North to Alaska, sorry, Portland...

We were tired of the cold of New Hampshire, so it was time to head north for the weekend, using the Amtrak Northeaster service, which runs between Boston’s North Station and Brunswick, Maine.

I am, I must admit, not hugely impressed by Amtrak. Their rolling stock is primitive by European standards, their locomotives underpowered and speeds embarrassingly low for the most part, which explains why Americans don’t use them much. And, upon arrival at the Dover Transportation Center, the news that there wasn’t any news about our train was slightly disturbing. It turned out that a switch had frozen near Exeter, New Hampshire, blocking the line, and trains were being rerouted. The previous train, due two hours earlier, was yet to arrive.

What to do? Portland is only an hour away by train, and not much further by car, and there was a debate about whether or not to drive. We were having the discussion when, good news, trains were moving and we would only lose twenty minutes or so.

One thing that must be said about Amtrak is that their carriages are warm and cosy, and you wouldn’t have guessed that it was minus 16 degrees outside. And so we made our way north, into Maine.

At Portland, I was surprised to notice that the platform is only really long enough to handle one carriage, thus all passengers exit the train through one set of doors. Portland is a terminal station but, like so much of Amtrak, is built to the cheapest scale imaginable, a rather bleak concrete platform with a little shelter and not much in the way of facilities. The only saving grace it has is that, as a Transportation Center, you can connect to long distance buses to further points across Maine and the surrounding States. But it’s quite a way from the downtown area, in a neighbourhood that doesn’t encourage walkers.

We grabbed a cab, driven by a friendly Sudanese guy, and headed for our hotel.

The Press Hotel is the former headquarters of the local newspaper, and is described as a “lifestyle boutique” hotel. I have no idea what this means, but there are newspaper references everywhere, old typewriters liberally distributed about the place, and interesting features abound. All very hipster...

It is, still, very cold...

Just another uneventful train journey...

Usually, it's a simple seventy minute trip on Greater Anglia from Ipswich, where I work, to Liverpool Street, our London terminus. However, it isn't the most resilient piece of railway line, and when things go wrong, they can go spectacularly wrong. As a result, and because I normally have to commute from Stowmarket to Ipswich and back, I am a keen observer of Greater Anglia's Twitter feed, watching out for delays and cancellations.

Except that, on Thursday afternoon, I was distracted by that 'work' thing. You know how it is, you're in the midst of a project and lose sense of time? Like that. I had a train to catch, the 18.13, stopping only at Colchester en route to the big city for a dinner date with Ros.

And so, at six o'clock, I set off for the station. On arrival, a Greater Anglia staff member asked if I was heading to London, saying, "If you run, you'll catch the train on platform 2!"

I didn't hesitate, and threw myself onto the train just in time. But what was I on? It wasn't the 18.13 - it was only 18.10 - so I checked the Greater Anglia app. No sign of the train. We were due to call at Manningtree, Colchester, Chelmsford and Stratford. No sign of this train on their live departure boards. It was going to London though, and that was good enough.

So, what had happened? It was a lovely afternoon in Ipswich but, apparently, it hadn't been so good in Norfolk. Lightning strikes and flash flooding had paralysed the signalling systems, and the overhead lines were damaged between Norwich and Diss. Thus, trains were all over the place.

I had been lucky this time. Whilst the train was slower than usual, I was only ten minutes late into Liverpool Street and on time for dinner. Greater Anglia had got me there...

Venezuela Day 3: a nation votes, a bureaucrat takes a stroll (and a train ride)...

Polling day dawned mostly sunny and quiet which, in itself, was something given recent electoral history here. I don't have a role here - this is an entirely private trip - but thought that it might be nice to get a feel for the atmosphere.

Security was definitely heightened around the hotel, but there was a lengthy queue outside the polling station across the street from the El Recreo mall when I passed it at 11 a.m. Apparently, voters were keen to vote early in case of trouble later, but all seemed peaceful enough.

Voting started at 6 a.m. (so much for good morning leaflets then...) and ended at 6 p.m., which is sensible given the increased risk of crime during the hours of darkness. It is computerised, as is the count, so results should, theoretically, come quickly.

I was off to see the National Assembly building though, across town. After all, it did seem a pity not to take a look around. The hotel lobby appeared to have a pair of UNASUR observers in it, observing who knew what at 11 a.m. But I was on my way back to the Metro to catch Linea 1 to El Capitolio, only to find that rides were free (admittedly, the fares are so low that they might as well not charge). 

The National Assembly building is picturesque, if surprisingly unimposing, which came as a bit of a surprise. In a lot of places, Parliament is designed to impress, and given the oil wealth that Venezuela theoretically has, you might have expected a ghastly, concrete monstrosity to be built to replace the nineteenth century building. But no, the building sits nicely alongside Plaza Bolivar, with its statue of the Liberator on his horse.

It was all very calm, very tranquil, with people doing what people do on a warm Sunday morning, sitting on benches, playing with children, chatting away as if nothing particularly exciting was happening.

I walked through the quiet streets of downtown Caracas, and back to the Metro for a journey to La Rinconada, at the end of Linea 2 (still free). At La Rinconada, there is a connection to the railway line to Cúa and, as I like stations, it seemed like something to photograph.

As it turned out, the station wasn't that interesting, a new steel and glass job. However, the trains were free too, and so it was time to explore for real. The train heads southwards out of Caracas, through forests and hills, with some impressive tunnelling to enable the modern trains to make good speed up the Tuy valley. It was very pretty, green countryside.

Cúa was a bit of a surprise. The main town of Urdeneta municipality, in Miranda state, you step out of the modern station and into something that resembled the Mumbai suburbs. Actually, the not so nice Mumbai suburbs. The municipal market had that familiar smell of raw meat that could probably have benefitted from refrigeration rather than six hours at 29 degrees Celsius. It was peaceful enough though, despite being a relative bastion of support for President Maduro and the PSUV.

Time to leave, I thought.

Back in the city, things were even quieter than they had been in the morning. It was 4p.m. and the crowd outside the polling station at El Recreo had shrunk, the queue gone. I took the gentle hint and headed back to the hotel to await the results...

Trying to type the title into a silly box - 29 October 2015

A second class TGV carriage. nice, eh?

A badge of honour. Yes, I've been blocked by @LibDemsforLeave...

No sooner do I question whether trying to persuade non-Lib Dems to follow a pro-Brexit Twitter account to boost its credibility is such a good idea, then I am blocked by it. So, that leaves me with a problem. Do I block it, or allow it to see how I ridicule it? Of course, as they're too scared to publicise their identities, their credibility lies in ruins anyway. Hell, if they're half as stupid as they take us to be, their chances of success are a bit thin...

Paint it grey...

What is it with the people who design the interiors of high-speed trains? I've taken a ride on Eurostar today and, just like Deutsche Bahn's ICE trains, the decor is multiple shades of grey. Could someone take a leaf out of SNCF's colour swatch please?...

On this day in... 2012

I was struggling with comments. I'd set my blog to allow comments without pre-moderation on my part (heaven only knows why) and Blogger uses CAPTCHA. I really don't like CAPTCHA and, as it turns out, I'm not alone...

And at the end of it all, I'll be at home...

So, I have made it to London City Airport after a day of taxis, trains, a tram and an Embraer 190SR. It has been fun, especially the train rides and, whilst the last leg of my trip involves Abellio Greater Anglia, it has been worth the effort.

The Eurostar Italia service from Rome to Milan was very efficient, even at 291km/h, with a welcome glass of prosecco, a small but perfect sweet treat and surprisingly good espresso, but the Swiss Railways EC316 was a step up in terms of sheer enjoyment.

The veal schnitzel Zürich style was served with spätzel and a rich cream sauce, and accompanied by a merlot from Ticino, we wound our way up through Chiasso, Lugano and Bellinzona before tunnelling through the Alps and gliding back down into German Switzerland. The train glides through the curves as lakes, mountains and waterfalls compete for your attention. There were even cows with bells at their necks - I find that strangely reassuring somehow.

We had made most of the journey thus far in sunshine, but it was decidedly gloomier north of the Alps. Despite that, there was still plenty to look at as we skirted lakes and weaved through towns. And, at precisely 16.28, as scheduled, we pulled into Zürich's Hauptbahnhof.

I had planned to take the S-Bahn to the airport but, as I reached the station building, out of the corner of my eye, I spotted a tram with Zürich Flughafen on the destination board. Time to go, I thought, bought myself a ticket and settled down for a gentle forty-minute ride.

I'm still not a big fan of airports, but I will say this for Zürich, it is easy to get to, with intercity trains, S-Bahn, buses and trams all connected up - so very Swiss and thus so very efficient. Of course, I did a little shopping - that seems to be what airports are for these days - some chocolate for Ros and I, and a bottle of cherry eau de vie for those cold winter evenings.

And now, I guess, I ought to head for home. Lisbon (again) next, then Tallinn. Where next after that, I wonder...

#goingtheprettywayhome - more adventures by train...

Flying is all very well - efficient, direct for the most part, functional - but, in truth, short haul air travel is about as exciting and glamorous as an average morning commute. And so, given half a chance, I will seek more inspiring ways home.

Today, I am on my way from Rome to mid-Suffolk so, naturally, I should be on my way to Fiumicino for my flight. Instead, I am on the Frecciarossa to Milan...

It's very nice here. The welcome glass of prosecco is a plus and there's some pretty scenery outside - hilltop towns, fields full of sheep and general pleasantness. Meanwhile, Milan is getting closer at about 240 km/h. This is, you might say, not the classic Greater Anglia experience...

And, of course, there are direct flights to London City from Milan. Which is possibly why I'm booked onto a connecting Euro City train to Zurich...

I am, I admit, fortunate in many ways. I have, due to my working a arrangements, time enough to travel and, whilst I am hardly rich, I do have sufficient resources to travel in relative comfort. And, given that I am not getting any younger - an odd, yet frequently used phrase - it would be a pity not to take such opportunities when they arise.

So, glass of prosecco in hand, Monteverdi's Vespro della Beata Vergine on the headphones, I head from the passion of Mediterranean Europe to the cool efficiency of the Swiss Confederation. I'll see you on the other side...

From station to station...

Travelling across Europe by train, I am always reminded of Kraftwerk's "Trans Europe Express", a tribute to the notion of international travel well before the emergence of low-cost airlines that allow you to travel across Europe at a price our parents could not have imagined. I have to admit though, that I still cling to the notion of a means of travel less banal than Ryanair and less inconvenient than having to beat my way out of the city, check in an hour or more before my departure time, wait for my luggage at the other end, and then beat my way back into the city again.

And so, yesterday morning, I checked out of my hotel in Brussels and, forty minutes later, was in my comfortable first class seat as my ICE train to Köln pulled out of platform 4 at Gare du Midi. It is, it must be said, a very pleasant experience, with a steward to bring you drinks and snacks at your seat at reasonable prices. And, if you sit in the 'quiet zone' in the front carriage, you can see through the driver's cabin as the train dashes through the countryside.

At Köln, the staff at the Deutsche Bahn lounge will even bring you free beer and soup to sustain you between trains. It is all very civilised.

Köln to Berlin's Hauptbahnhof is just four hours and thirty minutes without ever really getting up to high speed, but a mid-afternoon ice cream meets the need for a sugar hit, and you get to see places like Wolfsburg, which you would never see if you flew instead. Admittedly, Wolfsburg appears to be an enormous Volkswagen factory with a town (with a decent football team) attached, but you can't have everything.

And, at the end of it all, Berlin, a city with so much to see and do. I'm here to visit the zoo, take in a concert at the Potsdam Sanssouci Festival, eat pork and drink beer. The sun is shining, and I can see an okapi, so if you'll excuse me...

ICE, ICE, baby: Hamburg to Copenhagen

The trai having been safely divided at Hamburg - the back half is going to Aarhus, where my international political life started twenty-five years ago - the last leg of my journey began. No compartment this time, and the diesel version of the ICE train, still grey but better laid out.

The DB lounge at Hamburg is very nice, and the first class treatment starts there, as a nice lady brought me a bowl of vegetable soup, with lentils and an extra German touch, sliced sausage, which I approve of. I was able to use their free wi-fi, catch up with the world, before strolling in a leisurely manner to my train, en route to Lubeck, Oldenburg and Puttgarden, before a crossing of the lower Baltic and a dash across the islands of Eastern Denmark.

This rather flat bit of Germany, the Holstein bit of Schleswig-Holstein, is well-suited to wind turbines, and there are rather a lot of them to be seen from the train. It's a good thing too, as Germany's dependence on gas supplies from Russia means that their decision to close their nuclear power stations makes them more than a little vulnerable. Lucky for Frau Merkel that spring is coming...

Which reminds me, why are so many people at home so hostile to the notion of wind turbines? They're quiet, they don't pollute and, compared to a regular power station, they're far easier on the eye. Perhaps we just need to paint them in pretty colours?

You might have noted the reference to crossing the Baltic and been a mite puzzled for, having checked, you'll know that there isn't a bridge. Instead, at Puttgarden, the train rolled onto a ferry, whereupon we were evicted and the train locked, whilst we struggled upstairs to the boat deck, with its duty-free shop, restaurants and video game arcade. They don't mess about - as soon as the train was safely aboard and the stern door closed, the ferry left, no more than eight minutes after our arrival at the station.

It was, still, rather grey - must everything colour-coordinate with my train? - but the crossing was smooth, and it wasn't long before Denmark hove into view, so I headed back to the train for the remaining two hour journey to Copenhagen. Denmark is flat, even more flat than Suffolk, and the miles slipped by before, as darkness fell, the Copenhagen suburbs appeared, and my train odyssey was at an end.

So, how would I sum up my journey? Well, it's much less stress-inducing than flying, the view out of the window is relaxing too, and Deutsche Bahn, in particular, do know how to look after their passengers, in first class at least. If, however, time, or money, or both are an issue, you're almost certainly better off flying. I have to say though, if the opportunity arises to go somewhere by train again, and I have the time, I'd be minded to do it.

And now, with Ros at my side, a weekend in Copenhagen beckons...

IC2218 from Cologne to Hamburg - which one of my fellow passengers is the most likely murderer?

Whilst my arrival into Cologne was delayed by about twenty minutes, the DB Lounge was very comfortable, and had wi-fi, thus the postings earlier. However, time waits for no bureaucrat (except if tea is involved, naturally), and I had a connection to make... which was running fifteen minutes late from Stuttgart - so much for this German efficiency I hear so much about.

The train pulled in, only to reveal an unexpected treat - six seat compartments. Better still, I had a window seat for my four hour journey to Hamburg. My fellow passengers looked relatively normal, a smartly dressed man in a suit with an orange tie and a laptop to my left, a man wearing a semi-ironed white shirt reading some papers covering in evidently small print from the way he was holding them close to his face, and a woman who had clearly decided to colour-coordinate with the train (yes, more grey, I fear) enlivened by a teal striped scarf. Even her eyes were a steel grey/blue. It seemed that we were all travelling individually from the lack of conversation.

The train was scheduled to stop in Dusseldorf, Duisburg, Essen, Bochum, Dortmund, Munster, Osnabruck and Bremen, before calling at a series of Hamburg stations, leaving me plenty of time to enjoy the facilities, including the bistro car. Even better, the bistro car comes to you, and a very nice man brought me a beer with which to enjoy the ride.

At Dusseldorf, we were reduced to just the lady in grey and I, and I felt relatively safe, so I put some madrigals on the Kindle Fire, and read for a bit as we headed through the Ruhr Valley. At Dortmund, we were joined by a husband and wife, probably in their sixties, and who seemed quite harmless, so I sipped my beer and listened to some Brahms trios whilst I basked in the sun. It was all very pleasant.

The German scenery - a bit flat (so unlike my dear Suffolk) - passed by before, almost before I knew it, we were in Hamburg, where my next break was scheduled. A short cab ride and I was safely ensconced in a very nice hotel room...

German efficiency? Meet Belgian trespasser!

My train was, somewhat unexpectedly, five minutes late. It did look good though...

First class on ICE trains comes with waiter service, very efficient waiter service, in fact, but on the Brussels to Cologne route what doesn't seem to exist is wi-fi, which wasn't expected either. It is all a bit stark though, with the designer having clearly exchanged notes with his opposite number at Eurostar, using a palette consisting almost entirely of shades of grey, made even more cold by the leather seats - unlike Eurostar who at least have cloth upholstery.

ICE35 to Frankfurt arrives at Bruxelles Nord

That said, we were making excellent time with speeds reaching 250 km/h until the train began to slow, gliding effortlessly into the station at Ans, whereupon it stopped completely. There was a seemingly embarrassed silence from the trilingual train manager, before it was explained that we had trespassers on the line, and that we would be delayed a bit.

Whilst it is probably the most exciting thing to have happened in Ans for some time, I do have another train to catch, so as the train purred back into life, gliding slowly into the manta ray that is Liege-Guillemins station, I was pleased to see that we were only twenty minutes late.

So, how would I sum up a journey on the ICE train? Smooth, efficient in a way that only our Teutonic cousins can really do, but slightly soulless. Indeed, it is a romantic form of travel in the same way that giving your spouse a steam iron on St Valentine's Day would be romantic.

But enough of my complaining, as we're arriving in Cologne...

It's time for a little adventure

As I have noted before, I do like a nice train ride, which is why this post comes to you from St Pancras International. But, instead of taking the Midland Main Line service to Market Harborough for stations to Bonkers Halt - hope that you enjoyed the cake, my Lord - my train will turn right and head for the Continent, en route to Brussels.

I am off to meet up with Ros, who is safely ensconced in her hotel room in Aalborg, where she is preparing for the 25th Anniversary Conference of the North Sea Commission. She had to be there today, whereas I don't have to meet her until Friday evening, so I thought that I might take the pretty(ish) route by land.

It can be done in a day, with a very early start, but I don't do early starts and like to look out of the window, so that rules out travelling by night. Accordingly, my journey is in three parts - London to Brussels today, Brussels to Hamburg (via Cologne) tomorrow and Hamburg to Copenhagen on Friday.

My journey starts in a slightly down at heel way, in Standard Class on the 17:04 Eurostar to Brussels Midi. I usually splash out on Standard Premier but, on this occasion, I've decided to put the saving towards a good meal and some beer. Eurostar could do with a bit of refurbishment, with its grey upholstery, grey carpets, grey walls and general greyness, all made that little bit more depressing by the fact that the train is crowded, space is limited and little things like powerpoints to charge my gadget only exist in Standard Premier and Business Premier.

But it is only for two hours, my neighbour at the window seat is reading something unbelievably tedious-looking with lots of statistical data and calculations, so he shouldn't be much trouble. And, at the end of it all, is Brussels, a city I like and know well.

So, off we go, and let the journey begin!

Having a nice chat with my new friends at @Eurostar...

I like Eurostar. I like the sense of speed, combined with a view. I like travelling from city centre to city centre. And now that I have the taste for train travel, if I'm going somewhere without Ros, or travelling separately from her for some reason, the idea of going by train is quite appealing.

Eurostar have, evidently, seen me coming, as I discovered today. I had received an e-mail with an up to date statement of my Eurostar Plus points, and I noticed that this weekend's trip wasn't shown. So, being vaguely efficient - mostly Ros's doing, I accept - I rang to check things.

"Ah yes,", said the very nice woman at the other end of the phone line, "you should have those, and I'll sort that out, they'll be on your account tomorrow.". I noted how helpful this was, and that I was using Eurostar to travel further afield in March.

She then told me that, from next month, I'll be able to buy through tickets to a whole range of places across Germany, presumably connecting through Brussels and Cologne, which sounds quite exciting for someone who, like me, gets pleasure out of making their own travel arrangements and exploring alternative routes.

So, a task done and useful information gleaned, not bad for one day...

The sun is shining, and I'm on a train heading south(ish). It can only mean one thing...

Welcome to the 10.03 service from Billericay to Liverpool Street, the fourth leg of my seven leg journey from home to Conference hotel.

Yes, engineering works are a feature of today's odyssey, in this case starring a rail replacement bus between Witham and Billericay. However, all has gone well so far which, I hope, augurs well for the week to come.

As part of the Liberal Democrat Voice team, I'll be chipping in with reports and the like, but I'm hoping to keep up with my own impressions here on the blog.

So, don't go away, the next few days could be interesting...

Across the border and back for €7...

I just couldn't get into Liege, candidate city for Expo 2017, so I'm back on the train again. Alright, it isn't a particularly glamorous train, a mere year younger than I am, but it does the job.

But despite its age, and its rather firm second class seats, it's a surprisingly cosmopolitan service, as we're on our way to Maastricht (don't tell any Conservatives, the place has a strange effect on them). Interrailers from Canada, students fretting about the courses availlable to them as part of their International Relations degree (and fretting in English too), a woman from Somalia chatting with a friend on her mobile, all this appears perfectly normal.

I've visited the Netherlands on many occasions, but never actually reached Maastricht, and whilst I don't have a lot of time here, probably two hours, it should be long enough to see if I'd want to come back.

Saxon, drugs and Dixieland

Having beaten the ash cloud back to Blighty, I should take this opportunity to report back on my trip to Dresden. My apologies if this sounds a bit like an advert for the German Tourism Board...

Alright, I would be the first to admit that Saxony wasn't all that high on the list of places on my 'wouldn't it be nice to go there?' list, but given that ELDR Council was being held there on a Friday afternoon, it seemed foolish not to make a weekend of it, even more so as Ros was going to be with me.

And what a remarkably nice place it is. Dresden itself has rebuilt many of its historic jewels, and is a compact enough city to be easily explorable on foot. And to make things even better, the sun was shining, and the annual Dixieland Jazz Festival was on, with jazz bands performing for free across the city centre.

There is no shortage of good hotels, and our choice, the Holiday Inn in the Albertstadt suburb, was comfortable, with a generous breakfast buffet, free wi-fi, and all of the stuff that makes staying in a business hotel worth doing.

The public transport system is really accessible too, and a family day ticket for the Region surrounding Dresden, including all the way to the Czech border, is just €15 for two adults and up to four children under the age of 14.

Saturday was spent exploring the Altstadt, having lunch and taking a river cruise. On Sunday, however, we went on an adventure, taking the S-Bahn to Bad Schandau, a small spa town near the Czech border, a really pretty little town. There, we took a vintage tram up the valley of a tributary of the Elbe, to an artificial waterfall, before returning to the town for a gentle stroll.

We took the long way back, using a Regional Bahn route from Bad Schandau to Pirna that, if it had been in England, would surely have been closed by now. And yet the rolling stock was new, clean and comfortable, with large windows to stare out of at the Saxon countryside.

We ate well, enjoyed some decent, locally produced Saxon beer, and generally had a great time. So much so, in fact, that we're thinking about going back in September. After all, it's only two hours from Prague by train...

London to Stowmarket, via Wolverhampton, Kidderminster, Huntingdon and York...

It would be unusual if I were to travel from A to B in a straightish line, and this weekend is no exception. I'm currently on the Virgin service from Euston to Wolverhampton, where I'll be attending the Wolverhampton South West Liberal Democrats Annual Dinner, before heading over to Kidderminster tomorrow morning for the West Midlands Regional Conference.

Next, by road to Huntingdon, before I head for York and a deserved night's sleep, before having to run hustings for Liberal Youth on Sunday. Then, back to Stowmarket for a day off, with changes at Doncaster and Peterborough.

Don't forget to wave...

Merry Christmas, Mr Scrooge

"Twas the week before Christmas, and all through the train, not a restaurant car was stirring, not even near Diss..."

I have written in the past of the joy of breakfast on the train from Stowmarket to London Liverpool Street, a joy which makes bearable having to catch a train at the uncivilised time of 8.10 in the morning to get to work, especially on a Monday. And now, just when I have settled upon a routine, National Express East Anglia have announced that their award-winning restaurant car service will be withdrawn in the week before Christmas, with the loss of more than fifty jobs.

Isn't it lovely?

I am sure that they will have some perfectly plausible reason for their decision, and for many people, there will be no noticeable change, but a little piece of the joy of rail travel will be lost, probably forever.

National Express East Anglia's breakfast service, especially their 'Great British Breakfast' is a thing of beauty. Bacon, sausages and black pudding, nearly all locally sourced, with a fried egg complete with a slice of fried bread, beans, grilled tomatoes and mushrooms plus a hash brown, plus citrus fruit, tea or coffee, and all the toast a hungry bureaucrat can eat does not come cheap, but it is one of the glories of the British railway network, and should be preserved. They even serve proper kippers, good porridge, eggs Benedict and provide a decent vegetarian alternative. All of this to be lost in just a fortnight (sigh).

Frankly, when the franchise comes up for renewal, I will happily support anyone who promises to resume a proper restaurant car service between London and Norwich. Richard Bowker, the head honcho at National Express, should hang his head in shame. For however good he might be at running a railway (and in Jonathan Wallace's eyes, he can't be trusted to run a bath), he clearly has no soul.

An odyssey by train - London King’s Cross to Mansfield, York to London St Pancras?

I do enjoy a good train ride. So, whilst Ros was entertaining Woking Liberal Democrats, I was on the East Midlands Trains service from York to London St Pancras. This is one of those oddities not designed to carry people from A to B but to drop them off and/or pick up at points C, D and E in between. Indeed, I may be the only person on the train who will be onboard throughout, as even the crew were changed at Chesterfield!

My train ran non-stop from York to Chesterfield, not stopping at Leeds or Wakefield Westgate, bypassing Sheffield, before calling at Derby, Long Eaton, Loughborough, Leicester, Market Harborough, Kettering, Wellingborough, Bedford and Luton on its way to the Palace of Wonderment that is St Pancras International. It isn’t a quick route, at 3¾ hours, it’s rather longer than the direct trains to Kings Cross, which take about 2½ hours on a Saturday evening, but it’s a novel one, and left me time to write a few blog entries for posting later.

Best of all, I got a first class seat for just £15. Yes, £15. The advantage, perhaps, of not necessarily thinking inside the box. I save the English Party some money too, probably a good thing…

On Friday, I made my way to Mansfield for the first ever Greater Ashfield Liberal Democrats Annual Dinner, held in the “Emperor“ restaurant, once the local Labour Club (at least it’s now being put to good use!). It turned out to be cheaper to get to Mansfield via Grantham and Nottingham than to go straight up the East Midlands line via Leicester. Ah, the wonders of ticketing policy in our new competitive age…

Sometimes, the obvious route isn't the best one...

You might think that, after all of the travelling that we've done during the Presidential campaign, we might want to take a break from riding in trains. However, life goes on, and the wheels of Party bureaucracy turn relentlessly.

And so, my mind turns to a trip to the North on 21 November. Ros is the guest speaker at the Greater Ashfield Annual Dinner that Friday evening in Mansfield, whilst I have an English Candidates Committee meeting in York the next day. To complicate matters, Ros is speaking at Woking's dinner on the Saturday evening, so the arrangements are complex.

I'm doing it by train, and I've booked my ticket to Nottingham. I'm travelling first class - yes, I know - but it's comfortable, I got a really good fare, and they'll provide me with free refreshments and snacks. However, it's the return journey that's most interesting...

I assumed that the only sensible way would be direct from York to London King's Cross. Fast, but not terribly cheap... that is, until my eyes alighted on an astonishingly low first class fare, just £15. The journey time was longer than I'd expected because, as it turned out, the train travels from York to Chesterfield and then down the line to St Pancras.

Admittedly, as English Candidates Committee pays my expenses, I have less incentive to keep costs low, but the way I see it, money saved can be spent on something more productive than having me sit on a train, and I'm in no hurry to get home as I couldn't have got to Woking to join Ros anyway...

National Express East Anglia - not on my Christmas card list

Having made it to Sheffield, Ros and I set out for Stowmarket and our country refuge. It was never going to be an easy journey, but I really must thank National Express for making it that much more difficult...

Our first leg was to Retford and, just as we were making ourselves comfortable on the platform, a wave of people in red and white striped shirts surged into the station. Yes, the Sheffield United game had finished, and it was time to go home. We did make it onto the train, although I had to stand as far as Worksop. Our connection at Retford ran on time though, and we arrived at Peterborough with half an hour to spare for our train to Stowmarket. Except that it wasn't on the departure board...

So I asked the guy at customer services... "Yes sir, there's a bus at about 10.15 to Bury St Edmunds.". "So what happened to our train?", I asked, not wholly unreasonably, clutching the seat resrvation for the train in my hand. "Engineering works...", he replied, slightly irritated by my audacity in asking the question. Unimpressed, I went into the booking office. "I don't know why he told you that, there's the late running service to Norwich, you can connect for Stowmarket there, you should arrive at about 10.30."

Bearing in mind that it was 7.25, I was less than impressed. Why, if you're running a bus replacement, does it leave half an hour earlier than the train? How is anyone connecting to it supposed to allow for that if, when they buy their advance ticket, they are told that it is only valid on a specific service?

In the end, utterly convinced that Peterborough station is staffed by people who don't like passengers and that National Express East Anglia's management should be spit-roasted over an open flame, we gave up, booked into a hotel, and holed up for the night.