference ?"

I can hear the surprised cries of those who know me. As a bit of a lefty I'm hardly likely to be a fan of David Cameron and his happy gang. Since we've all seen reports on the news of the various party conferences I wondered what they were really like. Can you just pitch up and watch the speeches ? Do famous politicians swan around among the serfs ? Would I be able to punch John Major for screwing up the countries railway system and making trips between Leamington & Birmingham standing room only ?

With the Tories infesting Birmingham this year rather than the seaside it seemed a good day to find out.

The morning dawned bright and sunny. Weather forecasters predicted that this would be the same all day followed by rain of biblical proportions to follow through the week. Fortunately for my temper and the future of Mr Majors nose, the train was quiet enough for everyone to sit down. All that is, except the emo kid who decided to stand on his own at the end of the coach for angst and misery reasons. I bet he was really disapointed it even ran reasonably to time. No, hold on, being disapointed would make him happy. And that would make him sad. I dunno. He stood in the vestibule looking at his iPod miserably anyway when there were empty seats.

Things started to go wrong at New Street Station. The forces of oppression (TM) were obviously aware of my plans and started to harass me on arrival in the city. Testing a newly acquired 2nd hand camera by taking an nice arty shot of the railway lines disappearing into the tunnel at the end of the platform I was shouted at by a "platform assistant" for ignoring a non-existent sign and standing by a signal and not blocking the view of it. Of course if he'd enunciated rather than communicating in a series of shrieks and squeals I'd have put up a proper argument. As it was a colleague wandered up so rather than face down the gathering force I scarpered quick before they carted me off to some anonymous cellar to be interrogated by Michael Potillo (insert Spanish Inquisition joke). Make no mistake comrades, they were out to get me !

I don't really know what I expected to find in the city centre. Not a giant wicker shoe obviously. Perhaps some protesters as there had been during the G8 summit a few years ago. Or lots of blue flags and banners with pictures of Maggie (out, Out, OUT) and DC as his friends call him apparently. But no. Birmingham was ignoring the Tories as far as I could see. In fact I made it through Victoria Square, past the beach with empty deckchairs (calm down, coastal erosion isn't that bad, it's an advertising thing with sand around a fountain), past the threatened Library building and it's associated McDonalds, past the new Big Issue stand and as nearly to the war memorial before finding a sign of the event.

To be honest even when I found the first signs of conference it took me a moment to realise I had made it to the outer ring of steel. At first I thought, "The steel tube flower basket supports are interesting and new. " then looked again and saw the huge metal and concrete elliptical bases they stood in. These were no mere horticultural support, they were designed to repel anyone trying to drive a vehicle onto the plaza. I'm sure they would be very effective at this and keeping fat people out too as the space to walk through wasn't generous. Looking around, every entrance was protected with these fortifications except those off Broad Street which had been closed for the duration.

Approaching the ICC, freshly decorated with banners and coverings, it became obvious that I wasn't going to see any speeches. A huge tent obscured the entrance and out of this stretched queues of smart suited delegates sporting plastic badges around their necks. To get in you had to be checked by uniformed security guards before disappearing under canvas for indoctrination or security checks or something. Had I attempted to try and break in I suspect several of the army of police hanging around would have had something to say. That is if their colleagues on the top of the building hadn't stopped me first. Incidentally, when did the uniform stop being navy blue/black and become fluorescent ? Only the ones with guns get dark colours now - which makes them stand out more as they aren't dressed like builders ! Security was so tight that even the manholes had been sealed with something like black chewing gum to stop the communists using the sewers to invade.

Anyway, with a blue sky and interesting outdoor photographic exhibition to look at I decided to hang around and see what happened. Every so often someone would force a leaflet into my hand for a fringe event, more out of desperation to get rid of them than a desire to have me involved. Even smart jeans weren't exactly de rigueur amoung the crowds who preferred dark grey or black suits. Mind you there was a distinct lack of twinsets and pearls too so fashion has moved on in the Tory heartlands, for the conference anyway. Everyone walked around purposefully frequently gabbling on mobile phones. It was like a little bit of the City of London had moved to the middle of the country. Of course they could all have been desperately trying to offload stocks and shares as the economy melted down !

Undoubtedly the highlight was a lone protester with a small placard. His method of persuading the delegate to adopt his point of view was to shout at them. A lot. And loudly. Mostly the messages involved banning the tobacco industry which he accused of genocide. My particular favourite though was his oft repeated question, "Who likes nuclear power stations ?"

Most people simply ignored all attempts as engaging in debate which wasn't surprising really. Much as I like a discussion, I prefer not to start when one party is already at shouting point. In fact, so hopeless was he at protesting, I wondered if he had been brought in from "Rent a Trot" to confirm everyones opinions about the opposition. I suppose he gave them something to talk about inside, even if it was more likely to be along the lines of "Did you see that idiot..." rather than, "You know he's right about tobacco..."

At one point the the rhetoric revolved around Article 10 of some EU directive which protects out right to free speech. There were a larger number of police around at that point and our hero decided that they needed a refresher course in the law covering this area, specifically why it meant they couldn't arrest him. At one point half a dozen were looking on and an inspector went over to have a quiet word, I think he was pointing out that they had no intention of arresting him no matter how much it would make his day (Go on officer, do the handcuffs. And a tap with the truncheon too. I love it !) to which he bellowed that if they tried he would be happy to have his day in court. Talking to one of the dayglo stormtroopers it seems that he does attends all the conferences and would keep up the shouting all day every day. If nothing else that shows commitment and stamina.

My own hopes of protest were not going well. I hadn't seen a Major, Thatcher (out, Out, OUT) or Cameron all day. In fact the only person I'd recognised was Matthew Parris who is a lot less shiny and quite a bit taller than he appears on the telly. After looking around it became obvious why. Next to the ICC is the Hyatt hotel where the politicos stay. There is a glass walkway between the two over Broad Street. Quite simply the "stars" didn't go in through the tradesmans entrance, so we didn't get to mingle.

That wasn't the only reason though. Chatting to another conference tourist it seems I had missed shouty protesting man chatting to Ian Duncan Smith. A proper leader and I hadn't spotted him ! The main problem is that had the entire shadow cabinet walked amongst us wearing badges that read "I'm a Cameroonie" I wouldn't have recognised them. This is despite the fact that according to the web site there are enough to fill a reasonable sized bus (I know they wouldn't be seen dead on a bus but you get the idea). Lets be honest, most people could probably recognise DC, Billy Hague maybe, possibly George Osbourne at a pinch 'cos he's been on TV a lot recently, and then all they have left is Boris Johnson who isn't technically on the front bench any more.

Eventually the crowds thinned. The guys from Shelter recounted their woes to each other - they couldn't give away T-shirts to the attendees. In fact one delegate had explained that crashing property market would solve the homeless problem as "everyone will be able to afford a house". The Oxfam people had better luck with canvas bag freebies but not as well as the Telegraph with their plastic versions. The prize for handouts must go to the Spectator magazine whose attractive staff distributed many copies as people walked past. Their star though was a slightly scruffy bloke who wore his sash like a necklace or lose scarf and had plainly been told to go and do this. He did for the absolute minimum time possible and then retreated to go and do something useful I suppose.

What the ghosts of Matthew Boulton, James Watt and William Murdoch whose gold clad statues look over the closed streets would think of this I can only wonder. In their day they were real powerhouses, men who made things happen. Now we have sharp suited people strutting around thinking they are the new masters of the universe - which in a way they are. But none will ever come up with anything as revolutionary as these great men who drove the industrial revolution and fundamentally changed Britain so many years ago.

More pictures on Flickr.

Warwick Antiques Fair

2008-09-27T00:21:00.000-07:00

As an occasional viewer of the BBC TV programme "Bargain Hunt" I've often wondered what a big outdoor antiques fair is really like. In telly I see lots of stalls with stuff on. They seem to have furniture and odd things but it all looks like a posh car boot sale. Obviously I'm curious about this but not curious enough to shlep out to the edge of the home counties where all these things seem to take place. When I spotted a poster for an event at Stoneleigh, about 7 miles away that seemed like it would be worth a dabble.

Anyway, for the privilege of going in to look at the stalls the organisers relieve you of a fiver. If you are really keen, or just want first crack at the bargains, a tenner gets you in before 10am.

Once inside the event filled what are normally called "the cattle sheds", because that is what they are during the Royal Show. And they smell of cowpat in places. The display ring outside hosted tent based traders who normally had the larger items. I would guess at around 150 stalls but there could easily be more.

Posh car boot sale would be a pretty reasonable description of the display. The quality of the goods on offer was much higher, as were the prices. Unlike a car boot though, every other stall isn't home to a coffee making machine. In fact the best thing about looking around was the variety of goodies on offer. To take a single example, one stall had a one arm bandit leaning against it and a 4 foot long Wherry hull inside.

To me, the outside stalls were much more interesting than those inside. The later was the home of lots of pots and porcelain. I can't see the appeal of china figures, of which there were an awful lot, or those white china souvenir ware thingys. Both exist in huge quantities which makes me wonder why they cost so much. On the other hand there were also small pockets of unusual items, especially early plastic from an age when they were The Future and all sorts of wonderful designs appeared.

The crowds were unsurprisingly toward the upper age ranges - no OAP entrance ticket was offered for a good reason I suspect. How many of the items sold will re-appear on the market in a few years after an estate is split up ? They will doubtless find a whole new range of collectors who will snap them up along with modern collectibles.

Perhaps the best way to approach this event is to treat it as a design museum. If we ignore the tat made of the collectible market and often sold in the magazines that come with the weekend papers then there is a lot to appreciate. Art decco items stand beside Victorian ones and you can see the step change in design. The war years interrupted the evolution with austerity items picking up the clean lines but not the glamour. Later still colour made an appearance in a big way along with revolutionary materials. Much on sale will exhibit the highest standards of craftsmanship - if it didn't then the item didn't normally survive - but not all. Some things were built to last because they had to be. I bought a Model Laundry plywood box with metal edging. To me this is a useful box for my exhibition work, for the original owner it was solid because they wanted to reuse it time after time.

I'm sure you could enjoy the fair without buying anything. I doubt there are many who are that parsimonious though. Obviously some collectors are looking for very specific items but most of us will just see something cheap and attractive and want to take it home. Hopefully this won't involve bankruptcy but I can see how that might happen ?

On Bargain Hunt, contestants have an hour to buy 3 items with the intention of selling them for a profit. I doubt I could do this and assume there is TV trickery at work. Just looking for fun took 4 hours allowing for a greasy burger break. To look properly takes either a lot longer or an expert eye. More expert than mine anyway.

Photos on Flickr

Birmingham Beer Festival

2008-09-15T08:07:00.000-07:00

On the wall at Harbury there was a poster for the Birmingham Beer Festival. At the time it seemed like a good idea but then it was late in the evening. Strangely, it still seemed like a good idea when the effects had worn off so last Friday off we went.

The festival is held in the student union bar at Aston University. I've never been a student so was unsure what the dress code was. I mean, when I was the right age (but too thick) to go to university, students wore ex-army grey coats and dungarees. Then they shouted at you in the street in lieu of a sales technique for Socialist Worker. Now I think they wear box-fresh trainers and don't even pretend they will all vote for anyone other than a Tory. In the end I hoped that a beer festival would be mostly populated by those from the IT and Engineering sections so dressing up probably wasn't required.

The student union is in the middle of Aston Uni and was handily signposted once you got there with arrows on lampposts. It's beside a pleasant village green type space which even has a normal pub beside it. How that works I'm not sure. Perhaps the students go to the union and the lecturers go to the pub ? Or won't the pupils at the business school be seen in the scruffy surroundings of a subsidised (and therefore little more than communist) drinking establishment ?

Inside cash was exchanged for a glossy programme plus half pint glass and we headed for the wall of barrels. Each was adorned with the name of the brew and interconnected with a plastic pipe. I'm assuming that this pressurised the vessel and didn't just blow beer from one to the other. Cash was taken on the bars with most beers coming in at £1.20-30 per half.

If you now expect a beer review then tough, I can't remember all the names and certainly can't recall the individual tastes. 'cos we had to go to Brum the timings had to fit in with the trains so an early (10.30) finish meant there was no option but to start drinking at teatime.

Fortunately there were a couple of stand out brews:
Mango - Is a yellowy/orange colour and does taste like there are mango's involved in the production. Very pleasant and light, just the thing for a summer like we haven't just had.
Pooh Beer - Dark brown and if I'm honest, not very nice. Only the dampening effect of previous drinks and the fact I needed to use the glass again kept me going on this one.

Alcohol strength fans will be disappointed that as neither of these appear in the guide I can't add this vital information either. Actually, the guide while glossy and full of reading matter is a bit useless on the details of the beers. The list is missing at least 3 of the ones I tasted. Still, you can read a diatribe about possible banning of smoking outside in Birmingham by an ex-smoker who still has the odd cigar (so not an ex- then) or a new landlady in one of the homes of proper beer in the city. Nobody read any of this at the festival as far as I could see but it's worth a look afterwards if only to wonder why Tiger bitter, which is IMHO little more than the contents of the drains in the gents toilets of a tapas bar, has found a home in a temple to the brewers art.

The people weren't your typical fare either. I spotted at least 4 laptops being carried around. Several escapees from the adjacent business school wore suits that were a little too sharp for the surroundings contrasting well with the weathered beer festival t-shirts holding many a gut down. Mind you, if they were looking to work in banking at the end of term a drink or six was probably called for ! The average age was younger than Harbury but not by much. Modern students prefer quantity over quality so would have headed for the nearest Wetherspoons rather than mess around with proper beer.

Entertainment was initially provided by a 6 piece brass ensemble followed after a 2 hour break by the Ann Duggan band. Ann Duggan is at least ten years too old for her outfit and twenty years to old to flirt with the lead guitarist, young enough to be her son, the way she does. Sadly the sound mix wasn't good enough to do justice to her vocals which was a shame as I think we missed out on an act a cut above your average pub covers band. Said guitarist was excellent even though he was plainly up past a decent bedtime for one so young. And of course no-one can clap when they have a beer glass in their hand so the audience response was more muted than it would have been otherwise.

Food was poncy (Jonathan Crisp) but delicious crisps and German sausages in buns. These smelt good and tasted better. Crepes were on offer from the same stall but how you were supposed to eat them I'm not sure as leaning space was at a premium. In the corner of the union was a Subway concession (closed for the evening) - is this part of the creeping commercialisation of the education system ? What the hell do the Socialist Worker sellers think of that ? Indeed, are there any ? The stand seems remarkably "unadorned" in what should be a hotbed for Marxists.

Anyway, a good night out. Not lefty magazine sellers (shame), some good beer and food along with reasonable entertainment. The glass survived the trip back on the train to join my collection.

More pointless pictures of beer on Flickr

CAMRA Birmingham

Harbury Beer Festival

2008-08-31T02:47:00.000-07:00

Celebrate the beer ! All Hail to the ale ! (insert other stolen catch phrases as required)

What could be more English than enjoying a warm beer on a summers evening in a rural village ? Apart, obviously, from getting staggeringly drunk, running around a town centre looking for a fight and ending the evening in a pool of vomit anyway. None of that in Harbury though, this is proper grown up appreciation of traditional brews.

The event takes place in Harbury Village hall. Despite having no less than 5 pubs, more drinking space is required when you have 60 different beers to chose from. With a bus stop outside you don't get a much more convenient location and for a change, public transport is well patronised in the sticks. As the weather was unseasonably (in the new world order where summer is like winter but with slightly higher temperatures) warm and dry everyone spilled out onto the grass outside.

For the uninitiated, a beer festival works like this:
When you go in you pay an entry fee. For that you get in (obviously, unless you are under 18 in which case you go back out again), a beer glass (which you can hand back for the return of a deposit at the end of the evening if you don't want a souvenir), a guide to the beer available and a card with a grid of 10 & 5 pence's.
You could wander round savouring the ambiance but most people head for one of the bars. There, the cognoscenti will examine the guide and pick accordingly. The rest of us just choose a name we fancy.
You order your drink, deciding between 1/3, 1/2 and a full pint and hand over your card as payment.
The barman fills the glass as required and crosses off some of the payment.
You drink the beer and repeat the above as long as you can either stand/run out of money(more cards can be bought)/the beer supply lasts/the event closes.

One couple, Mr & Mrs Tom Dunne, had in a stroke of genius, decided to hold their wedding reception at the festival. I can't think of a better way to do this - there are handy bars for the guests, you can give them all a beer voucher sheet and when they run out they are on their own, you have space for a band and everyone will remember the "do". They paid for the band, saving the organisers the cost too which was generous.

Anyway, what I should present is a detailed description of every beer drunk conjuring up the taste for you with my eloquent words. But I can't, partly because I'm not that good at writing and partly because I was drinking beer at the time and can't entirely remember each one in detail.

Here's some highlights though:
Strawberry Blonde - The guide says: 4.4%. Leadmill, Denby. A golden coloured beer with a bubbly white lead. This hoppy, slightly fruity beer has a dry malty finish. Some sweeter honey notes are apparent. - I say, it was a nice.
Pink Elephant - The guide says: 5.4%. Hampshire. Distinctively different; with pale malt and red wine grapes, which give a surreal flavour. Don't drink to excess, or you will see Pink Elephants - I say, it tasted like a mix of beer and wine and was very nice. Slightly pink too.
Old Field Perry - The guide says: 7.5%. Dry , yet still quite fruity. - I say it smelt like vinegar and tasted a bit like a liquidised barbecue but was very nice. Quite a sharp shock after the beer but very nice.
Black & Tan - The guide says: 4.3%. Houston, Renfrewshire (no not America, it's beer after all). A traditional mix of stout & pale ale - I say it's what was left at 10pm as the beer ran out. Quite nice though.
Navey Blue - The guide says: 4.5%. Church End, Warwickshire. A dry hopped golden beer soaked with fresh blueberries. It is hopped with Styrian Goldings and First Gold Hops - I say, it's blue beer. That is Beer that is Blue. Yes BLUE.

Obviously there were other beers and ciders and perry's (no lager obviously) but those are the ones I remember. The Scouts did some excellent food including hot dogs containing beef, horse radish and, wait for it, Beer.

The evening sort of drifted to a close as the larger than expected crowds finished off all the beer a bit earlier than might be expected but I don't think anyone really minded. For those that had been there all day, arriving at lunchtime and staying until the break at 4pm then heading off around the local pubs is apparently popular with some with rather stronger constitutions than mine, I doubt that they noticed anyway.

One thing that strikes you though is that no one was actually drunk. Mellow, relaxed or tire perhaps but not proper British town centre drunk. Even the bus home was quiet. We can drink like the French, we just need to right stuff that's all.

Photos on Flickr
Warwickshire CAMRA website

IWA National Festival & Boat Show 2008

2008-08-26T10:10:00.000-07:00

If you think travelling ought to involve some discomfort then welcome to my trip to Wolverhampton. To start with, the train from Leamington was as heaving as a hen night at 3am. I shared the vestibule at the end of the coach with eight other people - we'd have fitted a couple more in but there was a ball of bodies consisting of three students in one corner who were fast asleep and mostly horizontal. As the weather was unusually warm this wasn't pleasant and didn't get any better every time we stopped at a station. Coventry saw a few get off and a few get on. Birmingham International removed a couple but this was balanced by one person and a ton of luggage.

New Street was the best though. We lost a few but those that got on obviously thought that we were standing there for fun and charged by us into the main part of the carriage. Of course when they got there a shock awaited - no seats ! Last on were a couple with their young daughter, three cases and a folded pushchair. They repeatedly said that they had booked seats and were going to get them. I had a feeling that he saw the presence of anyone in a berth with their name on it as a slight to his masculinity. None of us cared much as it was crowded enough without a ranting fat bloke in the middle of the space.

London commuters have a technique for dealing with this sort of travel - listen to a walkman with some nice soothing music, and read a good book. It works well and despite struggling to find space for my feet some of the time the trip was fine. Of course had anyone walking in with a blue rosette, my hatred of those who scrapped the evil BR (we'd have had 12 coaches in the old days not 4) would have erupted and I'd have pummeled them into the carpet with a diet coke bottle and a Sexton Blake penny dreadful.

The fun didn't stop at the station either. Finding a bus was easy - the stands are just across the road and a 505 was waiting. Explaining to the driver where I wanted to go was the challenge. I wasn't even the first he'd heard either - the people in front had also wanted Pendeford park for the same event. Our driver didn't really want anyone on his vehicle who wasn't from "round 'ere". We don't understand the route. We don't get the "exact money only" stuff. We don't realise that you can't buy a return. And as for the accent, well it doesn't really help if you don't speak Black Country. Anyway, for future reference a day ranger costs 3 quid and a single £1.50.

We were dropped off a ten minute walk from the park. I think the driver tried to explain that he would be going closer but only after a trip around the houses but it might as well have been in Chinese. Still, it was a nice day for a stroll.

£7.50 to get in was a touch steep even if a free show guide was included. The first thing that struck the visitor, or rather stuck him or her was the ground. Thanks to several days of rain, vehicles unloading and the crowds already there, the place was a mudbath. A temporary road had been laid along part of the showground but if you'd decided that flip-flops were the order of the day you would be wanting a dip in the canal later on.

I don't own a barge and only half aspire to doing so. The problem isn't buying one, it's finding somewhere to put it, especially if you fancy living aboard permanently. With this in mind I skipped any stand featuring engines or other mechanical bits. People with fenders, rope or otherwise got only a cursory glance. Strangely I didn't see anyone selling tyres despite their popularity with the boating crowd who like to decorate barge sides with them. This still left dozens of stands for entertainment. The exhibitors had come from all over the country. Many were promoting their own particular bit of the canal system and for the uninitiated the maps showing just how far you can still travel buy boat were fascinating. I was mentally planning a cruise from Leamington down to Worcester and back via Oxford. At 4mph thats a long journey but very satisfying.

The boats were fun. A display of historic vessels ran along the canal at one side of the show - a passout was required to get back in meaning you could have seen the best bits without paying :-(

Since I don't know a huge amount about barges, the detail differences were slightly lost on me. In fact if I'm honest most working boats look the same apart from the paint jobs on the cabins. For technical reasons though, I found the insides of the hulls interesting as these are normally hidden by the canvas over the load. One owner tried to persuade me that by tightening up the turnbuckles that joined the tops of his sides he could gain a couple of inches for excessively narrow locks. Not sure how the cabin would get thorough though. Perhaps he takes a run at them...

I did learn one thing. There are mobile diesel stations for boats. One had a pump in it's middle. He also sold logs, coal and charcoal - just like an all night garage ! You could even have a pump-out which is perhaps a service that Shell et al might like to look into offering for night time users.

Back in the show we all waddled around on the soggy ground. The biggest mud bath was opposite a display of birds of prey. Everyone had the chance to pet birds with sharp beaks and talons. They were all very well behaved and didn't eat anyone, at least while I was there.

Of course if you wanted to buy a boat then plenty of people could oblige. Two rows of boats separated by and entertaining, wobbly, pontoon. One ladies description of it's movement as like a cakewalk was pretty accurate. Of course not being landlubbers we didn't care, unlike those soft, southern, nancy b******s down south who got a bit jittery when one of their bridges was a bit bouncy a couple of years ago. It's all part of the fun !

The ground conditions limited the boat visiting for me. Thanks to an irrational fear (surely a coating of the stuff isn't going to put the serious boater off buying ?) of mud, most builders asked people to take their shoes off before boarding, or wear blue plastic overshoes. Now my feet are big and I doubt any overshoe would fit me and if it did I'd look like I was wearing a bin bag on each foot. Not good. Anyway, I was only tyre (prop ?) kicking and there were queues for most craft.

There was an exception, and since I was there I determined to see the inside of one craft. This came from a Southam builder and was for sale for the "bargain" price of £46000 for a 51 foot boat. Fully fitted and with a years mooring. It was cosy in a couple of places but the shower looked good and there was the same amount of space as you'd find in a much more expensive flat. Storage would be an issue but not unsolvable. The options list showed that the price would go up once such luxuries as electricity, central heating and a non-chemical toilet were added but it didn't sound like that bad a deal. The ceiling was high enough for me to walk down it and not rub the top of my head too - something new in the canal world.

Later, avoiding some more mud I ended up in the clutches of a finance salesman so I asked the obvious question about the boat I visited. If you fancy something similar, here are the numbers: Deposit will be £9k. The remaining £37k will be loaned against the boat for 10 years. Repayments will be just over £500 per month. In other words you pay back £60k - I can't help feeling that there are better deals out there.

Lunch time saw me in the beer tent. I had brought some lovely cheese rolls smothered in home made tomato chutney and a proper pint would go very nicely with these. From the 40 beers on offer, I went for "Ginger Snaps" which was lovely. Full bodied but not too heavy for a day in the sunshine.

More strolling and I found an oddity - a canal boat you can tow behind the car. At 38 foot long it's a reasonable sized aquatic caravan. Not sure how you power it though as I'm sure most boats have a propeller underneath. Perhaps in these eco-friendly times the owner is supposed to row. Or perhaps you don't sail the thing, just dump it in the water and live aboard. With most canal holidays being elongated pub crawls with a bit of sailing, this isn't such a bad thing if you can find a nice pub !

One area I did miss out on big time were the craft lessons. Even though they cost extra I'd have really enjoyed a few hours learning to signwrite or paint traditional roses and castles. Looking at the prices, being taught how to make a button fender would have been a good business proposition too. Perhaps next year.

More pictures on Flickr
Inland Waterways Association website

British Waterways Museum, Gloucester Docks

2008-08-24T05:10:00.000-07:00

Do we “Disneyise” the past in museums ?

Having taken a trip to Gloucester docks the whole area is so clean and tidy – a far cry from the images of the working port I've seen in books. The stone buildings are free from smoke and dirt. The pavements are clear and level. I fear that in gentrifying the area we have lost the atmosphere that existed in The Good Old Days.

British Waterways Museum is found in the Llanthony Warehouse in the corner of the site. For a very reasonable £3.95 there are two floors of exhibits and several historic boats to explore outside. I was lucky, on a damp day in the holidays, the place wasn't overrun by kids making it easy to see everything. I'm not saying that junior shouldn't get to go to a museum like this, just that if he or she isn't interested then please tie them up outside where there is a covered area to keep them dry, and let the rest of us enjoy the efforts of the curators.

Somehow I managed to start in the upstairs gallery. It's littered with examples of loads and loading implements that would have been a common sight in the heyday of the docks. They aren't tucked away behind glass either. Built for industrial use it's obviously been decided that things like sack trucks can take a bit of handling from the sort of people who visit museums. There are proper hands on exhibits too – the principle of the block and tackle is explained by three sacks hanging from the ceiling with various numbers of pulleys and by pulling on the ropes you find that some are easier to lift than others. Aimed at the smaller and weaker visitor the sacks aren't exactly challenging but I suppose at least if you were to get your head underneath one when it came down in a hurry the concussion wouldn't last too long.

Good use is made of archive film too. One from the 1970's had Johnny Morris opining about “the lovely life on the water” with bucolic shots of pleasure boats and canal sides with flowers and grasses in the sunshine. A little bit of history is injected but nothing involving hard and heavy work or living 6 to a cabin in the deep midwinter. Further round the room though is the excellent British Transport Film “Robert Reid reports on British Waterways”. In this Robert Reid travels up the Bristol Channel by various means of water transport commenting and interviewing people as he goes. While maintaining the BTF standards for production, the film is obviously a period piece. The interviewer travels in a tweed 3-piece suit with hat, the docks are still working well with much crane and stevadore action. There is no sign of the ISO container on any of these boats – everything is loaded and unloaded by hand. Many officials are interviewed and all are bullish about the future for water transport in the future. At this point the film introduces a campaigning element with a call for more goods to be sent by water to relieve pressure on the railways and fledgling motorway system, something British Waterways are still suggesting.

Watching the shots of Gloucester docks in the 1960's and then looking out of the window provides a real contrast. Now we have offices, flats and a giant antique centre. Once thousands of men would find work and ships from around the world (Empire in the film) called to offload cargo.

Downstairs the highlight (for me 'cos I'm a big kid) is a model canal system. Basically a stainless steel trough with water circulating through it with various types of lock. A couple of bathtime plastic boats are swept along by the current and visitors can work them through different locks by opening sluice gates or paddles. Someone has put a lot of thought into this exhibit – it's robust and accurate, the locks really do work like real ones. Of course this will be lost on most children who will just pull on levers and gates but maybe some will get an understanding of the mechanisms involved.

I wasn't alone in my appreciation of this either. Behind me a ground of men, all very smartly suited and booted, had a go and were thoroughly enjoying themselves despite the tendency of the water to escape onto the operator. I suspect they were a delegation to a local conference (there is a suitable commercial hotel on site) and bet this wasn't how they expected to kill time before heading home !

Outside the weather was inclement so when I found a sign inviting visitors to have a look below decks on the bucket dredger I descended the steep and slightly slippery steps into the vessel. The dredger is divided into two halves – it's a but like being inside a steel cattermeran. The entry takes you into living quarters with furniture and replica food. Further forward is the engine room with steam engine and boiler. I was accompanied by one of the Friends of the Waterways Museum whose name I didn't get but explained in great detail how everything worked. Asking the odd intelligent question showed a little knowledge so I, and those who followed me into the room, learned everything we could possibly want to know about the workings of a dredger. You don't get this from anyone except an enthusiast who really cares about the subject. Perhaps there is a role for me there – the thick leather belts driving the buckets that scoop muck out of the bottom of the port are joined in exactly the same way as film in a cinema with all the same fun of tensioning the band except that this involves thick steel teeth and not sticky tape !

Back in the open there are other boats to look at, including a rare concrete barge, and a working steam crane that is demonstrated several times a day.

For the entrance fee I had several hours of entertainment. OK so I'm interested in the subject and better suited to the sort of museum where you can learn rather than just bang buttons and look at expensive (but usually rubbish) video displays. Located just off the centre of the city this is ideal for those who want a day out as you can do it and look around the shops comfortably.

Gloucester Docks website
More Photos on Flickr

Sharmanka Kinetic Gallery

2008-08-21T01:57:00.000-07:00

It's school holiday time. What better way to entertain the kids for half an hour than to take them to see a circus ? Look, the Gloucester Museum has a free one - it's the Sharmanka Travelling Circus. Great, lets take the sprogs in there for a while, it'll shut them up.

Hold, on, what this ? I've dragged them past all the bones, roman stuff and the biggest collection of stuffed animals I've ever seen, past dusty old paintings and all there is in the room is some weird machines. We can't even see them properly because the lights are funny. Still, we get top sit downwhich should keep them still for a bit.

Hold on, the show has started. The carved monkey things have started clanging bells. At least it's got their attention.

The bells have stopped and the next machine has started. Some figures are jumping up and down. I'm not sure what they are but at least there is movement and noise which keeps the kids quiet.

Oh, no, now they've started asking me what is happening. According to the label this machine is called the leg and is inspired by the movie "Cabaret" and reflects the decadence and escapism of 1930's Germany which was being overshadowed by the political events of the period. How the hell and I supposed to explain this to an 8 year old ? I'll tell him it's a penalty taking machine. Yes I know there is a little man hanging on the foot, it's foreign.

More clanging. There is a little golden man jumping around on the pointed bit of a machine. Apparently this is the artist. If he looks like that I'm surprised he can make anything. God knows who's paying for this stuff.

Last machine. There's a naked woman jumping up and down and holding two blokes who are pointing away from each other by some reigns. It looks a bit kinky to me. The labels says women are the representation of death in Russia. I know what they mean, it was the missus that told me to bring the kids here. At least the lights have come back on - I'm going to take them back to see the stuffed animals, at least I know what they are supposed to be.

Wikipedia entry
Sharmanka Official Website
Gloucester Museum Website

Phil's note - Tim Hunkin is much better at this stuff.
More pictures in Flickr

Tickets to ride

2008-08-21T01:06:00.001-07:00

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.

Welsh

2008-07-30T01:54:00.001-07:00

welsh sign
Originally uploaded by Phil_Parker

Before heading out to Wales along with most English people I'd always assumed the Welsh language to be an anachronism. At best it would be spoken by half a dozen old people, at worst those fluent used it only when they wanted to talk and not be understood by tourists. OK, so I knew all the official signs and documents were translated but surely this was just because of pressure on the Assembly from the Welsh nationalists who were desperate to pretend that the country next door didn't exist.

I was wrong. Welsh is everywhere, not just on official signs but on shops and billboards.

And people actually speak it. Real people. Checkout staff in supermarkets converse in Welsh as though it's the most natural thing in the world. They simply flit between English and Welsh at will. What's more the local tongue is the preferred option a lot of the time. I don't think this was just because I am English, it certainly didn't seem to be used with any "side".

I'm envious really. Being bi-lingual must be great. Watching children speak fluently is amazing. Definitely something to be proud of. While I don't think there are may who speak no English but I now understand the translation policies.

If you want to speak Welsh the BBC can help.

As an aside, this proves that with the right teaching, British people can be as fluent at Europeans are in more than one language. I wonder why we aren't ?

Fairbourne

2008-07-27T03:46:00.000-07:00

With another cracking day beckoning and my train home leaving after lunch I had two choices, wander around Porthmadoc again or get a ticket to one of the towns further down the line and have a mooch. The trouble was, which town ? Not Tywyn as that is home to the Talyllyn railway and I wouldn't be able to resit a ride - not a god idea with a big rucksack ! Harlech was tempting but in the end I decided I wanted proper seaside. The sort of place you remember going on holiday to as a child. That meant (I thought) Fairbourne.

Cynics might say this was just an excuse to find another little railway and they would have a point. The first thing you see from the station and biggest attraction on the town is the Fairbourne Railway. The beach isn't far away though so I perhaps I could go and build a sandcastle.

The train was crowded with holidaymakers and their luggage. Despite being made up of 4 coaches, only 2 were in use as for many of the Cambrian line station platforms are too short for more than this. Because people are stupid and litigious everyone has to get cosy since you can't trust anyone to actually check there is a platform before stepping out can you ? According to one of the youths travelling if you look at some of the scenery near Barmouth and didn't know where you were, you could be in Florida. I could see his point, the beeches were golden in the sunshine as the curved around the bay. Florida isn't known for it's mountains or grey buildings but the sentiment was nice.

I don't think the local council will be chasing me if I say that Fairbourne isn't a big town. Pretty much everything is available within 100 feet of the station. As far as shopping goes there is a corner arcade with a (good) chippie, butchers, newsagent, Spa store, Post office and Indian takeaway. Thanks to all the goodies outside these all blend into one which could be costly if you need cash - the Spa has a cashpoint which will charge a fee whereas the Post Office will let you have money free if you can find the counter (it's at the back of the shop around a corner).

The railway is appropriately enough a miniature tourist line. Born in 1916 (ignoring the 2ft horse tramway that preceded it) and originally 15 inch gauge it still fulfills its original purpose of taking holidaymakers to Penrhyn Point where a ferry will carry them on to Barmouth. Not many lines can claim to be doing the same thing all of their life, and presumably doing it well as it's still there.

For more history, visit the Fairbourne Railway Website

In 1986 after a chequered history financially the railway was sold and re-gauged by its new owner. I suspect this is unique among railway lines - are there any others that have been completely re-laid just to bring the rails closer together ? Of course this means the original locomotives have long since been sold or scrapped but the new(ish) ones are a great selection of scaled down replicas based on other lines motive power.

I struck lucky as it was a special "Little to Large" event - which has nothing to do with the unfunny 1970's comedians - but is all about different sized steam engines running. So we had 12 1/4 on the main line, 5 inch on a secondary line along the platform and 45mm on the garden railway I'll come to later. Every steam engine the line owns was running and pulling reasonably full trains as well. An added attraction on the platform were displays of model engineering with little static engines and a second hand bookseller. Finally a miniature traction engine offered rides to the front.

All the usual preserved railway features are found - a gift shop, museum showing the history of the line and cafe. For some reason the later smelt funny (to me anyway) so I didn't bother trying it out. However in the next building is a nature centre, not something usually associated with railways. Originally built as a butterfly farm this proved uneconomic so it now houses a very small collection of animals - ferrets (smelly), chipmunks (cute and lively), tropical fish (wet), lobster (hiding under a rock) a gecko(asleep) and chameleon (posing). Down the centre is a long pond with coi carp (I think, not good on fish) surrounded by an extensive G scale railway. A couple of steam engines were getting a workout on its 40ft run and a small but appreciative group were chatting to the modellers running the trains. At the far end of the building is housing for owls although there were no sign of these while I was there.

Now the rucksack issues worked against any chance I had of a ride here - those coaches aren't exactly big you know. The front wasn't a long walk away though and you can follow the line - or just point at the sea and stop when you get wet feet. The beech isn't sandcastle friendly being all pebbly. Maybe there is sand under the sea but the tide was in so I missed it. A single seaside emporium lives next to it and serves hot food (hmmm), ice cream (too much ice in the Mr Whippy), souvenirs, arcade machines, trampolines, kids self drive forklift trucks and crazy golf. The view is nice though.

Back at the railway I chatted to the guy in the ticket office during a lull in trade. Apparently the line is popular with staff from other local preserved railways who enjoy coming for a drive. Apparently the Ffestiniog staff enjoy the rest compared to shoveling coal into their own engines. Mind you they do go further and faster. Which brought up an interesting new problem - preserved railways usually operate with a speed limit of 25mph. Until recently this wasn't often checked unless the locomotive was fitted with a speedometer, not always the case with steam engines. Nowadays the passengers often know how fast they are going thanks to portable GPS units and those in the know will check. Apparently several drivers on different lines have been told to be careful...

Fairbourne was everything I expected - it's the sort of place every child should be brought for a holiday. There's not a whole lot to do except have a ride on the train and mess around on the beech but that's the point. You can't spend the day shelling out for entertainment and rides. It's not a shopping experience. Perhaps it's all a bit old fashioned but what's wrong with that ?

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Blaenau Ffestiniog via the Ffestiniog Railway

2008-07-25T10:12:00.000-07:00

While in Wales I've spent quite a lot of time at the Ffestiniog Railway station in the south of Portmadog. It's got an excellent pub which serves a nice pint. You can drink outside in the evening sun, even on the platform if the fancy takes you, or sit inside in the best decorated bar in the country. While others have farm implements nailed to the wall, this one has a steam engine in the corner. The lines original locomotive, Princess, takes pride of place where you'd normally find an old guy nursing half a pint for the evening. Elsewhere other railway memorabilia is fixed to the walls. There's quite a bit of money up there but luckily the line doesn't need to raise any at present.

I picked the coach next the the engine for the first leg of my trip. It was the one without windows and very little in the way of walls. This isn't a great place to take photos of the engine, as proper enthusiasts would want to do, but if you just like listening the to the sound and enjoying the smell like me, it's a great spot. Worryingly the FR guard locks the trains doors before setting off. Presumably they consider the chances of passengers falling out greater than that of an accident. Mind you with no walls if there was a problem, getting out wouldn't tax anyone.

The Ffestiniog railway is big business, at least in preserved railway terms. For example Portmadog station is huge. The works at Boston Lodge are huge. At Minifford you pass a large goods yard originally used for transshipment of slate to the "proper" railways. Part of the way along the line there is even a big permanent way yard. Most lines make do with a couple of sidings but the FR have a yard and at least one special train.

The train rattles along at a fair pace too. None of this meandering here we fairly belt through the countryside. While the guard locked the doors he warned us that the coach had no lights. I assumed this was a joke but no, the line has tunnels and once you're in them it's dark, very dark. Being next to the engine, it filled up with sweet smelling steam too. Nice for a short time but if the tunnels were longer it would be a different story.

Another unusual feature, for the UK at least, is a spiral. Thanks to a reservoir the route of the line had to be altered a few years ago. To gain height the railway crosses over itself at Ddualt. The new alignment runs higher up the mountain and skirts the hydro-electric scheme providing attractive views over the water.

Arrival at Blaenau took a while as the guard unlocking doors kept being waylaid by passengers for the next trip. The occupants of our coach were getting restless as we wathed his slow progress up the train. The sides were low enough to climb over with care but being British we politely waited our turn. Compared to the facilities at the other end of the track the converted shipping container looks a bit basic but it houses a jolly team selling tickets and souvenirs.

Blaenau Ffestiniog is a town that has suffered from transport being too available unfortunately. Most of the shops in the high street are closed and available for rent. Sadly people can travel out of the town to buy stuff and they do. What is left are a few cafes, a couple of tourist shops including the slate shop, some newsagents and and excellent second hand bookshop that only opens on Fridays. This is sad, but I wonder if a renaissance is in order.

Think about it, the town has a reasonable population and the transport links aren't bad. Every .;">year tourists will end up there simply between trains on the steam railway and looking for something to do. With the joys of teh interweb I wonder if the empty (and presumably cheap as there are so many of them) shops would make good homes for businesses looking for homes. Most of the trade will need to be mail order but passing business exists and if you are a specialist people will seek you out, especially if you are in a holiday area

Of course the town didn't appear just for the sake of it. The economy used to be slate based. You can see this everywhere, spoil tips dominate the landscape and the overall colour of the scenery is grey. It's unusual scenery though and looks well worth exploring. Locally walking, cycling and heritage are big business. The tourist information office is under a bike hire centre. The staff have masses of information to help the visitor who is staying in the area.

For the return trip the skies are as grey as the spoil heaps. In the open coach I had to dodge from side to side to avoid the rain. Luckily much of the trip is in woodland which provides shelter as well as glimpses of bucolic streams and footpaths. However there are several small towns en-route to add variety and provide passenger. In one we pass a lady in her back garden wearing a bright pink t-shirt. She is staring into space and doesn't look up at the train. How long do you have to live somewhere that has steam trains puffing past the back of your garden to be so used to them that they don't even warrant a glance ?

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Portmeirion

2008-07-24T11:30:00.001-07:00

Warning: If you are expecting a tirade of "Prisoner" puns then go elsewhere. This is serious blogging, not some bit of fluff. Anyway, I never understood the series so I refuse to conform to your expectaions as I am a free man...

Everyone has heard of Portmeirion. It's a world renowned tourist attraction, a make of pottery and the location for a TV series. I had half a day spare and thought it would be daft to pass up the chance to see what the fuss was about.

Getting there sans car meant a trip on the smallest bus I've every been on. Actually it's a fat van rather than a bus but the effect is the same. Turn up at the stop, pay the driver and get on board. I was the only passenger and apparently this is often the case. People prefer to visit by car, presumably hoping to take away mountains of that lovely pottery. The driver was chatty and we talked about holidays and difficulties trying to book hotel rooms. I related trying to get into Edinburgh at the same time as the marathon, he topped that by trying to get into Dublin when the 3 Nations Rugby was on.

For the history, try Wikipedia. In a nutshell though, Sir Clough Williams-Ellis, wanted to try his hand at town planning and created this village from his own ideas moulded around old buildings that would otherwise have been lost. They were imported to the estate and eventually incorporated into his structures. The idea was to turn people on to architecture and allow them to experience the fun side. The village is a real place though, not a film set. Several of the buildings are lived in as evidenced by the bins and recycling boxes outside.

The Village is reached at the end of a windy wooded road. It's really tucked away in the trees on the side of a hill so you don't see anything at all until you are there. First negotiate the ticket barrier (£7 per adult) which isn't anew feature - to stop overcrowding from visitors a 5 shilling charge was levied many years ago.

You then walk through a gate and into the village proper at the top of the hill. Two things strike you immediately - first how bright and colourful everything is. I had an excellent sunny day for my trip and have never seen such a collection of coloured buildings. The second thing is the size - the centre would fit on a decent sized playing field. Portmeirion reminds me of a model village despite everything being full sized. It's obvious that the plan was to bring lots of elements that wouldn't have naturally been found together in a settlement to one place.

In the centre are fountains, around the edges, clinging to the hillside you find buildings and a few steep paths. Tucked away on one side is a house with a film show explaining a bit of the history as told by the man himself. While not the greatest film (too many stills to music, also too many bored kids) you start to understand the reality of what you are seeing. For example, there is a fantastic purple mansion that is only the size of a bungalow inside - it's all front and build into a steep hill restricting the space behind. Other pieces of old buildings, such as columns, have been included in new structures. Many serve no purpose whatsoever or have had to find a use. The domed building is currently a gallery but only exists to counterpoint the spire on a nearby tower.

A short, if steep, stroll gets you down to the water which is wonderful. One building has a small inlet to house a boat (apparently used in the TV show I'll not be mentioning). Not special in itself but the noise the lapping water makes bouncing off the stone walls is so wonderful I could have sat and listened to it all day.

Sadly, tourism has ruined the place. While the eye has a feast, so can the tummy since the are at least half a dozen different cafes on site. If a building isn't a cafe, it must be a shop. And all of these seem to sell a very similar range of high priced tourist tat. Sells isn't an appropriate word from what I saw either as there was plenty of looking and many bored underemployed shop assistants. The stuff was OK but there was so little variety. Only one did anything in the way of TV memorabilia, the others just retailed goods that could have been sold in any tourist town in the country.

Oh, and there wasn't a mini moke to be seen. Or big white balloons. Pity really as I'd have liked to see some of the visitors escape from them.

Portmeirion IS a nice place. I loved the buildings, I loved the quirkiness. I'd love to stay there out of season to appreciate it properly. Better still, I'd love to build my own - and I guess that is what William-Ellis would have wanted.

Official web site for the village

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Russell Tearoom, Porthmadoc

2008-07-24T10:25:00.000-07:00

I've already given the West Highland Railway based in Porthmadoc a glowing review but what about the catering facilities ?

Well, the first good sign when I arrived was a flock of fluorescent jacketed workmen around a table outside tucking into some grub.

After my train ride it was nearly lunchtime so I ordered a jacket potato with chili and couldn't resist some Victoria sponge to follow with tea. It arrived and looked very nice. The potato was invisible under a mound if chilli with a colourful salad on the side. I suspect a microwave had played a bit of a part in the cooking but the inside of the spud was light and fluffy. The topping a nice temperature and taste.

The cake was good. The cream wasn't really necessary as it was good enough on it's own but there was a strawberry in it so I ate it anyway.

All in all, lovely. Reasonably priced, well presented and tasty grub. No wonder the workmen, always the best judge of cafe quality, flock there.

Good grief they have thier own web site !

Welsh Highland (Porthmadog) Railway

2008-07-24T09:37:00.000-07:00

It's confusing having two welsh Highland Railways to choose from. To make it easier to differentiate between them, image the organisations in terms of supermarkets. The WHR I travelled on yesterday - WHR(Caenarfon) is Tesco. You get a big store with lots of stuff but it's all a bit impersonal. On the other hand you have the WHR(Porthmadog) which is like your local corner shop. They don't have a huge choice but there is enough and at least the shopkeeper knows your name and you get to have a chat so you forgive any deficiencies.

You enter the station via the shop. It's one of the better shops I've seen for both the casual tourist and the keen enthusiast. The former finds lots of souvenirs, mostly but not all with a railway bent, the later gets one of the best bookshops in the country. The guys behind the counter are chatty and keen to tell you about both the current state and the future plans for the railway. As volunteers they bring an almost childlike enthusiasm to the job - something no amount of money or bullying can get for a commercial operation.

On the platform the train awaits. The big surprise is that there is a locomotive steaming away on each end. Three wooden coaches of different designs make up the train. With the weather holding I went for the one with least glass. If you are looking forward to some upholstery then you'll be disappointed - wooden benches are the order of the day.

The ride doesn't last very long. Even at the walking pace the train travels at it's hardly 15 minutes. At the end we can see where the extension is to be. Two diggers are burying what looks like a big pipe for a tunnel. What you get though is nice scenery, not spectacular but pretty and a travel experience that might be described as "lo-fi". A bit ramshackle, perhaps even amateurish but in a good way. Think Titfield Thunderbolt and you have the right idea.

The two locos are needed as there is no way for one to run around the train and since pushing passengers isn't allowed, the second steam engine takes the strain on the return leg. This makes a stop at the engine sheds where everyone disembarks for a stroll around. Various rolling stock is on display including items under restoration. Some nice displays such as a sectioned boiler help to explain what is going on. The giant lathe in the middle of the shed shows this isn't just men playing with big toys either. For the kids there is even an extensive miniature railway in case they haven't had enough train travel.

Amongst loads of good stuff, the highlight for me was the hearse van. A Ffestiniog railway carriage which had been converted to carry coffins. Apparently it still sees use transporting the ashes of those who want to make their last trip by train...

Back on the train and everyone is returned to Porthmadog station. The whole thing takes just over the hour depending on how quickly people can be herded back out of the sheds. One parent in my coach was explaining how nice this was - the children's attention span is streatched on longer journeys, something other lines might like to note. When the full 40 mile line is ready for use, how many people really want to sit on a wooden seat for the whole trip at 15mph ?

Back on the station, both drivers were happy to chat about their engines. One even took the time to demonstrate his cooking abilities on the footplate, although Gordon Ramsey needn't worry just yet.

I'll look forward to the day next year (hopefully) when the line is complete. It's going to form a nice aside to the serious transport system being built. Best of all it won
't be subsumed into the larger whole but retain an atmosphere all of it's own.

Visit the website for more details

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Caernarfon and the Welsh Highland Railway

2008-07-23T11:43:00.000-07:00

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 ?

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Porthmadog

2008-07-22T13:46:00.000-07:00

You gotta love brummies. As I swung my rucksack into the seat on my train to Birmingham, an old dear had helped herself to my newspaper which had just dropped on the table. Her reactions were those of a ninja - up from her seat, along to mine and whipping away the news in the time it took my luggage to travel from my shoulder to a seat. "Help yourself" I said with as much irony as my voice could muster. "Oh, was it yours ?" she asked while returning my property. OK so it was a free paper and I firmly believe in these being read as widely as possible but generally snatching them away from a reader is considered bad form. Happily the table also supported an unwanted copy of the Sun which was soon being consumed - comments such as "Not that Amy Winehouse AGAIN" indicated the entertainment section had been reached...

However, paper stealing midlanders aside, the journey to Porthmadog was fantastic. This trip all came about after my visit to Aberystwyth a few months ago. At Dovey junction I realised that I really needed to take the other branch on the line up the Cambrian Coast Railway. This is often described as one of the most scenic railway lines in the UK. I might dispute that after my recent experiences in Scotland, but it'[s a close run thing.

Making the journey is fiddly. My 10 pound ticket from Brum just said to catch the 10:33 and it will do the job. Neither the light up board at the station or printed timetable mention the change at Machynlleth. The train was very crowded so the soft voiced announcer wasn't going to be heard as we travelled either. Fortunately the ticket collector made sure everyone knew what to do and where to go.

The scenery IS fantastic. The line follows the coast as it weaves around. The train passes remote beaches and inlets. We often traveled over long, low viaducts bridging wide rivers or inlets. I'd love to be able to show you some beautiful photographs but the windows were mucky (Note to Arriva - if you want to sell this as a tourist experience then do some cleaning so we can see out properly) and a camera pointing out from a moving vehicle really can't do the sights justice. On the land side we had mountains with the tops poking into the low cloud. The land is lush and green with forests everywhere.

However, aside from the hills and valleys and crinkly coast, there is one feature that stands out more than any other - the static caravan. You don't see the odd one, or even the odd site. There are thousands of them. Many sites cover acres of the countryside. Entire hills swarm with tin boxes for holidaymakers. Admittedly they are normally painted a tastefull shade of green, the contrast with all the traditional stone built houses is huge.

For the visitor who wants to see Wales, a travelcard for the Cambrian Coast line would be a boon. Every few minutes we passed through a small fishing port now making it's living through tourism. Barmouth, Tywyn and Fairbourne to list just a few tempting destinations. Sadly the service runs in frequently, every 2 hours during the day so You'll want to get plenty out of each stop.

Porthmadog is one of these modest but interesting towns. The traveller has a choice of three stations to chose from. First there is the mainline railway one you arrive at. The station building is now a pub which does nice beer but inexplicably no food. On the other side of the road is the Welsh Highland Railway which greeted me with a steam engine and some very friendly staff who are happy for the casual visitor to wander on to the platform for a quick look. At the other end of the town is the southern terminus of the Ffestiniog railway which will occupy this blog in a few days.

Walking through the town doesn't take long. Apart from Woolworths there are no serious chain shops. Not too many tacky gift shops either for a place that obviously benefits from the tourist trade in a big way. Mind you, quite a lot of them will sell you a bucket and spade...

I'm staying in the Tudor Lodge Hotel. It's central, clean, comfortable and reasonably priced. The breakfast is continental which is good for my waistline at least.

Stourbridge

2008-07-18T02:38:00.000-07:00

Stourbridge has never made on to any list of places to see before you die to my knowledge. It's not glamorous, exciting or picturesque. It's just another midlands town. To be honest, I only went there to deliver a model I'd built.

Perhaps there is an appeal for the transport enthusiast. According to Wikipedia (so it must be true) the town sits at the end of the shortest branch line in Europe. With the journey only taking 3 minutes I can well believe this is true. Add to that the easiest and most boring train driving job in the world and it's a real find.

This would be to denigrate an rather nice little town. The shopping centre isn't huge but it is largely free of the larger chain stores. They all live in nearby Merry Hill shopping centre leaving High Street free for the local shops. Quite a mix of them too - how often do you find a Post Office that also sells Indian food ? Sadly this modern innovation leaves the original attractive building one of the few boarded up in the road but I suspect this won't last long.

Indoor Market spotters will be pleased to find a 60's version on the edge of town, just past the entrance to the town hall and library which jut out from the back of the building into a shopping precinct. Sadly there are only 2 business operating in the market - a busy baker and quiet cosmetic shop. The signs are that this is to be renovated, it deserves it.

In the middle of the precinct there is a tall automaton - a clock which on the hour has a rotating display of statues. The "Stourbridge Lion", the first steam engine to be operating in the USA and manufactured locally, is followed by three fey fellows who spin around carrying glasses and flowers. Not sure what they represent buy the Lion is a very fine representation. It's a pity that the audience is limited to a couple of OAPs who are just sitting there waiting for nothing in particular.

Back on the high street and feeling hungry, a local chain baker (Firkins) supplied a contender for the most disgusting (in a good way) cake ever. Imagine the bun from an iced bun, generously covered with yellow icing and filled with lemon curd and cream. "That looks disgusting", I said to the lady behind the counter, "I'll have one". "I know, but they are lovely", she replied with the air of someone letting me in on a secret. She wasn't wrong either. The slightly savoury (OK, not sweet) dough of the bun provides a welcome counterpoint to the sickliness of the topping while the cream softens the tartness of the curd. I think one a day is plenty through...

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Oxford and Headington - In search of Lord Elton

2008-07-16T09:11:00.000-07:00

“Take your jacket off”, hissed the lady to her husband as we all sat on the top deck of the bus, “it's warm”.

She was right too. The weather gods finally remembered that it was summer and produced a cracking day with blue sky, fluffy clouds and no rain. Mind you, I suspect that it might have been a sight of a workman wandering around wearing his hi-vis jacket as a belt that made her realise that perhaps winter clothes could be dispensed with as much as the sunshine blazing through the glass.

My trip to Oxford came about because of a book bought in Douglas indoor market. “It Occurs to me” is a compilation of three series of broadcast talks made by Lord Elton in the late 1930's on the radio. I have a thing for books of essays and these are particularly good and very readable. Like all good writers he dwells on the minutiae of life but often refers to his time in the World War 1 where he spent years as a guest of the Turkish army as a prisoner of war. Read today there is a strong, unintended, poignancy to the words as we all know what happened a couple of years after publication.

Born Godfrey Elton, the historian was elevated to become Lord Elton of Headington in 1934 (see his Wikipedia entry for a little more information). Having enjoyed the book I felt the need to have a mooch around Headington itself. Once a separate town to the north of Oxford, the two have largely joined but a thriving centre still exists and I've been through it many times on my way to a rather good model shop just outside the main shopping area.

My objective was to try and track down some more books by Elton, especially his autobiography “Among Others”. A trawl of second hand bookshops would surely turn something up ? Well no - there are no bookshops in Headington. In fact around a third of the shops are run by charities. Still, I'm told by experts in the field charity shops in posh areas are often worth a browse thanks to a better quality of donations. Oxfam seemed to have cornered the market in anything other than trashy paperback and unsurprisingly they didn't have anything – I suppose I need to resort to Amazon's famous long tail after all.

The shopping centre looks to have been largely rebuilt in the 1930's with what must have been some quite attractive buildings. Years of terrible planning and modern alterations haven't done them any favours but the echoes are still there. A modern development for “key workers” (those who work in locksmiths ?) stands out but not in a bad way. Presumably someone had made the architect put some effort in rather than lob up another grey box. The 1960's underpass is probably the brightest thing on the high street, decorated by kids (or painters with very limited artistic skill) showing a dream high street on the pebble-dashed walls. I assume getting “da kiz” to paint the walls officially persuades them no to do it under their own steam at night. How well this will work is debatable. At least one family are doing their best to raise the next generation of delinquents – challenged in a charity shop as to why one of the kids wasn't at school (and running around the shop) they replied, “Well, we er, got started a bit behind this morning”. The Daily Mail (no you don't get a web link, do you think I really want to sully my blog with one) would have had a field day and for once I'm not sure I'd blame them. At one point I thought they were following me as the tribe (2 parents, 1 spawn, 1 in-line double buggy) seemed appear about 20 seconds after I entered any shop.

Oxford will always be home to Inspector Morse for me. It's one of the few TV shows I can actually watch repeatedly, in fact it's the only TV series box-set I own. As an aside, is there a major ecological crisis looming with box sets of Friends and Ali McBeal on VHS ? Every second hand store has at least one and in desperation it usually has a price ticket of 50p on it. And dust. Will processing plants have to be built to deal with this menace ? Perhaps they could be brought together in one place so astronauts have something other than the Great Wall of China to look at...

Anyway, the Oxford to Headington road seemed to be one of the favoured locations in Morse. It's straight, not too busy and green. Ideal conditions for a vintage Jaguar obviously. Just into the city another location pops up and seemed worth a visit – Waterfields Booksellers. The sort of proper shop that sells antiquarian books rather than second hand ones. I'm too scared to go in these sort of place most of the time. My reading tastes tend not to suit their stock nor their prices. This time though my hunt was for a real author. The owner started with a check in Debrets (every home should have a copy) to get Lord Eltons details (I had forgotten his first name) and then checked the history section. Two volumes appeared, both heavy scholarly works which seemed suspiciously late to me as they covered history up to 1968. A quick flick through revealed them to be deadly dull pieces of academe rather than a text for the casual reader so I passed.

From my vantage point on the top deck as we passed into the city I'd spotted a photograph that cried out to be taken of some punts tied up on the river. It was only a couple of minutes stroll back from the shop. The shot was grabbed before some oiks (nice word, sadly out of use) in a posh pedalo entered the frame. From there though a short stroll would bring me to an old model shop that I'd passed on the bus but hadn't intended to visit. There were a couple of interesting things in the window and I could grab a picture to feature on my other blog, and the weather was still nice, and on the way back there would be a chance of an ice cream by the river.

Oxford Models is what I call a proper model shop - open for 35 year and it shows. The window is full of goodies to tempt the passer by. Entering the shop aeroplanes and helicopters hung from the ceiling. Stock sat higgledy piggledy on the shelves. Little sign of organisation was apparent so rooting around like a pig for a truffle was the only option. Magic.

When I entered the shop the owner was chatting to a sales rep. I dug through boxes and shelves for a while then remembered something I needed for a model (don't worry, no technical stuff here, don your anorak and go to the other blog for that) so once they finished I asked since my exploration hadn't unearthed anything useful. Sadly the shop specialised in aircraft rather than boat parts and I was unlucky. Still we got talking.

And talking.

The phone went and after he'd finished we carried on talking.

A French student and his American girlfriend came in carrying tennis equipment. He was interested in building plastic kits of aircraft and the conversation meandered through subjects as diverse as Lockerbie, metal fatigue in Comet airliners and local sports landmarks – the first 4 minute mile was run close by. The French guy, who is learning to fly, tried to buy an altimeter sat on the shelf behind the counter but discovered £15 wasn't a good starting point for negotiations on a WW2 flight instrument. However I learned why you have two of them in a plane so I suppose it was useful. They left without buying anything but this didn't seem to matter.

We chatted more.

Another customer came in for balsa cement and left satisfied having been persuaded that the foreign version is better than that sold in the UK. The later has had all the cellulose removed for safety and consequently doesn't stick or smell properly.

Yet more chat. The shops oldest customer joined us for a while. He wasn't looking for anything, it's the sort of place you can just drop in for a chinwag as I was discovering.
Finally two more guys wandered in looking for serious model helicopters. Rather then push on with the hard sell the conversation started on motorbikes as, unless they both had a leather and helmets fetish, that's how they had arrived. A motorcyclist and owner of several vintage machines our host happily chatted about them. After 20 minutes of this I wandered out again, nearly three hours after I went in. Oh and a steamboat kit better off or over a hundred quid worse off depending on how you view it.

With little of the afternoon left I wandered back into town, eschewing the ice cream I'd planned on, and headed for the covered market. Once upon a time this would have been a real indoor market selling food to the local population. Nowadays the food tends toward the delicatessen, although at Christmas it is the place to go for your giant turkey, goose, deer or ostrich. Most of the shops are aimed fairly and squarely at the tourist market of high class shoppers. As such the whole thing has become a bit too gentrified and is better viewed as a shopping centre with bags of atmosphere. Oh, and it has appeared in a Morse or two as well TV fans.

No sign of Lord Elton though.

More pics in Flickr

Canal Museum

2008-07-06T11:30:00.000-07:00

A few moments stroll from Kings Cross Station, just past the McDonalds, there is a sign for the Caledonian Canal. For the student of geography or waterways this will come as a surprise as the canal runs from Inverness to Fort William. In Scotland. And the sign is intended for walkers.

You'd have to be a keen walker - it's 561 miles away.

Of course this is silly. Follow the sign and you'll find roads with nautical names - Crinan Street, The Caledonian Road, Warfdale Road and most importantly, New Warf Road, home of the London Canal Museum.

The museum is housed in a small warehouse. Not a conventional one, but an ice warehouse. It dates from the days when ice was dug out of the Thames when it froze, and stored. Later a more reliable supply was found by importing the stuff from Norway. Below the museum are huge vats where the ice would have been stored and then transported on to the London gentry. Eventually methods to manufacture ice were developed but these were on an industrial scale so the warehouse continued to house the domestically produced product. In an era when ice production is within the capabilities of even the poorest equipped kitchen (although the recipe seems to elude people judging by the amount of ice for sale in supermarkets...) it's difficult to image a world when it wasn't available or so valuable you'd haul it across the sea.

Anyway, I pitched up just before opening time and had to hang a round a few minutes while the attendant opened up. He apologised profusely even though I was the entire queue and we were talking less than five minutes delay. I had to wait longer for the ticket seller on the Eiffel Tower to stop chatting on the phone to her boyfriend a few years ago - and I and the rest of those waiting were merely granted a sneer for our trouble.

So, what do you get for your 3 quid entry fee ?

The ground floor is home to half a barge. It's a proper working, coal carrier type and visitors can explore the living area with it's clever woodwork and amazing use of space. This makes you wonder about the absolutely tiny area a family would exist in. I've read about the cramped conditions but only really understood how cramped by standing in the space. My VW Camper isn't exactly luxurious and it's only intended for short breaks but the volume isn't that much smaller than that available to a family for life.

There are displays covering the history of the building and the ice trade. Also old tools and machines for handling goods are displayed. Of course there is also a souvenir shop. Rather than being full of tat this is really good - a wide range of books on canals including history and navigation. Stuff for kids and stuff for grown-ups. Sensible prices too.

Upstairs there is plenty of reading to do. Lots of boards with canal histories. Each covers a different topic and overall the studious visitor would get a real grounding in waterway history. In one corner a series of films are running. These vary from ancient to modern - many date from the 1950's as far as I could tell and were film makers attempts to document a way of life that was dieing out rapidly.

There are a few cases of models showing the different boats used around the country. It's not often appreciated that canals were not the same everywhere. Midlanders will be familiar with narrowboats intended for a 7ft wide lock but on Norfolk and the North much wider navigation's made for wider boats allowed larger loads to be carried, more like the current European examples.

Out the back there is a wharf with boat moorings. I'll admit to looking at these with a degree of envy. It's a quiet spot considering the central London location, almost tranquil. OK you are overlooked on all sides by warehouses that have been converted to flats but living on a boat I expect you get used to be an object of interest. The museum owns a small Bantam tug which interested me a lot as a potential subject for a model. It's tiny and brightly coloured so appeals to the inner child and is pug ugly which appeal to the industrial artist.

If you know little about the waterways world but want to learn then the Canal Museum is a great place to visit. I reckon most people could go round in a couple of hours and enjoy the trip. Obviously if there is a special event taking place, there are several through the year, then all bets are off and you might be there all day !

Visit the website - full of info but terrible to navigate.

More of my pictures on Flickr.

Borough Market

2008-07-03T10:54:00.000-07:00

Proper travellers roam the great cities of the world and always seem to pitch up at just the right time to take part in the local festival. I'm no good at this - the posters are either telling me something great is about to happen, or their remains tell me it was a week ago.

London is full of markets. Many of you reading this will be familiar with them and probably regularly drop into Portobello to pick up some ancient nik-naks or similar. When I go to Portebello all I see is empty stalls and litter - smoked salmon and pommes frites wrappers, that sort of thing.

Anyway, for a change I bumped into Borough Market when it was open. And it is amazing. At first I thought this was a quaint local thing under the railway near the Thames. A few minutes later I realised my mistake - it's bloody enormous. Still takes place under the railway though...

London is a global city and this is it's global fruit and veg market. If you can eat it, then it's probably here. Many of the traders have travelled serious distances to sell organic mushrooms and weird cheese. I suppose the locals are workers in the centre of London and are either minted, or are looking at foods from home. Whatever, they aren't likely to look at the products and ask for directions to the nearest branch of Farm Foods.

Actually, the mix of stalls is odd. Most are selling delli items but a few do the proper piles of veg. Now I can see the point of picking up a few soupcons of cheese or mushroom, maybe a French style bread or Portuguese poncycake but 5 pounds of King Edwards ? There aren't that many people for whom this is the local market are there ?

My money stayed firmly in my pocket as the moment I started spending I knew a backpack full of posh cakes would be the result. Then I'd walk around transferring the weight from my back to my middle. What I did do was try every free sample offered to me, which staved off the hunger pangs for a while. I was a good boy and didn't go round for a second go at the chocolate brownies even though it was tempting.

Borough Market Website.

The Riverside

2008-07-02T10:43:00.000-07:00

Good grub in London ? You want some of those jellied eels guv'nor.

No I don't. No really. The day I feel like eating a pot full of iced slime will be many days since I will last had solids. How hungry do you have to be to eat those ? I know eels are cheap and nutritious but I'm thinking roast rat might be tastier.

Fortunatly, neither roast rat or icy slime were on the menu at the Riverside on St Katherines Dock. Instead I plumped for the fish'n'chips. Plumped turned out to be a good description for the feast served up. Not just the fish, and chips but a generous salad as well. Good grief, that makes it a healthy meal !

Normally you can tell how good a London eatery is by the number of fluorescent jackets inside (more=better) but there were none to be seen. A good number of suits were eating with me though so despite the location right in the heart of tourist land, a few minutes walk from Tower Bridge, this was a proper cafe doing real food for real people. I hesitate to go on an "eat where the locals eat" riff but it's not a bad idea sometimes.

The guys on the next table were engaged in an earnest and loud discussion about computer networking. The merits of different types of security protocols and the idiots who decide what is appropriate were considered at length. One also decided he wanted to whinge about the tea (white floaty milk bits) and chips (to many. Not "right" - he was an idiot, they were lovely). If it hadn't been raining I'd have left as soon as I'd eaten rather than listen to the ins and outs of connection speeds.

The rain was coming down - there was more water in the sky than in the dock - so I felt forced to stop for desert. My waiter said the chocolate fudge cake could be made to come with cream at my request and it did. The art created with a squirty cream can rivalled that seen in the better galleries. It tasted good too.

All this (fish, chips, salad, tea, can of coke, pudding) for 11 quid. In London, according to Lonely Planet, that is as budget as you get. Bargain.

Foyles food

2008-07-01T12:43:00.001-07:00

Foyles food
Originally uploaded by Phil_Parker

There I was, innocently wandering along a London thoroughfare when an A-board offers the tempting prospect of a cafe with free jazz. A moments weakness and I climbed the stairs of the worlds biggest bookshop to get some refreshment.

The cafes not huge and has excessively olde worlde seating more suited to a country barn (a smart one mind) and CD racks. We are in the corner of the music department.

The drink selection will be familiar to anyone who's been in a modern coffee house. I went for the hot chocolate. It's served in a proper mug not some fancy shaped cup, beaker or chalice. It tasted nice too and was just the right temperature.

Cakes are as right -on as you can get. Nothing containing dead animal is available so I settled for vegan (yes vegan) ginger cake. All I can say is that vegans either aren't as fey as they are made out to be, or the strength of the flavour will blow their heads off. I'm a proper red-blooded carnivore and I found it strong. Nice though.

And the jazz ? Well it was experimental. Or crap depending on how accurate you want to be. Blowing randomly on a flute does not count as music. If it's no better than I can do then shut up 'cos I'm rubbish at tuney things and if you don't, I have a ukulele and don't know how to use it...

Tower Bridge

2008-07-01T03:54:00.000-07:00

If ever there was a landmark to represent the south of England, this is it. An iconic image, known around the world, and a bit fake 'cos it's covered with stone cladding.

Let me explain. Tower bridge exists in its current form for a simple reason. At the time it was built, any river crossing on the Thames needed to provide for sailing ships to access wharfs upstream. Hence, the bridge either had to be very tall or open to clear the masts.

The way it does this is very clever. A pair of steam engines pressurise a pair of accumulators (a water reservoir with heavy weights sitting on top). When the bridge has to open, the accumulators power engines that open the road way (bascules for techies). The complicated system is needed because the steam engines couldn't open the bridge fast enough on their own but they can store enough energy to do the job. The building is really a big machine - a bit like the Laxey wheel - with decoration. It's internal structure is steel and to make it look prettier the who thing is covered with stone embellishments, much like many houses around the country...

Anyway, all this stuff is explained if you visit the exhibition in the tower, it just takes a bit of time to get there. The entrance is at the base of one tower where a badly designed foyer slows you down. 6 quid gets you in once you've been frisked and had your bags x-rayed. Then a photographer takes your photo, "just for fun" - he wasn't impressed that I refused. Once the lift is full, visitors are conveyed to the top of the tower.

A short film with (surprisingly) some of the cream acting talent in covers a bit of history and most people sat through this politely. The real reason most make the trip is the view from the walkways. Originally conceived as a way for foot passengers to cross the river when the bridge was open they are now glazed (hooray, it was raining when I went) and have a slight duff display explaining what the Victorians did for us. Why anyone cares when farm laborers got the vote when they are in a great example of the engineering of the age I don't know but the British way is to pretend that the technical stuff is too difficult. There were some nice pictures of the construction but the multi-lingual captions were never more than 2 lines long.

The view is worth the trip though. From one side you can see the City - if the clouds aren't blotting it out. From the other, city hall, HMS Belfast etc. A nice touch are the sliding hatches for cameras to be poked out of - there are even ramps to help the shorter tourist up to some of these.

Less clever is the stand from the photographer who took the pictures in the entrance. Your image is superimposed on a background of the bridge - and you can buy a copy ! Woo and Hoo I say. It's not like anyone visiting London owns a camera and couldn't just take a picture themselves by, ermmm, standing in front of the bridge and pressing the shutter.

Once you've been down the send tower, a further delight awaits. Included in the admission prices is a visit to "The Engine Room" - just follow the blue line painted on the pavement down under the approach road and you get some proper engineering. One of the steam engines is on show with numbers to explain what the various bits are (good) the other is rotated by a motor and lit by infuriating flashing coloured lights for no good reason (bad). Further on the accumulators and various other bits are displayed for marvelling at by the tourist. I liked this stuff but then I love heavy mechanical things and seeing how machines work. The explanations were pretty good with excellent diagrams to cover a fairly complex system.

At the end, obviously, there is a souvenir shop. It's not very good although you can buy two "Make your own Tower Bridge" kits and no end of books explaining what the Victorians did. To be honest though, the tat was the same stuff available anywhere in London. Am I alone in wanting nice location specific junk ? At least that way you have to actually visit the place rather than just raiding the shop in the duty-free on the way through the airport.

The pavements of London are hard. I mention this only because I decided to sit down and read the paper for a while after leaving the Tower exhibition. A few clues into the crossword there were some boats horns blaring - I looked up and the bridge was opening to allow a replica Las Vegas showboat to pass which finished the visit very nicely.

My London pictures on Flickr

Tower Bridge on Wikipedia

Cartoon Museum

2008-06-28T18:38:00.000-07:00

London is full of odd-ball attractions. If you fancy museums of fans, tea or spectacles you're in luck. While I love a good cuppa and have worn glasses for years, I tried the Cartoon Museum in Little Russell Street instead. It's just around the corner from the slightly better know British Museum but as I'm not as big a fan of stolen marble as I am of speech bubbles, cartoons it was.

The building is unprepossessing tucked in amongst the special London mix of posh eateries and tacky gift shops. A street sign outside announces its presence and to be honest I stumbled it this by accident. Entry is a reasonable £4 which gives you access to whatever is on as the special exhibition plus the usual fare covering the history of cartoons and many original copies of classic British strips.

The special was an exhibition of the cartoonist Pont. No, I'd never heard of him either but that's not always a bad thing. Pont (real name, Graham Laidler) wryly observed the British character and committed these to paper. Mainly published in Punch before, and just into WW2 his drawings are still amusing today. Well they made me laugh anyway. It's difficult to describe the cartoons but one that sticks in my mind is titled the – The British, Like to fit in when traveling abroad – with a picture of a couple of tents in a jungle and the intrepid explorers sitting around the table in full evening dress.

Not having heard of Pont before I wasa tad worried how heavy this would be. This history section of the main gallery covers people like Hogarth who may have been devastating in their day, now mean nothing to anyone other than cartoon officiaonardos. One snippet I picked up from this part of the display that appealed was that in the early days of print, books were so expensive that publishers would hire out a folio for “an evenings entertainment”. I can imagine the volume being brought home with the same sort of excitement a new DVD is now, The whole family would settle down for a good read and laugh about the failings of the great and good.

Upstairs the visitor is treated to a display of original cartoons from many famous cartoonists and comics. These tend to date from pre-computer days and I was fascinated to see how many parts of the page are stuck in place using copied parts. I suppose it makes sense that the artist doing the cover of 2000AD doesn't have to draw the title every time. Quite a lot of Tippex and general tidying up showed too. I suppose this all disappeared at the printers and it's interesting to see. I'll be honest – seeing the words “digital print” against a item made me think they'd simply photocopied a page. I want ink and paper and watercolour paint not inkjet printers !

My visit lasted a couple of hours at most and much of this time was spent chortling and enjoying the subject matter. If I have a complaint it would be the souvenir shop. I wanted copies of some of the Pont cartoons, ideally as postcards. Sadly all that was available were prints at £28 a throw or the £11 programme. The later was good value being a fat volume with life history and lots of illustration but you can't really post bits to people who would appreciate them.

Visit the Cartoon Museum Website

Laxey Mines

2008-06-26T00:17:00.000-07:00

Laxey isn't home to just one giant waterwheel, it actually has two. In the gardens at the centre of the town a smaller wheel has been erected. Smaller is a relative term as it's still around 30 feet in the diameter so pretty impressive. When I first saw this under construction a couple of years ago I thought it was an odd move - surely they didn't need this miniature impostor when the real thing was a few minutes walk away ?

As it turns out the "small" wheel has history. It started life at the top of the valley powering stone crushing equipment. When this was no longer required the wheel moved around, ending up in a museum in Wales where it was discovered half-buried and repatriated. Now restored it forms the centrepiece of the gardens that great visitors to Laxey.

Of course one new attraction is fine, but two is better. Joining the two wheels is the Laxey Mines Railway. This is a completely new line built over the last 5 years. Two identical locomotives run it with a couple of coaches and demonstration train of iron tub wagons. The locos are replicas of Lewin built, Ant and Bee, which used to pull the ore trains into the mine workings. Nowadays they provide a fun ride a quarter of a mile up the valley to the main wheel.

When I arrived it was raining yet the volunteers running the line were cheery and friendly. Considering the weather forecast for the rest of the day this was good going and probably the sort of thing you can only sustain while wearing a bright orange pair of overalls. New for this year is a station around a sharp curve from the tunnel entrance but in the rain trains were leaving from outside the engine shed so the passengers could shelter.

The ride takes a few minutes and thanks to the rain, not many got off to continue on foot to Lady Isabella. There was a slight delay on the return as the driver had to remove his waterproof overtrousers - they might keep the weather off but at the price of roasting his legs in the tunnel !

Back at the start I managed to get a quick guided tour of Bee which was in bits for boiler testing. Apparently even though the locomotives are new, the construction wasn't of the highest quality. Ant has already been rebuilt and Bee is due for the same expensive treatment soon. We chatted technical for a while and I now know far more about these odd little engines, and have some unusual photos as a result.

This isn't a serious ride but what makes it is the sense of fun you get from the people running things - they really care about their little line. It's not just a railway enthusiast thing either. They care about entertaining the punters. On fathers day, Dads and Grandads get a free ride. Halloween sees the tunnel turned into a ghost train. Yes it's a railway which represents some important history in the Laxey valley but it's far more fun than that.

If you don't fancy steam heritage then a five minute walk away there is a the Laxey Woolen Mill. There real Manx wool products are made in a semi-traditional way. To me a jumper is a jumper but the loom was something else. It was set up to weave a traditional Manx tartan and uses a Jacquard style paper tape to set the threads for each pass of the shuttle. Power comes from a set of bicycle pedals so it's very "green" !

See a video of the loom here.

More photos on Flickr

Laxey Mines Railway website

Peel

2008-06-25T08:38:00.000-07:00

Quote from the Ward Lock Red Guide - Isle of Man - 1970(ish)

Peel, the "Sunset City" as it is sometimes called by its admirers, has managed to combine many of the attractions of a modern holiday resort - good bathing, boating, golf and fishing etc. - with the romantic ruins of an ancient castle and cathedral, and to add to them the sights and sounds of a fishing port - always of interest to people unaccustomed to such a mode of life as that led by the fisherman.

Sunset city is a pretty good description of Peel. It's a town that makes me sad.

Of all the places on the Isle of Man, Peel is the one I have visited most often. Some days I used to go several times. Not in person but virtually through the medium of it's excellent webcam (http://www.dotet.co.uk/index.php?type=webcam&name=peel) which shows the harbour with the aforementioned fishing boats. Sometimes the sun shines, sometimes the rain comes down but from the perspective of my desk it was always a view I wanted to be part of.

The fishing boats, castle and cathedral have all survived from that 1970s guide as have the bathing, boating and golf. For the sun worshipers the beach is excellent and sheltered. It's not Costa-del-Peel hot but in the good weather you'll be happy on it's sands. There is excellent ice cream for sale a few feet away too, watch the gulls though as they begrudge you every bite ! If sand isn't your thing, a quick walk around the harbour will bring you to a beach made up entirely of broken shells. Pretty as long as you have something on your feet.

The harbour itself is reasonably busy. I suspect the number of working trawlers has dropped slightly but other boats have taken their place. If you fancy going to see basking sharks, several boats can oblige. Likewise the aspiring sea fisherman can find something small and plastic to sit on while dangling his rod. Yachts take shelter in the inner harbour and if your visit is timed well there is a traditional boat festival for the lover of all things wooden and floaty. At the time I was there a couple of dredgers were working away clearing the bottom. The kind of investment shows that this isn't just a tourist attraction but a proper working quayside. The RNLI has a a boathouse for it's Mersey class boat, an all weather craft capable to rescues in deep water. With nothing between Peel and Ireland if you are out on the water you are glad that don't just have a dingy ! With no slipway a couple of huge tractors are positioned to pull the boat in and out of the sea on its carriage.

Should smelly fish turn you on, tours of kipper smokeries can be arranged, although why anyone wants to see herring hanging in a chimney is beyond me much less eat the results. You can get even more history from the museum if you want it or you need to shelter from the rain.

With all this going on, what is there to be sad about. Why is it that as I sat on the harbour in the warm early evening sunshine, eating bonnag from the excellent food hut you can see on the webcam, did I feel that that the sunset city was a fitting description ?

Well Peel is lovely. But it's dieing. Wander down the lovely atmospheric narrow windy streets and what greets you are closed shops. Some have no occupant, some (mostly antique/gift emporia) are fitted and stocked but simply haven't bothered to open or don't feel it's worth the effort. The two adjacent supermarkets seem to do reasonable business so there is local trade but with the bright lights of Douglas a short drive or bus ride away even that isn't much. You can buy furniture from Paradise & Gell's grand and beautiful store that has pride of place in the middle of the street. The frontage is so good it makes the rest of the town look even shabbier by comparison. It's not that there aren't business's or shoppers, it's just that the town appears to have lost heart and simply given up.

Nearer the water things are improving. Regeneration is setting in with new paving and apartments. An effort is being made to brighten up and modernise the area. In some places it works too with a couple of fantastic art and craft shops with very reasonably priced and tempting locally produced items. Just the sort of thing the better off holiday maker wants to take away as a souvenir.

Peel is lovely. If you've never been it would make a pleasant day trip but I suspect you'll come away wanting more. Maybe, one day, you will get it.

More photos in Flickr including the evil seagull.

Rest Home for Old Horses

2008-06-23T14:20:00.000-07:00

What do you think happens to the horses that pull the trams along Douglas sea front when they are too old to do the job ?

Did I hear someone say glue or dogfood ? Happily you are wrong. For the last fifty years they have ended their days at the Rest Home for Old Horses just outside Douglas. The centre was set up by the daughter of a man who watched horses being shipped off the island for slaughter abroad. These animals would be dragged onto ships where they would be tossed around while sailing to their fate. All he could do initially was buy straw to make it less uncomfortable for them.

Now no Douglas tram horse can be sold off the island. Animals are offered first to the home, and they never turn one down. In addition they take in other horses and donkeys for the 92 acre site.

Visitors get to meet the animals and for a quid can buy bags of horse nuts to feed to them. Obviously this is great fun and no one passes up the chance. Really this is genius, the horses need feeding anyway and the punters will be pleased to pay to do it. On top of this you can sponsor a beast for a tenner a year.

The cafe is serves excellent chocolate cake too but you don't want to know about this, you want to look at the photos on Flickr and go ahhhhhhhhh

Check out the official web site

Groudle Glen

2008-06-22T23:44:00.000-07:00

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

Lady Isabella

2008-06-21T08:34:00.001-07:00

The Laxey Wheel is one of those iconic tourist attractions that can turn out to be a bit rubbish when you finally visit them. I'll admit to not being that bothered about it on any previous trips to the Isle of Man. On my first time on the island I'd wandered in and taken a look, even going so far as to climb to the axle level before bottling out. From a distance the wheel is very impressive – at 77 feet in diameter and painted red to stand out from the white brickwork it could hardly fail to be. Perhaps the slightly “twee” painting didn't do anything for me, I like my industrial plant to be grubby and used, not chocolate box pretty.

It was a nice day and I was in Laxey so I fancied another go. The memory of stopping half way up the climb niggled me and I felt there was unfinished business. It was the same with the Eiffel Tower – reached the second level on a school trip at 12 but for the next 15 years wanted to go back and make it to the top.

To reach the wheel you have to climb up the valley from the station. This makes a large structure even more imposing and it certainly looks bigger than you expect having viewed it from a distance. It's original purpose was to power the pumps keeping the lead mines dry. Man has no coal deposits but an abundance of water (quite an abundance as I write...) so hyro-power makes good economic sense and explains why the Manx kept on developing it when the mainland had moved overs to Mr Newcomons invention. The mines were up to 2000 feet deep at one point so needed a lot of pumping.

The pumps are driven by a long crank rod that moved around 10 feet every time the wheel revolves. This, more than the wheel, fascinated me when I first saw it. The huge square wooden rod is carried on a long viaduct and terminates on a T-rocker where it would have been attached to the pump.

All journeys start with a single step and heading up the wheel is the same. The first steps are reasonably easy and straight. They take you to a balcony level with the central axle. This is where I made my mistake on the first visit, I watched the wheel. It is mesmerising as it rotates at around 3 rpm but it also fills your field of vision. I can't claim to be good with heights but buildings aren't usually too bad for me. When most of the building is rotating – then I get the willies. This time I ignored the wheel.

The next steps are a spiral staircase around the tower carrying water to the top of the wheel. They aren't wide but there is a handrail to seperate you from death. This was fine for the first rotation but at the start of the second the designer ended up with the a beam bisecting the airspace you need for your head. Short people will be fine. Some of us have to read the sign and duck down to squeeze under. Many people stop at this point but sheer bloody-mindedness made me press on for another rotation up to the top.

The balcony at the top is lovely. Solid, not shaky and wide enough to walk down the centre without touching the handrails. I know you'd expect anyone with vertigo to hang on to the rails for grim death but that meant going near the edge and I preferred not to. I also preferred to ignore that bit of my brain that way telling me that I was walking on a wooden platform sticking out over the top of the huge wheel. I know there are struts to support this but it is an old building and you can never be too sure how good the maintainance has been.

The view from the top is magnificent. Along the valley you see the course of the river that provides the power. Behind there is the crank rod transferring power to the pump. To the left and right, hard surfaces that my vertigious brain said meant death so I didn't look at them much. And below is the noise of rushing water and the wheel rotating. Nice.

You can watch a video of the wheel here.

Going down is harder than going up if you want to do it in a controlled way. That beam half way down the steps had obviously been lowered by some joker while I was up there, or at least that's what it felt like.

Back at the bottom I walked some of the mine trail, at least as far as the T-rocker. It's hard to believe that 100 years ago the verdant land of the valley was basically a factory floor. The plants have replaced dirt and grime from the mine and ore processing activities. The hundreds of men, women and children who worked there are no more. Reading the information boards it it hard for the modern visitor to understand what made people chose to crawl down dark and dangerous mine shafts every day. I might not like a 100 foot climb up the wheel but I'd like a series for 150 foot ladders going down into the dark.

The wheel has a fairly typical story behind it's survival. The Manx have never been that good with heritage despite relying on tourism as the mainstay of the islands economy for many decades. Despite being a major attraction the wheel was allowed to decay until a builder, Edwin Kneale, leased it while the rest of the mine equipment were being sold for scrap. He restored and offered it as a tourst attraction for nearly 30 year before the Manx Government bought it and took over responsibility. Without his actions Lady Isabella would have followed the Lady after whom it is named into the past. People would have said, "How wonderful if the wheel was still ther" but once gone these things don't come back. Amazingly the Government still allows attractions to fall into disrepair. This year most of the Manx Electric railway is out of action for repairs. The tourist board is considering dropping the production of the annual brochure that provides over 50% of the trade for the hotels and guest houses too...

Wikipedia information on the Laxey Wheel
Photos in Flickr

2038 feet up

2008-06-20T21:10:00.000-07:00

There aren't many places on the Isle of Man that can't be reached by public transport. For me it's one of the joys of the place that you don't really need a car to get around. On the mainland you count yourself lucky if the bus can get you into the town centre or to work, here you take a tram to the top of the mountain !

Obviously this isn't a direct service from Douglas. That would be no fun at all. First up is a trip along the front. This might be a mere couple of miles of nice flat walk but why wear your boots out when there is a handy and regular horse tram service ? The beast pulling my tram is called Charles and he seemed happy (ears up) as he hauled us along in the sunshine. All the horses on the service are in excellent condition as you'd expect for animals on public show. Each horse only works 4 trips, walks on what appears to be special tarmac and is regularly checked over. The trams might look heavy but you can push them yourself and on a nice smooth steel rail one the vehicle is rolling it doesn't take much to keep it that way.

At the horse tram terminus while Charles enjoyed a drink, I transferred to a tram on the Manx Electric Railway. At over 100 years old this is one of the earliest electric railways in the world and still uses a couple of the original cars. These days we forget how revolutionary electricity is but for the Victorians it was akin to magic and as revolutionary as teh Interweb. They liked to show of technology too hence the overhead wires over a line that would normally have been built for steam engines. Travellers to the island would have treated the trip in the MER as a highlight of their holiday in the same way we'd think of a space shuttle launch.

While we waited to start off one woman “entertained” us by whinging about the horse trams as one of them hadn't been offered a bucket of water at the end of his trip. And the fact the driver had got himself and the ticket collector a coffee. She was going to get off and say something to them. But she didn't.

The repertoire expanded with new moans about the ride comfort, noise and a hundred other niggles but no-one else cared as the view along the line is fantastic. OK, so you aren't revelling in modern air conditioned comfort, although the trailer car was a side-free toastrack type for those who needed the cobwebs blowing away, but that's part of the charm. It's all about the journey and not just the destination. We were treated to a procession of Manx countryside and seashore with the water glinting in the sunshine. Finally though the tram arrived at Laxey.

Laxey station has always looked exotic to me. The station buildings themselves sit in a wooded hollow and a lot of the smaller trees are palms. Architecturally it owes a lot to desert island style shacks with it's wide verandah and a couple of “mud hut” style outbuildings. I've spent happy times just sitting here and watching the trams roll by in the sunshine, but not today - a few feet away were the trams that go up the mountain.

For the technically inclined there are important differences between a Manx electric tram and a Sanefell one. The later runs on track six inches wider for improved stability in the wind and also to incorporate an extra rail fitted in the middle on its side. This Fell Rail is an extra braking system in case the main brakes fail on the mountain. Special grippers are fitted under the car and a driver of a failed vehicle can use these to control its decent to return to the station. The mountain cars also use bow collectors rather than trolley poles to ensure a constant supply of electricity all the way, especially in high winds.

A handy hint for travellers is on the trip up, sit on the right hand side of the car. That way you are treated to the best view of the one of the islands best known landmarks, the Lady Isobella water wheel as the tram climbs out of the station and up the Laxey valley. If you don't, it looks like this. New this year is a running commentary from the driver pointing out some of the sights you might otherwise miss. With several of these being ruins that appear to the uninitiated to be little more than piles of rubble, it's a valuable service. Trams up the mountain run next to the edge so vertigo suffers might care to disregard my advice on seating position and hide as far from the drop as a 10 foot wide carriage allows.

At the top of the mountain passes through the Bungalow. Beloved of motorcycle enthusiasts it's the point where the tram tracks cross the mountain section of the course. During the race trams stop here and passengers have to cross by footbridge to another tram waiting to complete the journey. Apparently getting the riders to dodge the trams was considered a challenge too far !
Past Bungalow the line spirals up to the summit. At this point everyone sat on the “wrong” side has the best view. Ireland, Scotland and Wales hove into view at different stages along with the flatlands at the north of the island.

Finally after half an hours travelling the tram arrives at the top. If you are lucky you are able to see the café 5 feet away. The summit is at 2038 feet above sea level and disappearing into cloud is a regular occurance. At that point your options are to sit it out and eat some excellent cake or stay on the tram and head back down. Hoping for the best is usually worth it as the wind moves the cloud around and creates gaps so at least some of the view can be enjoyed.

As it happens I got lucky – the wind may have been gale force but that mean the view was present. Nothing is perfect of course – the kingdoms of England and Ireland were hidden from sight but the others promised, Wales, Scotland (just), Man, Heaven and Neptune were there to be seen if you squinted hard enough. Holding a camera was another matter and I'm not sure how good my pictures will be !

Jurby Junk & Peel Museum

2008-06-19T14:47:00.001-07:00

Jurby Junk
Originally uploaded by Phil_Parker

Oh well, might as well start the trip with a visit to one of the lesser attractions on the Isle of Man - Jurby Junk shop. As you would expect from the name, it's a shop and it sells junk. What you don't realise until you find it is the sheer scale of the operation.

Housed in a couple of industrial units on Jurby airfield the business has been run by Stella for at least 30 years. As well as providing all the old tat that anyone on a small island could want she also supplies props for film and television work. I suspect that this provides most of the money as I've never seen the junk sell in any quantity. This is stacked high, and I mean well over 10 feet high, on shelves with very little semblance of order. Some items are grouped into boxes under the racking but most simply exist on shelves.

Most people find that their homes acquire a level of detritus that appears to multiply of its own accord. The junk here seems to be doing the same thing. Much has been in stock for several years and the old place has a faint smell of "old stuff". How much will ever find a buyer is open to conjecture. It's certainly fun to root around it though.

The business has been expanded in the last 18 months to take in books in an adjacent unit. Imaging taking several thousand books of all genres and tipping them into a room - and you have a pretty good idea what the place looks like. You'll not find much in the way of categorisation or organisation on the shelves. Paperbacks fill baskets on the floor and the only way you find anything is by treating the store as a giant lucky dip. To be honest with airport books that's good enough but looking around there are going to be some real nuggets of gold to be pan handled from this lot - you better have plenty of time though !

As a counterpoint some culture was required. That, and the rain has arrived big time so the Manx Museum in Peel seems awfully attractive.

On arrival a school party was just leaving - great news as it's too good a place to waste on kids. The first area covered is the Pagan and Viking heritage of the island. Shown through a mix of reconstructions and audio visual displays. One minute you are in a Celtic house and next in its Viking replacement. Every step is illustrated by the actor T.P.McKenna pretending to be a mysterious Manx spirit. To be honest this was a bit duff with to much mysticism and not enough hard facts for me but at least I now have a better understanding of Paganism and the carved crosses that adorn many Manx churches. The transition to Christianity and the implications of this change is well covered though. Nice use of "Odins Raven", a cut down replica longboat built in the 70's, too.

Things improve as you move up stairs. The floor is transformed into a quayside chandlers with hundreds of objects decorating the "set". Looking through the windows you spy the boats and dockside characters. There is noise and smells and nothing mystical at all. No labels either which will make it harder for many to understand what they are seeing. More AV displays tell the stories of Manx characters from the man who invented lifeboats, a member of the Bounty's crew, a smuggler and the wife of a sea captains. This last character is particularly interesting as she and her family travelled the world in an era when most Manx barely travelled between their villages on this tiny isle.

The museum design was excellent - as long as hardly any people turned up. The displays worked fine for groups to 3 or 4 at a time - any more and you came to a presentation half way through and had to watch things out of order. Worse, some rooms simply couldn't accommodate many so on a busy day you'd have to wait around or simply miss chunks for the display which would be a great shame.

Following on the from the maritime characters we had displays of kippers and fishing followed by the history of the Steam Packet company.

Aside from the design issues, the biggest problem with this museum is that is is so good. After 3 hours we were being checked out as closing time approached. The Peel gallery received on the most cursory look, yet deserved much more. Maybe the designer modelled themselves on PT Barnum and wanted us to left wanting more !

More pictures of junk (and other stuff) on Flickr.

Ferry down the Mersey

2008-06-17T13:10:00.000-07:00

At what point is it reasonable to storm the bridge of a ferry and take control ?

I ask because I'm pretty certain that the captain of the good ship Viking that took me to the Isle of Man today, was a fake. When he made his first announcement to the passengers he said that there would be some swell as we approached the island, "hitting the left of the ship.". Now as any fule know, the correct term is "port side" and if he can't get this right, how could we trust him with the steering, mainbrace splicing and other nautical tasks ?

Sadly, none of the other people on board seemed up for a mutiny so I just make careful note of the location of lifeboats and hoped for the best. It seems that the choice of 2 cafes, a bar, shop and Mr Bean on continuous loop pacified them.

Half an hour of interesting Mersey and 2 and half hours of dull, grey Irish sea later we made land. As our main in the gold braid had promised, the trip got a bit lumpy in the last hour. Inside I felt a touch uneasy but a trip up on deck cleared this - and thanks to the wind, pretty much everything else !

With the on board shop out of Guardians I bought a local paper, The Isle of Man Examiner. The thing that struck me most was the numbers convicted of various levels of drink driving. Not sure if this is a one-off post TT even or if I need to be careful on the roads about closing time. My favorite story though concerns a plan for more car parking in Peel. This will involve blasting away some of the cliffs and local residents have been interviewed by the reporter to garner their views. Most are happy with the idea but the best quote comes from Neil Richmond who is secretary of Peel Golf Club, "I go for walks around the back of the castle and I know there's a lot of late-night socialising that goes on around there, which would be encouraged by making this secluded car park bigger."

Back on dry land I'm booked in to the excellent Arrandale Hotel which provides comfy, reasonably priced rooms, a working radio and telly, and free WiFi - even a sea view if I crane my neck out of the window a bit. What more can I want ?

More pictures on Flickr

Battered Mars bar

2008-06-15T13:02:00.001-07:00

Battered Mars Bar
Originally uploaded by Phil_Parker

Now this isn't strictly speaking a travel. But it does constitute a gastronomic journey. It also puts a big tick against the "Things I want to do" list, just like some of the trips I've written up here.

Deep fried Mars bars have acquired a mythical reputation. As unhealthy a food as you can imagine, many have suggested that they don't actually exist. Well, they do and I have eaten one.

Now I really expected this to be horrible.Really horrible. Not being a big fan of the Mars bar anyway, adding a crispy coating to the outside wasn't likely to be a good thing. I'd imagined that the result would be a sausage shaped lump of yuck where you couldn't tell where Mars stopped and batter began. Think of something as disgusting as a McDonald's fruit pie (they cook them in fat you know - and I shiver at that thought) and you'll get an idea how low the bar was set for this comestible.

So it came as a real shock to discover the truth. You can see the bar in the batter. And the taste isn't bad.

The batter provides a welcome savory counterpoint to the sickly sweet confectionery. It's not greasy or oily or fatty tasting. In fact I think this may be better than a Mars bar on it's own. In fact I quite enjoyed this for about 2/3rd of the bar. Then I'd had enough. I've done it, ticked the box, had the experience and that will do.

Welsh trains

2008-06-13T08:58:00.001-07:00

welsh map
Originally uploaded by Phil_Parker

I'm trying to book a trip around Wales. It's going to be a bit anoraky as I want to travel on several narrow gauge railways. The plan involves a round Wales train ticket - or at least that was the plan.

If you look at the map that I've stolen from the official Arriva trains leaflet. As you can see there is a black line between Porthmadog and Llandudno. According to the key, black lines mean railway lines.

Not according to any automated train timetable system it doesn't. Nor according to the National Rail Enquiries telephone helpline. There is no railway here. Which of course makes the concept of a round Wales rail ticket a bit pointless.

What worries me is, how did they get it so wrong ? Interestingly, if you look at this map (warning, whopper PDF), the line isn't mentioned.

Tramathon 2008

2008-06-12T07:15:00.000-07:00

Tramathon for the uninitiated is an annual event that takes place at the Crich Tramway museum, Derbyshire. During the day, an attempt is made to run every single working tramcar at some time. This year the plan was for 17 different trams to be available. I've not been for a few years so made a determined effort - which paid off with an excellent day.

The drive up wasn't exciting, other than when a family of ducks decided to cross the M1 on foot. The lorry bearing down on them had to take evasive action and fortunately none of the ducks was hurt although it gave them a shock. New time, wait for the family to learn to fly !

I'll spare you a description of the day in preference for a few bullet points. First the bad bits:

Getting in. They've never been good at this and on a hot day keeping everyone waiting in the sun is no fun at all. The problem was that the people on the gate had to get Gift Aid forms completed by everyone paying to go in. This helps the finances but doesn't do anything for the first impressions. A pragmatic car park official let those with members tickets or who had paid in advance through a side gate. What made it worse was the constant moaning of the old women behind us in the queue. Judging by her make-up she'd been up early and probably needed a snooze...

Now the good stuff:

The tea rooms are fantastic. Clean, quick and reasonably priced. And they do fantastic chocolate cake. Decent sized slices too. I could have spent the day there.

Despite the large numbers in the museum, most had vanished onto trams to enjoy their rides. Since this is free all day it keeps most of the family happy.

Riding on trams is great fun even when you've done it before. Every single one is restored to the highest standard and each is different.

The volunteers who run the place really care about it. And it shows.

The gallery over the workshops is fascinating. Obviously I like to see things being made but everyone up there seemed to be enjoying themselves. There are some clever displays which explain to non-enthusiasts what all the bits are.

One of the trams I've not ridden on before was Oporto 273. Unusually for Crich this isn't a UK tram which means it has unusual features required for a warm climate. I loved the high domed ceiling, delicate wooden detail and rattan seats. All of this must have made restoration a challenge but the result is fabulous.

At one end of the line is Glory Mine. The site is part quarry and this museum shows some of the old mining equipment. In the corner there is a little wooden hut which, when open, sells rocks and stones. The lady in there is a real gem (pun intended) as she not only knows here geology, she explains it to everyone with the zeal of a true enthusiast. When you show an interest in a piece she'll explain where it came from and what the rock formations are. Prices are stupidly low - I bought a chunk of Barite for £3.50 simply because it looked lovely. Best of all, I know about it, something you don't get in shops. If you like rocks and crystals, this bit is worth the trip on it's own.

The tearooms does a delicious orange cake. And you can sit and watch the trains go by from the window. Yum.

More pictures on Flickr
Video on YouTube

Hereford & Worcester

2008-06-07T10:34:00.000-07:00

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

Stoner Park 2008

2008-06-01T10:53:00.000-07:00

OK, so it's not really travelling, but I did drop into the VW show at Stomer Park this year.

Details and pictures over at my other blog.

Scotland - Day 6 - Final leg

2008-05-26T07:21:00.000-07:00

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

Scotland – Day 5 – Aberdeen

2008-05-26T04:16:00.000-07:00

Leaving Inverness for Aberdeen the countryside was much lusher than had been the case in the north. Although there were still mountains on the horizon the foreground was much like that nearer home. Cattle largely replaced sheep and the typical Scottish stone farmhouses have the sort of tin sheds that you find everywhere else added to the plot.

Arriving in Aberdeen the first impression is that there station is quieter than Inverness. Wanting to drop off my rucksack I hunted down the left luggage office. The surprisingly French porter didn't seem to know where it was and after wandering around the concourse for a while I gave up and headed out. The office is outside. Ignore the signs, it's on the station frontage nowhere near where you'd expect to find it. 2 quid and a search of the bag later and I was heading toward the docks.

The city is built around it's docks like no other I've visited. A couple of minutes stroll from the station and I'm looking at ships. My first impression was “B****y hell those are big !” (I really do think in asterisks to avoid offending myself). What I'd found were at least 5 stories high and that was above the decks. They were so tightly packed in the dock that you couldn't actually see the water. The decks were nearly level with the quayside and you could step on if the high metal fence around the site didn't prevent you getting in.

Having found the docks I quickly found the maritime museum which is excellent. The displays centre around a huge model of an oil rig. With the city economy running with the stuff it's not surprising the museum majors on it. However there is also a health dose of fishing history too, The quality of displays are excellent and I found them really interesting. OK so there weren't that many people in so getting at exhibits wasn't hard. I did manage to get in trouble though when I took a photo of a diving suit having missed the tiny notice at the entrance that said you weren't to take pictures. I really don't know why as you aren't doing any harm and none of the exhibits can hold an intellectual property issues. And if you are going to ban people from pictures, sell more postcards so we don't need to bother. There are some lovely paintings of ships on show and only 2 reproductions are available.

Leaving the museum and heading to get some boat pictures I was shooting through the fence when one of the workers let me in to work a bit more clearly. We chatted boats for a bit, he confirmed my guess that the vessels in dock were oil rig support ships. Despite dwarfing everything close by it was pointed out that they in turn would look tiny beside the platforms at sea. From the model in the museum it's obvious how huge these structures must be. Watching a film explaining the training required for those heading out there I think that I'll not be checking them personally.

Times have changed and the city is still catching up. Around the docks there are dozens of pubs. Proper dives that you can imaging your 1950's sailor or stevedore spending his wages in. The sort of place where Para Handy would have enjoyed a quick dram or two. He'd have noticed that there were a number of business opportunities if you fancy running one or two or more. In fact the whole area looks like it's due for reinvention as the grey warehouses are standing derelict too crying out for conversion into des-res flats. Mind you they won't be too keen if they want to be close to the centre. I took ages to find it. On the way I tripped over the indoor market which is properly scruffy and run down and as vibrant as the best of the, Plenty of haberdashery, mobile phones and a cafe selling Mince & tatties with free tea.

One exit takes you to the main shopping centre but I didn't find this and wandered around for a while, eventually I made it and it's not bad. The best feature by miles is the Disney Cinderella's castle at one end of the street. Not sure why it's there or why they built it from the same grey stone as everything else rather than pixie dust, but it's a nice touch and certainly stands out. The art gallery is pretty nice too. Like the maritime museum it's free to go in, which is always good. Unlike most galleries it's full of modern sculpture. Most of is pretentious rubbish but in amongst the arty stuff there are some really impressive ones. I just can't get excited when an artist has an idea and then someone skilled does the work but gets none of the credit. Some of the work was by local silversmiths – my favourite was the teapot and sugar bowl fitted with wheels. Great cartoony stuff with real humour so often missing in the art world.

My plan was to head off to Edinburgh and I back at the station I caught the train to Kings Cross which was nice an quiet. That could be because it was a proper HST with lots of coaches. Despite being over 25 years old it was still the most comfortable ride I've had all week. That tells you something about modern design and the requirements of operating companies (Thank you John Major).

Out of Edinburgh we passed swathes of what looked like council houses. No stone here, just lots of prefab structure which I don't think will a last quite as long as the older stone ones, but then they were doubtless cheaper to build.

The line hugs the coast for miles and with the perfect weather we could watch the boats heading off to the rigs. Even from a distance they are pretty impressive. Plenty more beach for those who can brave the cold and don't mind black seaweed.

The highlights of the trip involved bridges. On the approach to Edinburgh we crossed the Forth Bridge which is as impressive as it was before. However I think the Tay bridge is pretty good competition. One of the problems with the Forth crossing is that the bridge looks great when you see it from the bank but travelling across apart from the hight there isn't much to see apart from supports blocking the view. On the Tay you are up high and over water but the trip lasts a lot longer. A lot longer. In fact you can't believe how long this bridge is as it seems to go on forever. I managed to forget all about the disaster a hundred years ago too. Nearly.

More pics on Flickr

Scotland – Day 4 – Thurso and Wick

2008-05-26T03:09:00.000-07:00

I've always been fascinated by maps, Some place names have me wondering what they are like and I feel the need to make a visit. Years ago I ended up on a tube train heading out to Chipping Ongar simply because it was at the extremity of the underground map and the name was shortened to the amusing sounding “Ongar”. As far as extremities go though, you can't beat Thurso. Try and go any further north in this country and you'll get your feet wet as you've run out of island.

The trip is not easy either. OK so all you do is sit on a train but it's a 4 hour journey. From Leamington I can get to most of the country in that time. A trip of this duration needs planning, especially as the train left at 7:15 in the morning. That's before breakfast so I didn't even get my bacon & eggs !

My heart sank when the train seats were dotted with reserved tickets. The demand wasn't as high as yesterday and I found a berth without trouble but wondered if we were due to be visited by another coach party.

The run out starts quietly enough, the first few stops are the same as the trip to Kyle. We soon diverted to new territory at Dingwall and picked up the coast of the Cromarty Forth for a while, The whole thing got very Scottish at Invergordon. In Nigg Bay there is an oil platform of some description on one side of the train, and piles of barrels from a whiskey distillery on the other. Both of the country's main exports in one place !

Station names provided some fun. I like the sound of Fearn, but loved the way that in the highland accent employed by the on-board tanoy system, Tain sounds like “Ting”. Not all the stations are stops, if you want to get off you have to tell the guard or if waiting on the platform indicate to the driver clearly, he slows down to walking pace on approach in case the brakes need to come on.

As befits a proper traditional branch line, each station has it's own character. Sadly, many are closed and some boarded up as the small number of passengers don't really warrant a permenant staff at each. Others have been sold as private homes and are well cared for. The owners often “accesorise” their homes with platform barrows and other railway ephemera. An extreme case is found at Rogart where a small railway museum has appeared. The are a couple of coaches and a diesel shunter (Trainspotter note: Ruston 48DS, I only know this because I once built a model of one).

On the train were a couple of cyclists who were setting off to John O'Groats and then to Lands End from Thurso. Their bikes were in large cardboard boxes in the cycle section so when they got off their first job involved spanners and some serious assembly. They'd come up from Kings Cross the day before and planned to complete the trip in 12 days including only a single day of rest. Luckily the weather was good for their starting with bight skies and no sign of rain or serious wind.

The coach party turned out to be a group from the RSPB who were looking at a new reserve over 40,000 acres in size in the Highlands. Their talk was of birds they had seen on the trip up and the sighting of a harrier (not the jet powered variety) caused much excitement with binoculars appearing from nowhere as they raced across the coach. Chatting to a couple of them I learned that the forestry industry isn't as “Green” as I'd thought. Apparently the stubbly mess left when the trees are cut down doesn't provide a particularly useful habitat for wildlife and that that trees themselves take all the goodness out of the land. Of course this has to be balanced against the employment opportunities provided in an area where jobs are scarce but land plentiful.

Outside the window we started with fairly flat lands but once we passed through Dunrobin the sea appeared. In the sunshine it really shone. The beaches were either black and rocky or golden sand devoid of sunbathers. For s few miles we traveled along the coast until the half-timbered Dunrobin Castle station was reached and the tracks headed back inland.

At Helensdale the train stopped for a while to wait for another train to pass, Most of the passengers hopped out onto the platform to stretch their legs. 4 hours is a long time and Francesca our catering host certainly did good business with the trolley catering. Her captive audience hadn't all brought mountains of food with them and we all fancied a cup of tea during the run.

After this the landscape became desolate moorland. Although you could see for miles the colours were muted other than the bright yellow flowers on the gorse. This went on for over an hour too - that makes for an enormous expanse of wilderness. On one hand this makes for potentially boring viewing, on the other seeing such a huge area of nothing is strangely affecting.

The first sign of arrival at Thurso is a massive graveyard on the hill. It's recently been extended too which doesn't bode well for the local population. The station is a tradition highland covered train shed structure which our train parked outside of. I suspect had the weather been less than spectacular we might have been inside as the designer intended. That “Welcome to Thurso” sign on the roof marks journeys end and must be a sight appreciated by a lot of travellers over the years, especially those from Edinburgh or even further south.

For a town by the sea, Thurso certainly hides the water well. I wandered along Princess Street and through the town for 20 minutes before finding it. Even then there isn't as much there as I'd expected. OK, so you get a little beach with stones, seaweed and sand but no boats of signs or maritime industry. On the beach I chatted to a lady chucking stones in for her slightly reluctant do go fetch back out. He only had little legs and obviously wasn't too keen on the tiny waves rolling in. Thw ater had the unforatunate effect of giving him a perm too. Perhaps his reticence is because this this isn't a fashionable style for pouches ?

The shopping centre isn't large. The only national chain is a Woolworths (not even a WH Smith) but there is a pleathora of small shops which impart a character than many larger places simply can't hope to match. One thing that makes me wonder is the huge number of businesses involved with hair. Barbers, hairdressers, I would say that at least half the proprietors want to fiddle with the top of your head. Best of all, there is a model shop ! OK so not a big one but that's one more than central London can muster.

After a delicious lunch of lamb sausages and mash at the Bistro on the corner, I wandered back to the station via the art gallery and a couple of charity shops. One thing I hadn't planned properly for was reading matter. My copy of the Scotsman didn't entertain me for the duration so I picked up a couple of second hand paperbacks to do the job properly.

After Thurso it makes sense to visit Wick. Surprisingly this feels like a slightly bigger town even though it isn't. It too has a Woolworths and a Wetherspoons plus all the same shops you find 30 miles away. In out of the way places like this, local chain stores emerge. There is a travel agent that I've seen in a few but never in a larger area where presumably the national chains take over. Local charities seem to pop up in both places too and if I'm being fair, make up a significant percentage of the shops. Mind you, it's a long way to go for a major centre so they probably provide a very useful service to the community recycling goods that you can't easily acquire locally. The highlight of the visit was the discovery of a new variation of the famous Empire Biscuit. This version has toffee in the centre instead of mock cream. A discovery of this type can't be underestimated. It's like finding a new shape for the wheel. The lady in the shop told me they are very popular too. Mind you, at 3pm there were more of these than the conventional version, make of that what you will...

Students of architecture would love the stone built buildings. You don't see any brick here. There is a similar air of solidity to may of the structures, especially banks. I doubt you'd see that nowadays but 100 years ago the institutions wanted an air of permanence and that meant proper materials.

It's often sad that the journey back is shorter than the one out. This did seem the case even though the trip from Wick involves running back to Thurso on the way. Perhaps it was because I buried my nose in one of my books, a slightly trashy sci-fi novel which in a pounds per page was excellent value. I was pleased to have planned ahead enough to bring refreshments too as no trolley passed through the carriages this time. Surely a missed opportunity.

More pics, including the doggie, on Flickr