I finished yesterday as we waited for our train to carry us through Bolton, Preston and onto Blackpool and the seaside.
We waited at one of the two through platforms, and at the appointed time a two carriage EMU trundled in, and we climbed into a couple of empty seats and away we went into the dusk of a Lancastrian late afternoon. We were sitting on the wrong side of the train to see the tower from a distance, but I did spot the sun setting with a great flourish beyond the Irish Sea.
It was nearly dark when we climbed off the train at Blackpool North, and consulted our mobile phones for directions to our hotel. But, it seems 'your location' is accurate to only within 1600m, and as our hotel was closer to the station than that, it was anyone's guess. But, knowing we were at the station, looking at the map I was able to see where the hotel was, and we headed off down the road with the sea glinting in the middle distance. We turned right when we reached the prom, and walked past the Metropole Hotel and then up one of the side streets to our hotel.
We rang the bell, and the owner came down; Mr H? He asked. Yes, we said. Oh do come in.
He showed us to our room and said we should go down to the living room for a cuppa and we would sign the register and have a chat.
Being a hotelier was really only a hobby, as Fraser is a nuclear scientist full tie; and teaches that subject locally after graduating from CERN. In the end we had a fine talk about life, science and what we did, what he did. We also drank tea, coffee and ate biscuits.
He recommended an Italian place round the corner, and after a quick wash and brush up, we wrapped up warm and set off for a constitutional, with cameras too.
Blackpool in December is cold, and quiet, doubly so on a Monday night. Most places were closed, the tram tracks were being replaced and (as we were to find out on the morrow) the tower was even closed. But, we walked down the promenade, The Golden Mile, past rows and rows of fast food joints, B&Bs, bars and the such, all closed for the winter.
We turned back and headed up through the town centre, a few pund shops were still open casting a golden light over the rows of waiting taxis in the rank outside.
We found the restaurant and got a table near the log fire, and over glasses of cava we ordered and ate good food. And people watched.
Not a bad day.
At all.
Tuesday we woke up toasty warm, and had a cuppa along with a biscuit. Oh yes, biscuits. Most hotels leave one mean packet of three biscuits for a days tea and coffee; but not this place. A dozen packets of cookies and ginger nuts were spread out among enough milk, coffee and tea bags for a weeks stay.
We went downstairs for breakfast, and were presented with a huge plate of scrambled eggs, sausage, beans, hash browns and four rashers of bacon. And then there was toast. And more tea and coffee.
We rolled down the road to the promenade, and walked down onto the beach just north of the North Pier. It was glorious. Cold but glorious. The beach at low tide stretched beyond the end of the pier, to the north the snow covered hills that lead down to Barrow glistened in the sun. On the horizon, Robin Rigg windfarm glittered in the sun, that's another of our projects; all working fine.
We walked under the pier, basking in the glorious sunshine, but wrapped up against the keen wind. It was wonderful I have to say. But, we had a rendezvous to keep; with an old friend, Jane, in the cafe at Debenhams. We made it with a couple of minutes to spare and chatted away the morning.
We parted at midday, and we tried to go up the tower; but it was closed. What to do? No trams, no tower. We walked around the town centre, and then headed to a pub at the end of our road for a drink.
And yay! they had Warsteiner on draught. Two pints, Mr Landlord; now, any bratties?
We went back to the hotel, so we could be rock and roll and read. I finished the Stephen Fry autobiography and maybe had a beery snooze.
Rock, and indeed, roll.
That night we headed out to the Italian place for more pasta and fruity wine.
We packed and so were ready for what was looking to be an interesting trip home on the morrow.
We were awake early enough, showered and had a light breakfast, and so made the 08:45 train back to Manchester with over an hour to while away before our train to London was due to leave.
Snow.
Lots of snow began to fall as we arrived in Manchester. And by the time we climbed out of the train, a blizzard was blowing outside. As we went to the cafe on the mezzanine floor for coffee, the announcements was that no trains would be running to Sheffield or Cleethorps, and trains east were all delayed. The platform from which our train was due to leave was most certainly train-less.
At ten past eleven, it arrived and we grabbed seats and prepared to wait before the train departed. But, there was no wait; just 5 minutes late we headed into the snow and towards home.
As we headed south, the snow got less and less, and we began to worry less too. London was almost snow free, and even though the walk along Euston Road was cold, we arrived at St Pancras in time for the Dover train, which was on time.
As we came out into the light at Dagenham, the snow was back, an inch or two on the ground; but we did not slow up, and rushed towards Kent and home. At Ashford, the snow was back, but thinned out again as we neared Folkestone and the coast.
At Dover, Jools' father was waiting to take us home, and there was very little snow at all. Once home we were greeted by four mewing cats; all hungry. And as we settled down on the sofa, we looked outside and the snow began to fall.
we had made it home just in time.
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