The last couple of years have seen fairly late starts to the railtour season, which has meant lots of opportunities to plan my own visits around the country. This is both a blessing and a curse - zipping around at possibly the quietest time of the year is always pleasant enough, but finding the time and the imagination to try to plan lots of new things to do is sometimes near impossible. However this year things have conspired to place a number of pretty fantastic trips in a short space of time. Indeed there are more I could have done if I'd not had other plans in February, but having a couple of track bashing type excursions right from the outset has to be a good thing.

This had already turned into an unexpected and luxurious long weekend. A brief but enjoyable trip to Bristol yesterday, and a near-to-home start today made for a fairly easygoing itinerary. It didn't feel that easy heading out for the 05:48 this morning in fairness, as the winter finally landed with a wonderfully fresh, frosty morning. We sat waiting for the ECS of the London HST at Weston too, which set the train back just enough minutes to be worrying late. I had a +12 into the Swansea train which reverses at Bristol Parkway, but hoped to grab some breakfast and coffee on the way, knowing that Parkway was pretty much shut up this early. Thought about flagging it for my reserve train - 1M21 at 07:00, but thought it might not be wise and dashed for the 06:46. Into Parkway on time, but predictably not much open. Settled in for the short wait for the stock to arrive from Eastleigh, heralded by the rumble of 66002 tackling Filton Bank. The seating issues reared their head early, and it became clear that the whole mess was bigger than my ticket, despite my almost being bumped down to Standard being possible the most drastic outcome. Soon settled into the warm and steamed-up, but the soapy window trick soon fixed that, and I settled in for breakfast and a wonderful sunrise as we headed north through Gloucestershire.

The rest of the merry band joined at Birmingham New Street, having set out far too early and got bored and cold waiting at International. Good to see lots of familiar faces anticipating a sociable day of interesting track. Out via Leamington and Banbury before our first bit of unusual track at Oxford where we briefly waited in the loop from which the Cowley branch peels away. Lots of speculation about future access to this, before we headed around the West Curve at Didcot, and took the line through the gates of the power station. This was huge track - particularly given the difficulty of doing anything on private lines nowadays. The downside of doing the Coal Line rather than the more common Ash Line was the MGR speed limit, actually imposed on all trains - 0.5 mph! It took significantly longer than timed to make it around the loop, and on the warm stock, things became a little drowsy. There was a little concern now that perhaps we wouldn't manage the loops on the Great Western given our lateness - with a counter view that actually we'd get looped everywhere because we were out of course now.

In the event, after a quick reversal in the sidings at Appleford, we set off to cover almost all of the booked loops at Steventon, Challow, Hullavington and the most interesting for me, the Down Goods at Bristol Parkway, between the platforms and Stoke Gifford Yard. Once through the Severn Tunnel and into Wales, we headed further west tackling the loop at Alexandra Dock Junction before traversing the rare crossover to the Valley Lines platform 7 at Cardiff Central. I was into long unvisited territory here, with the Valleys being an early target after I restarted my travels. The lines to Barry had seen a further visit when Vale of Glamorgan trains started - but that too was years ago. Noted the massive redevelopment in the area, and it's gradual gentrification too. Soon we were clear of the conurbation and onto the coast as the sun began to dip - always a consequence of winter tours - with a stunning sunset over the sea and the Somerset coast beyond. I remembered the tangle of lines around Aberthaw which had confused me on my original journey, as the mainline cuts in sharply from the coast near the curious Boys Village at St.Athan. Instead we followed the line into the Reception Sidings before proceeding into the Power Station site. Somehow more impressive than Didcot, the fading light gave it an even more sinister aspect as we slowly made our way onto the Oil Line, meaning at least we kept up a reasonable pace. During the traversal of the loop we learned just how touch-and-go this whole trip had been, given the parent company's reluctance to let a passenger train into the site. Thankfully persistence and contacts had paid off, and we were soon back into the Reception Sidings and heading towards Cardiff. We'd lost a little of the time we made up though, and missed the loop at Cogan Junction - but this might well have been because of it's condition - certainly the opposite loop was very rusty indeed.

Back through Cardiff and Newport, taking the Bishton Flyover to maintain the relief lines, though this was ascertained mostly by instinct and inquiry, as it was now very dark indeed. Sadly we were around 35 late now - just late enough to make my preferred move at Cheltenham a little less robust. So, no quiet run home on 1V65 for me tonight, instead bidding folks goodbye and bailing at Bristol Parkway, via a curious dash through the train due to being stopped short on the platform. A comfortable connection into a slightly late 1V63, a decent coffee at last in Temple Meads, and then home an hour earlier than planned. Despite not touching dry land all day, and as is becoming worryingly common, not having a single photograph of the trip, a very good day out. Almost everything planned was covered, and once the seating situation had been resolved it became a very sociable occasion. Lets hope that next week's rare track excursion is just as successful...

Movebook Entry

The year has started uneasily, and I found myself looking forward almost desperately to this trip - a chance to escape and not have to consider some of the really pretty irritating things which have been going on just lately. My injured foot ached, and wearing brand new boots probably wasn't a smart move either, but as I dragged my sorry self to the station I knew that it was imperative I got moving. Today was a bit of a random gluing together of several imperatives - some visits I'd not realised I was going to make, some revisitations of old territory and some familiar and comfortable trips to soothe the soul. I started out as early as possible, making the switch to the London train at Weston. Oddly, some late running on the first Down service meant the stock hadn't arrived, so had the novelty of watching the ECS terminate before boarding, getting breakfast and dozing and reading my way to sunrise. This happened somewhere around Didcot, a golden and clear morning. This is one of the best reasons to leave so early.

The first target was Liverpool Street. With C2C services running out of the station due to work at Fenchurch Street, this meant the novelty of the Woodgrange Park section, and the flyover at Barking. Nothing new, but it had been a while. My objective was Tilbury Town. I'd been reading about Tilbury and wanted to square my image with the reality. After a slow journey, padded with excess delay minutes to mop up any issues on the diversion, we sped up over the flat empty marshes at Purfleet before pulling into the rather grim station at Tilbury Town. To the south, the dock wall blocked any view at all, and to the north the boarded up facade of Dock Road. A range of deleted and closed businesses, shutters down. The Post Office closed - unclear if it was forever - it's former pub status proclaimed by the "Toby Stout" tiling above the doors. A pawnbroker nearby had lost two of the balls from the traditional emblem, just a single pendulum hanging outside the shop - one of the few still open. Pressing into the side streets soon indicated that this short parade was Tilbury. There was nothing behind the faced. So, I moved east toward the junction with Calcutta Road and a Metropolitan Water Trough celebrating the founding of Tilbury Town in 1912. One hundred years later, there was little left. Across the street was Rourke's Drift - a boarded up guest house of terrifying aspect, beside a yard also belonging to the mysterious Rourke. Uncomfortable with the empty streets and the attention of the Dock Police car which was now tailing me as I pointed my 'phone camera at things, I returned to the station and to the relative comfort of London, much earlier than planned.

With some time on my hands, I made a slow circuit to Marylebone, using one of the new S-Stock underground trains. These subsurface only units are proving troublesome and deliveries have been halted, but the ones in operation on the Metropolitan Line seem pretty reasonable to me. Air-conditioned, and open plan so that passengers can pass along the train through wide gangways like the Class 378s on the overground, they feel safe, light, open and spacious. The short hop to Baker Street was an enjoyable enough ride. Wandered to Marylebone via Dorset Square, hoping to sit and read away some of my spare time, but the private garden was locked. Noted a plaque unveiled to celebrate the first MCC match being played on Dorset Fields, before heading into the station and finding a spot to watch activity while I waited. It was a fairly quiet time, the midst of the afternoon lull in the rather beautiful old station. I don't use this place enough I decided, and I noted I'd still not tried the new 'mainline' locomotive-hauled services on weekdays. Today's traction was a Class 168. It was comfortable, not too crowded and had Wi-Fi and power sockets. It takes a few minutes longer by this route than using Virgin from Euston, but the route is a pleasure to travel - rolling Chiltern countryside and graceful old Great Western stations are the order of the day. Even Banbury's 1960's concrete cavern has a certain charm, if only in the period typography around the station. The sun set over the M40 as we sped north west, a relaxing and calm trip despite a precocious child demanding attention a few seats away. Headphones on and tuned into the countryside and the rails rather than the passengers, the time sped by. This trip cost the princely sum of £5 by advance ticket. I'd promote this more, but I want it to stay a secret.

Leaving the splendid GWR terminus at Birmingham Moor Street, I walked the few feet into the centre and found a chaotic Saturday still winding down. No room to sit and contemplate coffee, so wandered back to New Street via a strange encounter with a rather well-to-do, middle class Irish woman. She stopped me, very specifically and asked if I had any change because she was recently homeless. I looked at her and wondered - who knew if mental health issues, domestic abuse or some sort of relationship breakdown had put her onto the street? Given that no-one else appeared to be stopping for her I delved into my pocket and grabbed a fistful of copper and silver. "It's just pence" I said, "but you're welcome to it". She looked a little scornfully at me and said "it doesn't matter". Trying to read this situation, I played for time with a rather silly "are you sure?". Was she upset because it wasn't enough, or was this some sort of test to see if I'd stop? If so, had I passed by stopping - or had I proved that people give indiscriminately to those why don't need it. She flapped her hands at me, irritated "go, no it's fine". I left, feeling confused and foolish.

I mulled over this encounter with coffee as I waited for the familiar 1V65 home. It made little sense, and I'd been very tempted to go back to find her to demand some sort of explanation. I had no right of course, and it was very unlikely she'd be there. I even checked my pockets and bag, imagining it had been some sort of distraction technique. I put it out of my mind, boarding the refreshingly quiet train and heading home in the dark, head buried in a book. It had been just the distracting, diverting day I needed.

Movebook Entry

Over the last few years, I've found myself deliberately revisiting some of the earliest rail trips I made in the 1990s. Partly, this is because the idea of comparing my hazy recollections of first impressions with how I'd view a place now is entertaining. The wide-eyed traveller of nearly twenty years ago, grateful for freedom and never imagining that I'd get very far along some of the lines on my rail map is a distant memory now. When my travelling was rekindled in late 2003 it was for similar reasons - a push for freedom, a wish to explore wider vistas - and a need to unravel some journeys from the past. However, some of these journeys have found their way into a repertoire which I'll nearly unconsciously repeat for comfort, familiarity or just the sense of movement. Liverpool has become one of these places.

So today, I popped out for a new year coffee. Nearly 200 miles from home I grant you, but after the unsatisfactory short hops of the illness clouded inter-holiday period I needed long, thoughtful journeys. In near identical circumstances last year I'd done the same thing - a late booking, the first train out from home, and a lazy trip to Birmingham and breakfast. After Bristol, there were just six passengers on the Voyager. I had the entirety of my favourite coach to myself. Bank Holidays can be tricky - empty like this, or suddenly rammed with shopping bags and students returning to distant universities. I enjoyed the quiet while I could, stretched my aching foot and coughed impolitely without fear of reprisals. New Street was busier, but still a little quiet. I watched the world go by over breakfast, realising just how good it was to be out and about. Back into the cavernous station and onto the waiting train for Liverpool. It had been cold and windy when I left, but now the sun was rising in a clear sky, and it was warm through the windows. Music on, I sank into my seat and thoroughly enjoyed the trip through Crewe and over the Mersey. Arriving at Lime Street nowadays is a joy - straight off the train onto the broad sweep of steps to the road, the skyline of the city ahead of you. Braved a longer walk than I've taken these last couple of weeks to get to my favourite spot for coffee. It was quiet, efficient and friendly just like I remember it from a couple of visits over the past year. I also recall my first visit - just like I sat here doing exactly a year before - a shameful, sorry time in many ways which has actually turned into a much better situation. I thanked my lucky stars and swigged strong coffee while a strange group pensioners assembled next to me. One at time they arrived - they obviously did this often - and chatted about their new year, the sales and the unpredictability of holiday period public transport. At one point, the sole female among them shushed her companions and nodded to indicate me. In a harsh scouse whisper she hissed "what's he doing? He's writing!". They kept pretty quiet after that - so who knows what they were planning.

Back to the station for a trip over to Manchester. I took a fast train at the risk of it being busy. It was, a little, but I found a decent seat and enjoyed the scud over the flat marshy Lancashire landscape of Chat Moss and one of my favourite views as Manchester builds from derelict edgelands into stepped brick towers and modern glass skyscrapers. Down to the main station, noting that the flat bit of the travelators had been switched off, presumably to save energy. Shamefully, this is one of the few escalator type devices I can use due to my terror, so I was sorry not to be able to. Out of the station into the bright, cold Piccadilly afternoon. I set off to wander and instantly thought I'd made a bad choice - my foot ached, and people were thundering around the place carelessly. I felt big, stupid and pointless in this monstrous retail jungle. A quick visit to W.H.Smiths to find that my beloved A6 casebound Black and Red notebook is apparently no more, then back to the station for more coffee in a nicely refurbished, but weirdly slow Starbucks which took forever to produce drinks.

The 17:05 was strangely quiet - in my coach at least, and despite "those standing in the vestibules" being urged to walk forward, few if any did. So, once again I had a relaxing sprawl home on one of my favourite trains, all the way to Bristol. It had been a day of fine music, a little reading, a little writing, lots of relaxing. I realised how much I needed these excursions - not for the first time and not for the last. Most of all, it was a day of remembering. Darker times on this route have often been offset by days like this one. Either way, it's good to have made my first trip of the year. I don't write here so often these days, and I'm sure when I do it's not interesting as all my thought's seem to funnel into Songs Heard on Fast Trains nowadays. This entry won't have helped - it's whimsical, a bit boring, a bit maudlin even. But there are days when only a good long blast on the train quite does it. Today was one of them.

Movebook Entry

It's become traditional to try to squeeze some sort of railway value out of the holiday period, but often proves tricky for a number of reasons - confusing timetable changes, later starts to service and generally unpredictable passenger loadings to name but three areas which have scuppered things in the past. So, for this extended break I decided to do things a little differently, and get a Freedom of the South West Rover ticket. By combining this with a Southern Daysave on one of the days, I could get deep into the South East for a bargain fare, and could use the other days to wander aimlessly about fairly locally. Day One started with some local rambling - a spin down to Plymouth from Bristol on a CrossCountry HST, then up to Westbury via First Great Western, missing a connection into the rare Melksham service by literally seconds - seeing the tail-lights heading off as I opened the door of our train. Instead, headed for Bath then back to Swindon on a London service, only to find the next Cheltenham train was the continuation of the service we'd missed! An interesting day, with some surprisingly good weather.

Movebook Entry

An early start for the second day, and happy to find some timely retail outlet opening at Bristol so I could get coffee and breakfast before setting off on the 07:22 to Cosham. A brief wander around this station and it's environs which I'd not used since about 2004 by my reckoning revealed that much was the same - including the takeaway and burger van which provided necessary sustenance on the return from the fateful Southwick failure. before collecting my Southern ticket at Chichester and pressing on to Brighton. Loadings weren't as bad as they were on the Coastway a few weeks back, but there were still a good few on board, as evidenced by the wedged Platform 1 at Brighton on arrival. Here, took a Seaford bound train which headed out to Lewis before turning south onto the coast. Noted the remains of Newhaven Marine, still technically open if not served by trains any more. Some splendid views of crashing waves in the English Channel too. Time to wander around Seaford a little before heading back, feeling it was a bit like Swanage in some respects, if rather smaller and quieter perhaps. I'd last been here in the mid 1990s to deliver Christmas presents for a work colleague to an elderly aunt. In many ways, little had changed - but of course the slam-door stock was now missing! Returned via a change at the curious complicated Lewes station with its mysterious in-filled platforms, then directly into Victoria via an attachement at Haywards Heath to bring us to 12 carriages. Home was a long but fairly relaxing slog down to Portsmouth for the unit home. A very productive and nostalgic day.

Movebook Entry

Finally, today. I woke with an aching right foot much exacerbated by yesterday's exertions, and a developing case of tonsillitis. Medicated myself and set off early, feeling reasonable a little later. Decided not to go for too elaborate a route given my disadvantage, ending up heading up to Cheltenham on the 07:00 then heading down to Swindon on the 08:00. Took a call suggesting I was somehow embroiled in other's business which I simply ignored. A brief early lunch and a read here, before heading into Wales. Could have managed a run out to Salisbury, but that meant more waiting around, and the 11:00 to Taunton beckoned. It had been a much shortened day but given how I felt, I think surviving this long wasn't a bad outcome. I'd still managed well over 1000 miles over the three days, and kept the cost within the magic 7p/mile band. Slunk home early, feeling sorry for myself. It's odd ending the year on a bit of a dull note, but it's back to the rails on Tuesday for my annual winter Merseyside pilgrimage. Taking stock of the last year though, I've had a fair number fine days out, and managed about 35,000 miles by rail. And all this despite a litany of railtour cancellations during the summer. Here's to many more such excursions...

Movebook Entry

It's been a rather odd, frustrating year for railtours. Lots of cancellations, lots of uncertainty, and a great deal of politics and rivalry entering the market. Amongst this, I've tried to do as many as possible, with an emphasis on rare or unusual track wherever possible. This hasn't always been easy, with UK Railtours and Pathfinder both refocusing somewhat on the enthusiast market, while Spitfire plough a steady furrow doing there own thing. None of these operators have been immune to problems this year, but there have been some memorable trips too. I reflected on this as I headed for Bristol Parkway this morning to pick up this tour - the last of the year, and one that again had no timings until late in the week, and for which tickets had yet to be delivered. The run up was surprisingly smooth, with time to grab a quick breakfast at Temple Meads before switching to the Swansea HST which reverses at Parkway. Just as well, as virtually nothing was open at Parkway despite things being fairly busy. Caught up with a few familiar faces while waiting for the tour, which had used the Rhubarb Loop to avoid Temple Meads and arrived exactly on time. Found my seat as notified by 'phone and settled in for what was to be an interesting trip.

With the skies starting to lighten, but the stock still very steamy - something that didn't change much all day really - we headed north to Birmingham, making pick-ups at Cheltenham and Barnt Green, before heading for Internation for a loco swap, where our Class 66 gave way to a Class 92. Frustratingly one I'd had before, but good to be behind one of these fast, powerful machines again. Also an opportunity to get a decent coffee before setting off north for Crewe via Bescot. Some very swift running once we were out on the mainline, and we were soon drawing into Basford Hall Yard where a Class 60 was to take over the reins for the exit via the Liverpool Independent Lines before our perambulations around Merseyside. This involved a bit of a spin on lines familiar from a couple of previous tours, ending up with a rather extended wait in the Down Wapping Siding at Edge Hill. Luckily, we weren't stuck in the tunnel - and after the stop we made our way back to Warrington via a highlight for me, the traversal of the through line in Dallam Royal Mail terminal, much to the surprise of a gang of postmen working hard to clear the festive backlog no doubt! At Warrington we deviated from our route a little, ending up in the Canal MSC Sidings rather than those at Warrington Old Junction. This whole area is a mess of tracks, but this stop was just to allow a reversal, via the addition of 31601 to the train. It was of course supposed to be a Class 08, but with the resident example out of action, this had to do. The Class 31 drew us along the line to Latchford, alongside a waiting coal train, before detaching and allowing 60011 to haul us forward to Ditton Reception Sidings via Fiddler's Ferry.

Another run around here accomplished swiftly and efficiently, as all of the manoeuvres were today, then off to Crewe once again using the Independent Lines to access Gresty Lane Loop, where the 60 was detached and 66206 arrived on the other end of the train to pull us home. The run back to Bristol was quick, on time and entertaining in a coach with no lights - who said it only happens to 'other operators' tours then? This only improved the fairly sociable atmosphere on board, despite an amusingly ill-informed and geographically challenged loudmouth sitting behind us! At this point I realised that I'd not taken a single picture all day - either the locos had been in the wrong place, we hadn't had a break or it had been too dark to get a shot on every occasion. I hope a few shots will turn up on the web in any case.

So, my return to Pathfinder Tours was an enjoyable, sociable jaunt to largely familiar lines with some winning traction. I can only hope the quality stays this high next year...

Movebook Entry

I often find myself haunting the same places at the end of the year. As the official trips dry up, I seem to seek solace in a round of familiar journeys which take me back to places - sometimes significant, sometimes just familiar and interesting enough to divert my attention for the day. Today though, despite starting out as just such a solitary ramble, ended up having a couple of purposeful intentions.

Set out a little later than normal on the direct train to Weston - though knowing I'd need to find breakfast and given an oddity of the ticketing system I decided to grab a ride on the 06:55 unit from here, catching the following London train from Weston. We left a couple of minutes down, but soon made up time on a speedy run west with the sun rising in cold but surprisingly bright sky. Expected that perhaps this train would be a little busier than usual, but in fact all was quiet until Reading, when a family got on and decided to sit directly across from me with the father occupying the seat in front of me in a sort of side-saddle fashion with his wheeled case blocking the aisle. Eventually he took the hint that it was in the way of the procession to the buffet, but the rest of them squawked and hollered all the way to London - mostly the adults in fact. Decided that a bus would be the best way to arrive roughly around when I wished to at Spitalfields, so took a 205 and enjoyed a survey of the Euston Road as we arced across to Liverpool Street. Confused by some Crossrail related diversions, which meant a little walk to the station where I had coffee at a disorganised Starbucks. My arguments with the Bristol Temple Meads branch about opening times were becoming the stuff of legend, but I'm still hooked on the coffee, so good intentions and protests are at best patchy at present. Then, over to Old Spitalfields Market where the Independent Record Label Market was just beginning to get started. The idea was that lots of the labels affected by the fire during the summer would sell direct to the public, throwing in some special deals and exclusive stuff, and therefore making a bit of much needed cash. Browsed for some time, noting a growing crowd of hipsters developing. Swooped in for a good look at Domino's vinyl and the Chemikal Underground stall, where I made a few purchases and handed over cash to Aidan Moffat himself.

After a further wander and more coffee I made my way to Whitechapel Station to meet a friend who now lives south of the river. I arrived a little early, and with the coffee taking it's toll, I decided that there must be a toilet in the Royal London Hospital and so I ventured into the forbidding building. Following the signs for the toilet took me deep into the building, down stairs and into low tunnels with hanging wires and exposed pipework. Doors leading off to therapeutic facilities were everywhere, and there was little separation of public and 'private' space. Made one wrong turn at the bottom of a staircase and found myself in a corridor with a number of old people waiting silently in chairs and trolleys. Very odd, very troubling and incredibly creepy. Not sorry to escape back into the turmoil of Whitechapel and to meet my friend.

After an interesting walk up Brick Lane and around Spitalfields, we retired for food and drink and chatted. It struck me I rarely enjoy London as a customer or a consumer these days and it felt good to be catching up, sharing stories and generally just relaxing for a very welcome change. All too soon, time to head back to Liverpool Street where we took tubes in opposing directions, with me heading back to Paddington for my ride home. It had been a day of rare purposefulness, but a very happy and relaxing one. I should do this more often.

Movebook Entry