Saturday 7th December 2019

On my travels again.

By choice.

But still, it feels like I am never still.

I got tickets for the Norwich game, and as I had some "stuff" to give my friends Ian and Ali, seemed the perfect time to go up. But the perfect time for me is also perfect for all the Sheffield Utd fans wanting to make a weekend of it, and those who are up for shopping, shows and partying. A night in the Travelodge was £210 a night, and the Premier Inn, £250. We could just afford it, but for what you can get at other times for £30, was a lot. And I know its all about supply and demand, but there's an acceptable price and ripping folks off.

So, I asked my friends if they had room; they didn't and were decorating. So, I asked my friends Sarah and Richard if they could put me up.

They could, and were very keen.

As was I.

So, a plan was hatched and I bought train tickets.

I was due to leave Dover at quarter to ten, so had enough time to make bacon butties, mess around online and have a shower.

Jools dropped me off at Martin Mill, it was a cool if sunny day. And there were a few others waiting too. It arrives and glides to a stop, I get in and get one of my favourite seats, and will have the treat of travelling up to London in daylight, so lots to see. Just the usual waymarkers, but like old friends.

But a train to London on the first weekend in December was going to be busy. And it was, standing room only from Folkestone, with people standing down the length of the carriage. At least at Ashford, we join with another six carriages, some get off and there is more room, and most people get a seat. And to think people though the high speed service would be a folly a decade ago!

Anyway, we speed to London, leaping across the Medway, under the Tames then under London where I get off at Stratford, where I have 50 minutes to kill before my train to Norwich.

I walk through Westfield, all full of shiny things and glittery trinkets for Christmas. A shrine to greed. I find it hateful. Truly.

I mean I like Christmas, I do. I love the traditions, but the money now spent seems to be wasted, mostly. People walked along with arms full of stuffed bags, all presents for people. I should be full of Christmas cheer, but am not.

I walk out of the shopping centre, and see a guy selling roasted chestnuts on the bridge over the railway tracks. I buy a bad, £2 for six chestnuts. Expensive, but they are wonderful.

From there I go down the steps and into the station, over the platform 9, and use the waiting time to photograph trains as they come and go, under the watchful eye of a group of gricers gripping notebooks full of numbers. I could understand if there were still A4s of Coronations about, but EMUs? Its harmless, of course.

My train arrives, and what I though was going to be a Mk90 and a rake of Mk3 carriages was a class 321 EMU, and my first class ticket entitled me a seat in the first class compartment. The same seat as in second, and there is no catering on board, so the free drinks and snacks I was entitled to were not available.

It felt like I had been short changed.

The journey was fine, the views the same, but no locomotive present to pull and yank the rake of coaches.

But for £35 all the way from Dover, I shouldn't complain.

Once in Norfolk, the landscape flattened out, and the vastness is broken by the skeletons of ancient oak trees, their branches reaching to the sky. I try to snap them as we whizz past, but there are but blurs. So, you'll have to take my word for it.

We pass through Diss: Dis is Diss I wish the announcer said, but didn't. Oh well. I would if I was the announcer.

And on to Norwich, through the southern suburbs, over the river and into Thorpe station, as was.

And there to meet me was Sarah, smiling widely.

It all went to plan.

Sarah drives us across the city, over the river to her house, where Richard is waiting.

We shake hands and I am then told we are going out for lunch, tapas, at a place the end of the road from where they live.

Back outside, and a walk though the drifts of fallen leaves, and over the main road to The Workshop, a small independent place with small table and kooky decor.

We order marinated chicken thighs on skewers, lamb bread and baked aubergine. I tell them I approve thanks to my role as the head of the aubergine marketing board. We have a bottle of wine, toast each other and talk more.

The food is good, especially the chicken, but was all good. As was the wine.

We walk back to their house for coffee and mince pies.

The afternoon passed, I listened to some football until it was time for dinner.

In the evening, Sarah and Richard when to the Theatre Royal for some Verdi action. Did I want to go, if they could get tickets?

No, I was good.

I'll stay here and listen to the Manc Derby and chill out in a social-media free evening.

Which is what I did.

Amazing how mcu time is spent on it, really. Can it be that good?

Probably not. Once they return with tales of not one by three Charlie Chaplins, we have some wine and some splendid cheesey bread. And that was it, time for bed, and over an hour beyond my usual time!