Tuesday 3rd February 2026

I like to think of myself as well travelled, but there are a few glaring omissions, even in England, places I have never been to.

Stratford-Upon-Avon is one place, and I have wanted to visit there for years and years.

Last month there was a sale by Network Rail, and extra 20% off tickets if you booked ahead, and a sale by Premier Inn, with rooms from £45 a night.

I got the tickets for less than eighty quit return, and the hotel was indeed £45 a night.

Cheap as chips.

All I needed was the weather.

Oh yes, the weather. A week of rain, heavy rain and then more rain was forecasted. But I had booked, so all was set.

Whatever the weather.

Tuesday came, and I gritted my teeth and decided to do the usual session in the gym first thing, then come home, shower, pack and have breakfast, so Jools could drop me off on the way to her class.

And that's what happened. Up at five fifteen, have coffee and be out by six. Do my session and be back home before rush hour.

I had three hours to faff around and make myself all lovely.

We had a brew together before Jools went out, and I had the shower, packed before coming back down for breakfast and one last check of the tickets and itinery.

We left just after ten, into town, and at the station, where it was tippling down. I dashed inside, went into the buffet for a coffee and sausage roll, before going onto the platform to wait and eat.

The train was on time, and three-quarters empty, so it was a nice trip up through Kent, under the Thames and across the Essex Badlands to Dagenham where the line dives underground to Stratford and again to St Pancras.

I had seventy minutes to get to Marylebone, so could take my time, take shots and generally not get in the way of those who were on a tight schedule.

Marylebone was a cold stone box. I had an hour to wait, I wasn't hungry, so people watched and looked at the fine station: one of London's lesser know terminus, but on the Monopoly board, I think.

The train came in: a class 68 hauling wonderful Mk3 coaching stock. I would be comfortable with seats that lined up with the windows.

I settled in and waited for departure.

The Cotswolds Main line is unelectrified, and seems to go under London rather than through it, at least for the first few miles.

I saw Kilburn fly by, and other stations too quick to see their names.

Out into the country where the drizzle and thick cloud brought dusk at two in the afternoon. It was dreary, but there's nothing I like more than staring out of a train window.

We stopped at a few places: Leamington Spa, Banbury, where the train picked up a few passengers, but was never busy.

I had to get off at Dorridge, which is like Norwich but only when you have congestion. And wait half an hour for a local train down the Stratford Branch.

Thankfully they had a coffee shop, so I have a cappuccino and a cherry bakewell slice, just finishing it before the last train of the day arrived.

It was a half hour trundle through the mist and gathering gloom, pulling into Stratford on time, where it was pissing down.

It wasn't far to the hotel, but I grabbed the only taxi and he drove me through the one way system, dropping me at the door.

Where it was still raining.

I was given the room furthest from reception, a 130 second walk along narrow corridors up and down stairs, and finally along a dead end passageway to my room.

Phew.

After half an hour I decided to find a place for a drink. And in an unusual move, I had done some research and looked at the CAMRA website and made a list of the real ale pubs in the town, and the Stratford Alehouse seemed to be the best.

And it was just a 15 minute walk.

I set off following Google Maps, up Wood Street, then over the roundabout. It was dusk, lights showed warm and inviting in the pubs and cafes on the way. But I kept on going.

I reached the alehouse, it was indeed warm and inviting too. But also had four ales on tap, they had tables, and an impromptu pub quiz was under way. A practice for the following night.

I ordered a pint and set about answering what I could.

Two hours and four pints passed. It was a fine way to spend the evening, but I was hungry, so the guys in the bar told me an Italian five minutes away was great.

I bid them farewell and set off. I find it, but they are busy and only one chef was on duty.

No dice.

Opposite, was a Brazilian eat as much as you can place. They also had a salad bar. So I went in, got a table and was soon tucking into a large plate of greens and salads.

I had some meat, but my appetite isn't what it used to be, so was soon full. But mostly of salad. So I paid and left, walking back along wet deserted pavements, past closed shops and eateries, over the intersection and back to the hotel.

Back in my room, I put some music on, but was soon sleepy, so closed the curtains and soon fell aslee.