Thursday 21st September 2017

I had a major decision to make; Mum clearly was ill and I had been booked for months to go on a railtour out of Kings Cross that day. I could have bailed, but if I dd, what could I do? I didn't even know which hospital she was in, as she was supposed to be moved to the Norfolk and Norwich Hospital for an angiogram. Would she be there for the rest of the day, or moved back to James Paget?

So, until she called sometime on Thursday evening, there was little that would be gained from not going. And until she gets to Papworth, there was nothing I could do, as she has most of what she needs, and I have no key for her house, and would have to rely on a neighbour letting me if, if they had a key. So, I decided to go on the tour, Jools would take MUm's call, and if needed I could travel on Friday or over the weekend or next week.

Only time will tell.

So, before then, there is the small matter of getting to that London to catch a train. But catching another train.

Jools had set the alarm for half five, and it being still dark. There was time for coffee, breakfast and putting out the bins as well ad feeding the cats as usual, so we would be all ready to go at quarter to seven, in time for the drive down the hill to the station in time so I could buy a ticket, then go onto the platform to enjoy the stillness of the morning. So still the crows did not want to break the silence.

Or so I assume.

A few minutes before the departure time, people arrive, soon filling up the platform, greetings were made, then walking to different parts f the train to meet friends already onboard or who will get on later. The train arrives the door stops right beside me, and there is a seat on the left hand side which is my preference. We are soon descending into the tunnel, out the other side and Dover laid out below us. THe tracks follow the contours of the land, gently dropping heights as we near Buckland.

More people get on in Dover, and even more at each of the Folkestone stations. It is standing room only from Ashford because this service does not stop at Ebbsfleet. Instead it takes the fast lines and motors past at something over 120 mph.

At St Pancras, I have over an hour to kill, so wander over to King's Cross to see if there was one of the new Japanese units, or maybe the train taking me north would be there. But the answer to both was no. I think breakfast would be a good idea. So after eyeing up the queues at each of the food outlets on the mezzanine floor, I decide on Mexican and a breakfast burrito with extra refried beans, chorizo and mild sauce. And coffee.

OK, it wasn't good food, but OK, and different to what I usually have, and a reminder to the long off days on Red Flag when a silver truck would come round and cook Mexican food right on the flight line. That's where I got the taste for a breakfast burrito, but nothing since has come anywhere close.

But having been fed and watered again, I am fit for photography and other malarkey, and with nine o'clock approaching, I fet the need to go onto the platform for some train action. I should have gone to the end of the platform, but decided to stay down near the buffers to snap our train as it pulled in, which it did at quarter past nine, giving us fifteen minutes to get to the front, take a snap of the locomotive there and then walk back down to find our seats.

I am sat at a table with three other men, all of a certain age, two divorced with no current partners. There is a pattern developing. As well as flasks and well packed sandwich boxes. I have been to M&S and have sandwiches, crisps and just missing lashings of ginger beer really. I have a smoothie instead.

THe train lurches off at half past, stopping at Potters Bar and Stevenage, picking up more and more passengers, meaning that it was just about full when it moved off again, taking its time to cruise up the East Coast Main Line on the slow lines, leaving behind the leafy suburbs, making our way to the industrial, or postindustrial midlands. To Peterborough, with many of my fellow passengers hoping to "spot" numbers of locomotives lined up to the north of the station, and people shouting out numbers so note books could be updated.

We turn off the main line at Grantham, striking out along a branch line to Nottingham. Either side of the line was so overgrown, bushes and trees scraped down the side of the carriages, leading to many comments about the state of the network and lack of maintenance. We pass through Nottingham, then wind our way though various towns with lower league or non league teams until we can see the twisted spire of St Mary and All Saints, the most distinctive spire on all of the country, crooked either by poor design or poor workmanship, no one is sure, but it still stands.

Beyond Chesterfield, we take a little used siding, then take a chord to the left down a long headhunt, before reversing back up into Barrow Hill. There, there was a station big enough to take two carriages. Shame we had ten.

As we had neared our destination, the clouds have thickened, and now the rain fell, in increasing amounts, until it seemed that we would get quite wet. In fact we knew we would be getting wet. Oh well.

Barrow Hill is the last surviving example of a "roundhouse", a purpose built building, which contained a turntable and stabling for locomotives, so repairs and preparation could be undertaken. It is now part museum, and park working site, as they do repair and restore locomotives here too.

We have to line up the length of the train, then file along passing through the first class coaches and even through the kitchen, one by one onto the small platform and into the rain. We dashed to the roundhouse, being barred from the cafe as the VIPs from the official opening were still having tea and medals.

As you walk into the shed, on the centre road on the turntable, ex-4472 Flying Scotsman, aka the most famous steam train in the world, aka the Flying Banknote because of the four million quid the NRM spunked on restoring her this last decade. She sits and smokes, just for show, she ain't going nowhere today.

We all rush round getting shots of her and the other locos around the turntable, then look outside at the grim scene in the rain, a column of smoke marked where Tornado was parked, so we all tucked our cameras under our coats, and made a dash outside, grabbing shots hoping our gear didn't get too wet.

I go outside again, get one last round of shots inside, have a pint of Porter and it is time to board the train, lining up in the rain to get back through the single door and file along the train to our seat. It seemed impossible that we would all be back on in time, but dead on time the train lurched backwards back up the headshunt, then after a pause back onto the main line. Another reverse taking us back over the main line, and finally, moving back towards Chesterfield, and then retracing our steps to Nottingham and to the main line and south.

Needless to say, as the train pulled out, the rain eased, and our trip south was blessed with bright late afternoon sunshine, but always with the threat of more rian, a bright rainbow to the east as we motored towards Peterborough.

We were all pooped, some of us ate sandwiches, drank beer or tea from flasks that had been brought along.

As we neared London, darkness fell, and so looking out the window revealed just our faces staring back at us. As we passed through stations, we tried to glimpse the name of it on the platform board as it flashed backwards.

We did the two stops again, so people got off, but by this time we just wanted to get off and continue our journey home. At least we were on time, meaning I have 40 minutes for the train home, I loitered on the train, then on the platform called Jools to find out the news regarding MUm. Before finally leaving the platform, taking some hand held shots of the station and the various trains at their buffers, now at rest.

I decide to go to St Pancras and wait the arrival of the train we were to board, thus securing a seat. In the end, the train wasn't that busy, plenty of seats for all. And for me, a seat looking out on the side fo the train I like, though most of the landmarks would be shrouded in darkness. Anyway, by the time it came for departure, my eyes grew heavy, and through the journey I was jerked awake from announcements or the bang of a passing train going in the opposite direction.

Jools was waiting at Martin Mill, so she takes me home for a supper of short life pork pie, lemon tart and lots of tea. We talk over what to do about Mum, but ntil we have concrete news on Friday or beyond, little we can do. Other than wait for news. So, work as normal on the morrow!