Travel Silliness

Time for another trip, a double header, the first part of which is to Harrogate. We are out early to get the journey into London done. Having dealt with the incompetents of Southern Fail and Thamestink enough over the years, we are giving ourselves some additional leeway to the journey to allow for their random delays and cancellations.

Instead of going their suggested route of into Victoria and having the Southern fail barriers fail to recognise our advance tickets, and then having to schlep through on the underground on another very hot day, we went for a train to St Pancras and the couple of hundred steps across York Road into King’s Cross. (Being in a silly mood, I do wonder if his mood will ever improve – king’s cross again, how about king’s mildly annoyed, or even king’s not overly bothered for a change.)

We have time to get a drink as we wait for the last possible moment before rushing for the train. Not by choice of course, but because, as they do at mainline stations in London, they leave it until the last possible moment to announce the platform number, and then wonder why they have stampede related deaths every twenty minutes or so.

My silliness continues apace as the first stop is Stevenage. I’m asking whether he has a brother, something like Malcolm age perhaps, or if there are any other members of the age family we are going to meet on the journey.

The train is running slowly up until this point, something to do with signalling problems at Hatfield, which meant no trains were stopping there, and everything else was crawling through. Though I do ponder on what kind of hats they are growing in the field there. It’s not going to get any better readers.

Then there is a longer run to the next station of Grantham. I’m not sure who they are granting the ham to. Only to find when Helen comes back from the buffet car that it was to us, with cheese, in a warm ciabatta. Very nice too.

And whilst we were stopped there, watching all this granting of hams they announced, ‘change here for Skegness’. If ever there was an announcement to warm my heart. I can’t hear Skegness without childhood memories coming through. I’m sure anyone Leicester born and bred will think of day trips or weeks during the July fortnight away on the Lincolnshire riviera. Mablethorpe, Chapel St Leonards, Ingoldmells and the capital of them all, Viva Skegvegas.

It was the only place we were distinctly told we couldn’t go to when as teenagers we had a Midlands rail, go anywhere weekly pass during one summer holidays. Mainly because to be back on time we would have to leave there before we arrived.

Further up the line and the next bloke’s house, good old Don Caster. We’re quite familiar with his sister Lan, and are aware of his brother Tad as well. I could go on with his family tree, but no one wants or needs that. (Not that that usually stops me of course.)

The announcement at good old Don Caster’s said to change there for trains to various places including Cleethorpes. One of the places we did make it to on that teenage weekly ticket. As kids, our trip to Cleethorpes lasted about ten minutes. Due to hold ups it was almost time to go home as soon as we got there, a mad dash outside the station to the front and back ensued.

Another of the places mentioned was Grimsby Town, which I’m sure is missing the full moniker, as it usually comes followed by Nil. I went there in my twenties in a minibus of drunken Leicester City fans, but that one really is a tale for another time.

And next up we were off to a wake in a field, by the gate at the west of the field. What? No? Oh, Wakefield Westgate, nothing to do with dead people at all.

As with the stop at Don Caster where we could see the impressive looking Minster near the station, there are some lovely looking grand buildings there if you look out the correct side of the train, including a cathedral that I’ve not been to.

I have been to the castle at Leeds. Again? What do you mean Leeds Castle is nowhere near Leeds? So, they weren’t telling me when I went that the castle was made of stone, but that it was near Maidstone.

We had been running late to the problems down in the field full of hats, but when we got to Leeds (without a castle), we just sat there. Only to be told after a while we could be there for some time, and that the trip to Harrogate might be cancelled as there was a medical emergency at the next station. They were quick at giving out the delay repay details, but with only a few minutes to spare before it would be a full refund, they miraculously cleared the line and we carried on.

To Horsforth. The portal through which the whores come forth (and their punters usually come first). Oh, it’s not spelt like that, and depending on who is mumbling the announcements, it isn’t pronounced like that either.

And then finally we are at Harrogate. Time to dump the bags at the hotel and set out to explore. For a change we aren’t winging it. I’ve looked online and found that there are history trails around the town, and I’ve even downloaded an app for it.

Yes, I did say an app. Single use for a weekend and then delete it. Plus, I’ll probably pick up the paper copy when I can.

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