Robert Hampton

This 1990 TV documentary looking at Network SouthEast is a fascinating time capsule for anyone interested in the history of Britain’s railways.

Much as I wax nostalgic about British Rail, I don’t think anyone could sensibly advocate a return to the underfunded basket case that much of the network was after being starved of cash during the late 1980s. In particular, look at the scenes of Network SouthEast before the route modernisation kicked in. Knackered diesel trains on the Chiltern line, ancient electric trains running out of Fenchurch Street. It’s fairly grim stuff.

Some things never change: snow brings things to a standstill, commuters will whinge, transport ministers will dodge the tough questions, and the Continent is portrayed as a railway utopia where nothing ever goes wrong.

Watch the other two parts below. WARNING: Contains Prescott.

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There are many, many blog posts to come, both here and on The Station Master blog.

It was hard to contain my excitement on Monday afternoon, as I boarded a Virgin train to London. Most people would regard travelling 200 miles south, in order to travel back north again by the same route, as slightly mad. But there was method in my madness: firstly, I was meeting my friend and regular partner in various rail-related adventures, Ian Jones, who was going to join me on the journey. Secondly, I wanted to get the fullest possible experience from ScotRail’s overnight Caledonian Sleeper service.

Neither Ian nor myself are sleeper virgins – we have both, at different times, “done” the Cornish sleeper – the Night Riviera – from Penzance to London Paddington (read Ian’s account here, and mine here). As special as that journey is, it pales in comparison to the Anglo-Scottish services. Sorry, First Great Western, but you are Star Trek Voyager compared to ScotRail’s Next Generation.

After sauntering down to Kings Cross for dinner at the Parcel Yard restaurant, we returned to Euston to begin our adventure. I’ve travelled countless times from Euston, but tonight felt different. There was not going to be an undignified dash to the platform to cram aboard a Pendolino tonight. On the departure board, alongside Watford Junction, Manchester Piccadilly and Tring, was an altogether more exotic train: the 21:15 to Inverness, Aberdeen and – yes! – Fort William.

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My Highland fling continues over on the Station Master blog, with a visit to Rannoch station.

The next morning Ian and I found ourselves on yet another train. ScotRail (bless their thermal socks) offer a Highland Rover ticket, providing unlimited travel on the lines around Fort William and Inverness for 4 days in any consecutive 8, and it’s a bargain at just £81.50. You can even buy it online. We weren’t actually going to get 4 days’ worth of use out of it, but we managed to get great value from the ticket regardless.

Head north from Fort William and you will eventually reach Mallaig. It isn’t a long journey (about 1 hour 20 minutes) and there’s plenty of views to be seen from the window:

Ah, right. On Wednesday the weather took a turn for the inclement, a shame as the scenery on this section is perhaps even more spectacular than that south of Fort William. Ian and I were, in any event, distracted by a man sitting near us, who spent a significant chunk of the journey with his right hand firmly inside the waistband of his tracksuit bottoms. Never quite understood why men feel the need to do that – actually, I can well understand the need, but in public?

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The second half of this blog post is contained over on my Station Master blog. Go there now!

I need to start by apologising to Logan, the guy manning the catering trolley on the 8.30 train to Mallaig. Ian and I used that train on both Wednesday and Thursday morning. On the second day, you recognised us, and tried to engage us in friendly conversation. Unfortunately Ian and I were both so struck by your good looks that we got tongue-tied and could only babble the briefest pleasantries while you pumped your hot water urn. Sorry about that, Logan. If it makes you feel better, all you missed out on was some awkward and borderline inappropriate flirting from two men who are roughly a decade older than you. Don’t take it personally. You did a good job and your hot chocolate was very nice.

Where I was I? Oh yes, travelogue…

For the second day in a row, we were heading to Mallaig. This was the last time we would travel on the West Highland Line on this trip, but I already knew I’d be back. I want to visit Arisaig (most westerly station in Britain, fact fans) and Glenfinnan (home to that-viaduct-from-the-Harry-Potter-films and a small railway museum).

Our destination was, once more, Mallaig Harbour. No tiny Knoydart Seabridge this time, however. Instead, we were going to board the Caledonian MacBrayne ferry to Skye. As it was included in the validity of our Highland Rover ticket, it seemed rude not to.

Our plan for the day was audacious in its scope. When Ian first suggested it to me, I thought he was mad. MAD, I tell you. Of course, I went along with it, because I am quite mad too.

First, we would take the ferry to Armadale. From there, a bus would take us to the small settlement of Broadford, where we would change to a second bus to continue over the Skye Bridge to Kyle of Lochalsh. There, we would rejoin the rail network and take a train to Inverness, where we would spend Thursday evening.

There is, of course, a direct bus from Fort William to Inverness which takes a little under two hours, but where’s the fun in that?

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Ian and I probably didn’t see the best side of Inverness. We didn’t arrive until after 5pm, just as the town was winding down for the day. Also, it was still chucking it down with rain, so we eschewed dampness in favour of our comfy hotel room.

The railway station is quite nice, though – a good mix of old and new. The modern concourse is adorned with relics from the Highland Railway past, including a crest honouring the company’s directors.

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Leaving Inverness behind, Ian and I set off for home. By extreme good fortune, although we had booked our train tickets separately, the seat reservation system had allocated us seats facing each other across a table. I was glad we had reservations, for the train was busy and became more crowded the further south we travelled.

A variety of personalities all jostled for space. I noticed a teenager wearing iPod earphones, who was turfed out of his seat on three separate occasions during the journey, when the person who had reserved it turned up to claim it. Immediately behind Ian, an American couple had settled in for the long journey to Edinburgh. The wife was reading a tabloid magazine, picking out stories of interest and loudly discussing them with her husband. We heard her opinions on Prince Charles (how could he pick Camilla over Lady Di?) and Simon Cowell (his new baby is a surrogate, like Neil Patrick Harris). Her husband, meanwhile, buried his head in a book called “Whiskeypedia”. By the end of our journey, Ian and I had our eye-rolls perfectly synchronised.

The automatic announcer on the train kept getting out of step with the station stops. For some reason, this seemed to amuse a group of people sitting at a table further down the carriage. Every time it announced the wrong station, gales of laughter were heard.

This train was also notable for the frankly alarming sign in the lavatory. Basically, don’t use this toilet if you have any genital piercings.

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My friend Scott (aka the Mersey Tart) has been nominated for an award. Over 500 bloggers entered the Blog North Awards, and he made the shortlist.

For the uninitiated, Scott’s blog Round the north we go has been running since 2007. He set out to visit and write about every station on the Merseyrail map. When he’d done that, he just kept going. The end result is a love letter to the railways, borne of a level of dedication that goes above and beyond the call of duty. Every blog post is chock full of observations both whimsical and scathing. It’s a joy to read.

Also, if it weren’t for Scott’s station blogging, he and I would probably never have met, thus depriving the world of the greatest double act since PJ and Duncan. Now that has to be worth a vote, surely?

I don’t want to sound like those hectoring interstitials on dreadful programmes like Loose Women, shamelessly begging for votes in the TV Quick Awards or whatever they’re called. Yes, Scott’s a friend of mine, but in this case it really would be a deserved win. Voting closes tomorrow, so be quick!

If you like Scott’s blog, go to blognorthawards.com/vote and vote for “Round The North We Go” in the Best Personal Blog category. Thank you.