Friday 26th October 2012

I am more of the opinion now that if we had been meant to hand from a slender thread some 25m above the ground, we would have been born as spiders and would be eating giant flies. As part of duties at work, I could be asked to climb to the top of a turbine. So, I have to be trained in working at heights and go on a course. So, that meant me travelling to Kendal in Westmoreland, to the National Training at Heights Centre for two days death by Powerpoint and dangling.

I don’t mind heights; tops of cliffs – Great, tall buildings – great. But that is because I am the master of my destiny, and gravity and I have a mutual respect for each other, I will snap it in action and it deals with the apples and falling pianos.

Anyway, I have done this course before, so knew what to expect, and just wanted to get the whole thing over with as soon as possible and get back to fun this in life like being at home and listening to the radio.

So, at lunchtime on Monday, I set off for the station and yet another fast train heading to London. Once in London, it is a ten minute walk to Euston and the mad scramble for a seat about the Virgin train north. As I walk in the concourse the platform had already been announced, and so I stomped off even quicker for platform 12. I was expecting two and a half hours in the vestibule as there were no seats left to reserve when I booked my tickets; but what is this, coach U? And a member of staff saying three coarriages were all unreserved. I asked which ones. This one she says pointing to coach U behind her. I scramble on and pour myself into a seat at a table facing forward.



The train filled up and the other three seats filled up, as did the rest of the train. But I could see out the window and I was in heaven. It may not sound like much, but two and a half hours in a train with nothing to look at other than the seat back in front of you is only possible when people design long-distance trains which have 16 seats per carriage with no windows. How is that even possible? A four year old kid could design a seat plan which matches up with the windows!

And at half one we left Euston and soon were rushing through at 125 mph, a speed at which blood boils and all air is sucked out of our longs; only that didn’t happen. We just dashed under the M25, though Watford, Milton Keynes and up the Trent Valley; twisting and weaving along the Trent Valley to Stafford and up to Crewe. Our first stop was at Warrington, home of our head office; I shuddered. And then onto Wigan, Preston and Lancaster before arriving in the small station at Oxenholme.



All the way up the country, we were bathed in milky autumnal sunshine, and the woods and forests of our fair land were turning to gold and brown. It was a simple pleasure to sit and watch fair Albion slip by.

At Oxenholme, I had a twenty five monute wait for the four minute ride down the Windermere line to Kendal. I grabbed a coffee and some chocolate from the platform shop, and waited and people-watched. The train arrived and we sat in it until a southbound train on the main line had also stopped, then the ‘express’ rattled down the hill into Kendal.

Thinking there would be a taxi rank at the station, I thought it would be somple to get to the hotel on the other side of town. Apparently, the station is too small for a rank, and therefore you have to head into town. Which I did. Where would you think a town would keep it’s taxi rank? I tried the bus station, the indoor market, the market square, and was about to give up so I asked some locals. And there it was 50 yards away. As I walked to the lone taxi, it drove away.

Anyway, another one arrived to takes it’s place, and luckily for me it was being driven by a wise guy who provided the entertainment during the ten minute trip to the hotel. And there it was, the Stonecross Manor Hotel. Not a manor, but a hotel and not cross-shaped. But, I forgave them. My reservation was good, and I had a room up on the second floor in what must have once been the servants quarters. Thanks to the sloping foor I managed to bang my head repeatedly, it always was there as I got up for the desk or bed. I would have hoped that I learned the first time. But I did find out that the word ‘fuck’ is the best thing to scream out in pain after banging your forehead for the fourth time.

My boss, who was on the same course, arrived at seven and we met in the bar for dinner.

And a drink.

I’m not going to bore you with the details of the course, suffice to say the next morning we were at the place by nine the next morning, we did the theory, then after lunch began the practical; up ladders, down ladders, on ropes, with hooks, without hooks but with sliders. It was getting dark by the time we finished for the day, and I had finally climbed to 25m and back down again.

It was good to have a shower, listen to the radio and await for dinner time to come around. I had rack of lamb, again, but not as good as mine, though. And a couple of pints of Wobbly to wash it down with. Time then to see the second half of the Man Utd game and see them struggle, but come from behind and win against Braga.

Next day it was more of the same, this time with dummies. To practice rescues on. And the last item to do was to use a self-rescue to get off a 25m platform. Just rig yourelf up, swing out over the open hatch and take the brake off and you will gently drop to the ground. Simples. For a confirmed coward like me, this was difficult, but despite pushing me and my poor back to the limit it would have been a shame to give up at the very last, and so I swung out and let go.

Gravity did its thing and soon enough I was back on the ground. I resisted the temptation to sink to my knees and kiss it. Go to the classroom and take off your kit and go home. Or something very similar.

My boss dropped my off at Oxenholme and so began to wait for a train. In truth it was little more than a quarter of an hour before the train rumbled into the station. Thinking I might get a seat in coach U again, I waited at roughly the halfway point on the platform, and the coach stopped right in front of me. I got on and found a free table just inside the door so I sat down once again facin the direction of travel and settled down to watch the northern landscapes sweep by, I was entertained by a couple of teenage girls in the seats opposite, regaling us within earshot of their adventures of shopping in Kendal. The reapplied make up and updated their Facebook pages and discussed possible dates for that night. All exciting stuff.

They got off at Lancaster, and I had the table to myself all the way to London, and treated myself with a sandwich and coke from the on-board shop.

It was dark by the time we reached Stafford, and so I I dozed and watched the stations fly by. We arrived in London and I walked back along the Euston Road and into St Pancras hoping to get a bit to eat in the 55 minutes until the train from Dover left. All places seemed full and it was probably I wouldn’t get served in time to make the train, so I headed to the platforms and got a train to Ashford instead. And then waited for 20 minutes for the connecting train to Dover, thus getting back in town ten minutes quicker than if I had waited for the direct train.

Sigh.

There was just time to pop into a chippy for some supper and then back home to the cats. Yay.