Tuesday 15th January 2013

in an attempt to enliven a dull week, I will be attempting to travel by train from the ice fields of Kent to Barrow in Furness tomorrow. I say ice fields, that should read potential ice fields of Kent, as all we have right now is the promise of ‘some’ snow overnight and into tomorrow. Southeastern Railways have suggested they cannot guarantee any services until tomorrow and they can assess the situation.

Let me say that the snow forecast is maybe an inch or so, and already the train companies are preparing for an abandonment of timetables services. Temperatures are expected to plunge to almost freezing point, so that must mean no train services at least until the weekend.

I know we say this every year, that how totally unprepared Britain is for the outbreak of winter. Can we really be so crap at this? I guess we must be.

On the offchance of reaching Barrow, I have booked a hotel, and am really looking forward to another trip up the West Cast mainline to Lancaster and then onto Barrow. Barrow is famous for having a very tasty bus station and a nuclear submarine shipyard. So, plenty of folks glowing in the dark with extra heads.

I have been warned that the locals can be a bit punchy, and to be careful in local pubs. Hmmmm. So, we shall see how that all goes. At least now we can virtually visit anywhere in the world thanks to Google Street View, and it looks like a normal town to me, just stuck out in the Irish Sea. But, hey, it’s going to be an adventure.

Right?



Last night then; no snow, no fox to watch out the living room either. We did head to my brother-in-laws as we are helping them brew their first batch of home brew cider. If truth be known, I did not feel like going out last night, but we did go. And having remembered everything except a hydrometer. A quick phone call to a friend meant we did not have to go home to get ours, and after checking the gravity it was found to still be too high; just as well we didn’t just get on and bottle it as probably the bottles would have gone pop.



Or boom.

So we sat round, drinking tea and swapping news. Sometimes it is good to have a change in scenery.

Elsewhere I have been looking for anti-allergenic pillows and sheets; such is the rock and roll lifestyle I lead these days, might even get a new vacuum cleaner too. Steady on, there.



In the real world, another High Street name appears to be heading down the toilet; HMV has called in administrators, and might well go to the wall. HMV is 91 years old, and is the last of the High Street chain of record shops. I should feel a pang of regret; and do for those that are going to lose their jobs, but is it really a surprise? We buy online or download music now, and it is seen as being a pretty disposable commodity in the 21st century. Maybe a backlash against tax-dodging Amazon will boost sales for those shops which might be saved, or it might just be delaying the inevitable.