In the thick of it

Liverpool, 25 May 2005 - I am at a pub close by to the main railway station in Liverpool. Liverpool win at the footie in a distant city. The city erupts in joy, with cars hooting madly in the gloom, people waving flags, and general merriment. We go on to a dodgy nightclub and dance the night away, even if as a blue I am grinning through clenched teeth.

Manchester, 21 May 2008 - I am at a pub close by to the main railway station in Manchester. Manchester win at the footie in a distant city. There is the occasional half-hearted poop from one or two cars. I see a few people in football shirts getting off a tram, with maybe two flags in total, and even then seemingly at half-mast. I get the last train home.

Strong anecdotal evidence emerges that suggests that only one person in Burnage supports Manchester United. He was wearing his CRONALDO top, whilst everyone else who alighted the train was conspicuous in their civvies. Stands to reason, wot? The majority of onboard support seemed to be heading off to leafy Heald Green and didn't seem to be as happy as you'd have thought they would be.

Still - best to try and keep all the trophies in traditional Lancashire. Well done.

Overheard tales from the Post Office #1

The first in an occasional series about what the good people of Burnage are thinking about. Out loud. To the post office counter.

An elderley yet spritely woman isn't happy about Labour's recent move to try and correct the 10p tax rate issue. They're not paying their bills properly. It's exactly like the last time when they were in, when they went cap-in-hand to the IMF, but the IMF said no.

She has to return to the counter, because she's forgotten her glasses.

Rail replacement, Portuguese style

Back from a minor jaunt to the Algarve. Alas, my Portuguese language is woeful, but thankfully the natives were able to help me buy train tickets in English. Must do better. However, at least taking the train along the coast from Faro to Lagos helps you feel a bit more involved as opposed to being segregated off in a hire car.

A scenic ride, although marred by the ugly outbreak of graffiti all the way along the line - on trains, windows, stations, platforms, everywhere. Makes you wonder how the "artistes" can afford to spend so much money on paint. The local trains look a bit American from the outside, with ribbed stainless steel bodies. Step inside, and the interiors are seventies British Rail commuter-land-esque, with transverse luggage racks and facing rows of benches in 3+2 formation. The thrumming engine noise is distinctly like the mid-aged Sprinters that abound in the north of England.

Even more like the British experience, there was engineering work on the line on the Saturday we headed home. I was a little worried about the possibility of missing the flight - but in the end I need not have worried. The train departed (a wet) Lagos on time, and headed straight for Portimão. We alighted the train, headed out of the station exit and straight onto a waiting coach. This then called at the two intermediate stations before arriving at Silves - where a train was waiting in the platform. Everyone aboard, time to go. Arrival ten minutes behind schedule in Faro, but no biggie considering. If only Network Rail could be this slick.

1828 Birmingham International - Manchester Piccadilly

Unlike other entries in my commuting series, this piece really is being written as it happens, as opposed to a remembrance piece written the following day. I'm on the 1828 Virgin West Coast service from Birmingham International to Manchester Piccadilly, and we're on final approaches to the caverns of New Street, where it will depart at 1843. For just over two years of commuting to the West Midlands, this journey has been my home away from home – yet come December I shall be homeless and adrift, at the mercy of a new timetable.

It's a strange journey this one, full of variety. Besuited businessmen get first dibs, returning home from their meetings in London, evidenced by the large number of free papers from the metropolis that lie abandoned on tables. The pin-striped ranks thin as we head north, to be replaced by central Birmingham office workers and shoppers at the Bullring. Trade shows at the NEC will often add some variety to the passenger load, be it young fashionistas from the Clothes Show Live, or the Cheshire set returning home with cloth bags laden of fine foods and wines. Most lightweights will have gone by the time we reach Wolverhampton, with only the lucky few middle-distance commuters to take full advantage of the massive over-capacity onwards to our destination, Piccadilly.

This is the return leg of the weekdays lone journey between Manchester and London via Birmingham. Timed too late to offer any meaningful capacity boost between Birmingham and Manchester, it's the dreg-end of the commute home – yet ironically offers a whole nine coach Pendolino train instead of a four or five coach Voyager that operate the peak-time commute home to Stafford and Stoke. There's certainly a wider range at the Shop than this route normally receives, and a whole slew of surplus seats.

There are those who dislike Pendolinos, who find their small windows and tilting body profile somewhat claustrophobic. They're probably right when it comes to the Sunday afternoon leisure rush – but put them on this service in the height of summer and I'm sure they could be persuaded otherwise as the sun hangs low in the distance over Jodrell Bank and the train rattles along on the straight between Congleton and Macclesfield at a fair old speed. And although the view over the mid-Cheshire plain is obscured by darkness in the depth of winter, the most spectacular light show can be viewed from coach C as pantograph arcs strobe the trackside furniture.

So this is my train – I have a strange sense of ownership over it. I am peeved if I have to share my table for four with anybody else. I grin and chat to the man in the Shop. I luxuriate. Hot bacon roll and a half bottle of red wine? Magnifique. Headphones allow use of the at-seat audio entertainment – provided one is at a functional socket – which seems much more interesting than a predictable old MP3 player. Sufjan Stevens; Mark Ronson; Spoon; the lamented Mr Scruff and Treva Whateva's Hotpot radio channel and its replacement Guilty Pleasures – things I may otherwise have missed, or at least been unfashionably late arriving at, stuck in my Burnage cocoon.

A fortnight ago, there were a couple of Mancunians on the train who were heading home to watch the match. They had taken the wrong train in London, this one – mine – the magical mystery tour of Coventry. The elder gent had misplaced his mobile phone, so I offered to ring his number. So there we were, the three of us, scrabbling around on our hands and knees in the gangway, trying to find the source of the ringtone in an assortment of luggage. I couldn't quite imagine this scene taking place on one of the earlier commuter services. They thanked me in the traditional manner, with a can of Carling from their multipack, and then went on to show me some interesting pictures of a young lady. I couldn't help but smile, and wished them well as we arrived at the terminus.

The end of the journey, two hours later. There's a sense of finality as the remaining passengers disembark in dribs and drabs along the length of the platform. And it won't be long until our routine reaches the buffers either. What to do when it is gone? The Winter 2008/09 Cross Country timetable suggests either the 1831 or 1856 service from New Street. The first doesn't operate via International and so won't allow enough time for a visit to the airport, whilst the latter is scheduled into Piccadilly one minute before the local stopper to Burnage departs - and even I'm not crazy enough to rely on that, even taking into account padding time. I doubt the new routine can ever raise my spirits in quite the same way as my current one can.

Tell us what you *really* think

Following on from the tale of the Metroshuttle that's a physical impossibility, on Saturday I discovered another unfortunate mistake on a GMPTE poster.

A neat, if slightly unexciting concept: a wordsearch with various words for faredodgers who try and beat the system: thief, scally, sponger, criminal. Best make sure we fill in the rest of the grid with nonsensical jumble - except what's that in the top left-hand corner? "Pig"? Isn't that a bit harsh from a public body? What next - "scum" or "scrote" perhaps...?

Joined up thinking

17 April 2008: New York-based bank reveals major expansion plans in Manchester city centre

18 April 2008: British Airways withdraws daily service between Manchester and New York JFK

So BA continues its inexorable flight away from the regions to seemingly confirm its unofficial moniker as "London Airways". In the meantime, for those who don't want to have transfer through T5, Delta still operate daily to JFK, whilst Continental continue their twice-daily flights to Newark.

SkyTeam 1 - oneworld 0

Surreal dreams #1

The first in an occasional series about surreal dreams, recorded for posterity.

There's a party at Kevin and Sally Webster's house. You have to bring your own carabina, and then you too can join in the horizontal abseiling across the living room of number 13.