Fort William

This morning we were in a taxi by 7.30, for a drive through almost deserted streets to Glasgow's Queen St Station. The drive took us all of 15 minutes. The station was bristling with police officers, possibly to deter would be terrorists or to reassure people in the aftermath of the appalling Manchester bombing. Everyone we spoke to today talked about it - it really confonts everyone's basic sense of human decency, to deliberately target young people like that.

The train is slow and a bit chaotic, but a lot of fun. The scenery is picture postcard beautiful for mile after mile. We got talking to two Glaswegian sisters heading off to Skye for a family reunion and a bit of a holiday. They​ were very entertaining company and the trip to Fort William passed very pleasantly.

The hotel is at the opposite end of town to the train station, so a bit of a schlep with the bags, but worth it - a fantastic view and the nicest space so far on the trip.

While Anne had a rest, I walked along the Great Glen path to the ruined 13th century Castle of Inverlochy site of the first Battle of Inverlochy, and several hundred years later, the second Battle of Inverlochy. Holders of the Castle lost both times. It is a ruin but still substantial to this day.

  It rained most of the time, but there were some magnificent views of Been Nevis, and across the loch, but I am afraid the lambs in the paddock through which the Great Glen pathway passes were the cutest.

We had dinner in the hotel, which was twice as expensive as last night's, but about half as nice. There must be a moral in there somewhere.

A bit of a later start tomorrow which will be good as I think we are a bit tired.

Glasgow #2

This morning after breakfast we did our washing at the nearby laundromat, ably managed by a kindly lady who seemed to be doing about 10 jobs at once, including keeping an eye on stray tourists who might absentmindedly leave things in the washing machine.

Feeling much restored with a bag full of clean clothes, we strolled through the gardens to the Kelvingrove Museum.  It was a mixed bag of an experience. It is always a challenge for Museums to determine which audience to pitch for. This one seemed to go for the 10-12 year olds, and the captions on all the exhibits were well meaning but rather fatuous attempts to engage that age group. From what I could see, they were more interested in chasing each other or playing with the hand driers in the loo.

There was plenty of interesting stuff in there though. We we're interested to get a feel for Scottish art, and there were rooms devoted to The Glasgow Boys and the Colourists. But fairly hard to get a coherent narrative from what was on show. One thing we particularly liked was the Lafaruk Madonna, a tryptich painted by an Italian who was held as a prisoner of war during World War 2 in what is now Somalia. The painting  was done on flour sacks, and adorned the walls of a mud brick chapel. It was striking - Fra Angelico like angels and Madonna and child, but with the stark landscape of the camp as the background.

After lunch we caught the metro into down town Glasgow to have a look around, and for Anne to get some runners to supplement the ones which have become seriously waterlogged.  The Glasgow metro runs in a loop. The trains going one way run on the inside or "inner" track, trains going the other way on the "outer" loop. Which is perfectly logical and straight forward if you know that. But I didn't know that, which led to an exchange something like Me:"what platform does the train for Buchanan Street leave from?" Attendant behind plate glass "Outer" Me: "?Pardon?" Attendant:"OUTER" Me:"Sorry?"Attendant:"OUTER!" etc.

We shuffled up and down what seems to be the main shopping mall of Glasgow for a while. I particularly liked the clothes shop that had as it's window decoration hundreds and hundreds of old singer treadle sowing machines - I guess paying tribute to Glasgow's past as a textile and garment production powerhouse.

We caught the metro back to Kelvin Bridge, and walked past the eponymous bridge, with it's intricate wrought iron work,  itself a great example of Glasgow's past as a manufacturing hub.

For dinner we'd booked into a nearby Scottish Tapas restaurant that the taxi driver who drove us here had recommended. I was a bit dubious, to be honest, but it was fantastic, each tapas unique, Scottish, and delicious. And relatively cheap too. Best meal of the trip so far award to the Ox and Finch.

Tomorrow we are off early in the morning to catch the train to Fort William, which should be a change of pace. We have enjoyed Glasgow though. On the Kelvin bridge there is a rather strange coat of arms, with the motto "Let Glasgow Flourish". Amen to that.

Glasgow #1

We bid a fond​ farewell to Durham this morning. The train was packed with people heading to Newcastle, including a few squatters in our reserved seats. They tried to ignore us, but Anne evicted them, and we settled in to enjoy the beautiful scenery as the train winds it's way up the coast towards Edinburgh.

After Newcastle the voice over the past changed to almost impenetrable Scottish.

We determined that the train was going as far as Motherwell. We asked the impressive looking chap who came to check our tickets what we should do. He assured us that we should stay on to Motherwell, and there would be a bus waiting to take us to Glasgow. Motherwell had a nice comforting ring to it, so we sat tight.  When we arrived at a rather Dungey concrete station in the middle of nowhere, a similarly impressive looking chap advised us to follow the crowd up the stairs to the bus. A flurry of cursing passengers dragging huge cases bounced their way up the stairs.  When we arrived, two other chaps in fluoro vests told the by now cranky crowd to get lost, no buses for the likes of you here, none of our business.  The passengers seemed to have a higher than average percentage of people with personality disorders. General chaos. Welcome to Scotland. We were sent to another platform, and eventually another train appeared, and despite a persistent clunking noise, it carried us all slowly and safely to Glasgow station. Feeling a bit frazzled by this point we sprung for a taxi, and the driver was friendly and helpful, a good antidote to the earlier experience. The girl who checked us in was lovely. And the young waitress who sprinted about 500 metres after us to reunite me with my phone which I had left behind, well she sealed the deal - Glasgow people are really nice.

I went for a walk around Kelvingrove Gardens while Anne had a rest, then we had dinner at what claims, probably with some justice, to be Glasgow's best Indian restaurant. We sat next to a group of young women all of Indian descent, all clad in beautiful bright saris, who chattered away in Hindi, but would occasionally switch to English, which they spoke with broad Scottish accents.

After dinner we went for another walk through the gardens and past the rows of fine sandstone terraces that face the gardens. There must have been some serious money in Glasgow in the 19th Century. This side of the city has some impressive architecture, but the Stewart fountain, which commemorates the men who brought clean water to Glasgow, is perhaps best described as quaint. 

We have noticed that the twilight's seem to be more peaceful and magic the further north we go - just beautiful out there tonight.

Durham

A beautiful morning in York, and we retraced our steps over the river back to the train station in glorious sunshine. The train to Durham belts along at 120 mph, and the 98 k to Durham with one stop along the way, only takes an hour. Though we left in Bright sunshine the was  dark band of cloud on the horizon in the direction we were heading, and it was raining when we got off at Durham. We found our way to the hotel, and had lunch. By the time we were finished the weather had cleared.

We walked down the hill over the foot bridge through the old Town, then schlepped up the hill again to the magnificent Durham Cathedral. It was impressive, right from the Sanctuary Knocker on the door. 

The church houses the Shrine of St Cuthbert, Abbot of Lindisfarne where we will be going in a few months. After the Vikings raided Lindisfarne, the monks took St Cuthbert body from the island and toured with it for a number of years before, legend has it, the coffin - located at the site on which the cathedral stands today - became so heavy that the monks could lift it. They built a simple chapel over the coffin which subsequently grew to the mighty structure of today. The Durham Choral Society was singing Mozart's Requiem. The space, with it's massive patterned columns, vast stone vaulted ceilings, and austere lack of decoration, really is profoundly impressive. After sitting awestruck for a goodly while we paid our respects to St Cuthbert, then headed to the nearby cafe on Palace green.

In the the courtyard where we drank our tea there is a recent plaque commemorating Scottish prisoners of war from the Battle of Dunbar 1650, who died and we're buried on the spot. We we're having a nice cup of tea on the site of a mass grave of Scottish prisoners who had been kept in the Cathedral or the Castle, and who had died in their thousands from disease and starvation.

We wandered down to the river next, to get a different perspective on the city, hired a row boat for an hour. Good to get some upper body exercise. And nice to just drift along a bit watching the sights and the river's goings on - ducks and ducklings, gung ho rowing skiffs, ancient bridges,  a trio of lovely Muslim women meandering helplessly as they tried to work out how to row. We tried to give them a few pointers but their boat seemed to have a fatal attraction for the river bank. We left them to it, perhaps they are still there now.

We found our way home, had a rest, then a very nice dinner in the pub, then wandered out for a walk, stumbling upon a completely unexpected park land, the Vale of Flass which is both the site of a Bronze Age monument, Maiden Bower, and a significant site for the Battle of Neville's Cross. The place is so deeply overlayed with history, you sit down for a cuppa or go for a random walk, and something significant will be there. And/or it will be an area of outstanding natural beauty, so common they are signified by an acronym:AONB.

Tomorrow we leave England for a while and head across the border to Glasgow.

York #2

We had timed our visit to York, by pure chance, to coincide with the opening of a joint exhibition on the Vikings put on by York Museum and the British Museum. So we had a slow start, pottered the 400 metres or so through the gardens and the ruined Abbey, and we were there when the doors opened​.

York does tend to go in for the entertainment experience in it's historical displays - I guess it keeps all those people who like wearing period costumes employed - but the strength of this exhibition was the richness of the collection on display.

I really liked the hoards - literally buried treasure. They show just how far the Vikings engagement with the world stretched - Arabic as well as English as well as Viking coins, and demonstrate that they were ready to deal either by currency or by weight of silver.

Another cool part of the exhibition was the use of VR. There were a number of different helmets shaped like a viking amulet on display round the corner, each with a different scene. When you put the helmet on, and viewed the scene of the Vikings encampment, with the Vikings gathered round their fires, the helmet had a distinct wood smoke smell.

The museum itself is built over and includes sections of the Abbey ruins. It is very atmospheric - a sense of the layers of history, right down to the skeleton of a chap from roman times the builders discovered when they were digging the drain for the downstairs bathrooms.

The only downside was the soundtrack - the same few bars of the March of the Valkeries can do your head in after a while, and we had to flee to Betty's Tea Rooms, a substantial establishment about the same vintage as the Majestic in Lisbon. I feared it might be a bit twee, but the food was excellent and the service really nice. We have found the people here in the shops to be very friendly and a lot less stressed than London.

  Anne wanted to look in some shops so I headed over to the Castle Museum, which I mistakenly thought might have something to do with and include entrance to the adjacent Castle.  Unfortunately not, I discovered 10 pounds later.

We explored more of the tiny streets and lanes, then headed home for a rest. The York Museum ticket is good for the whole day so I headed back to check out the rooms pre Roman York and of Roman artifacts from their occupation.

Late in the afternoon we wandered down by the Ouze - a largely different collection of narrow boats down there tonight, and explored a different corner of the city before finding our way to the Chinese restaurant we'd picked for dinner.

We were forming some unrealistically Rosey views of York as some sort of modern Utopia, but the walk home brought us back to Earth - a succession of homeless people looking wretched on chilly rainy evening, a person slumped unresponsively in a doorway while a paramedic worked away and some deadbeat looking associates watched on, some really stoned or drunk people lurching across the road arguing vociferously. We were glad to get back through the park to commune with the squirrels and the pigeons, and to hunker down for the night back in our room.

Still, while clearly not without its share of social problems York is still a lovely place. I think if I lived in the UK, somewhere round would not be too bad.

Tomorrow we are up early and off to Durham, continuing our progress northwards.

York #1

The sun rises early in London this time of year and for some reason I was wide awake about 5.30, even though we didn't need to set off till 10. At least I was well organized by then.

We had our first experience with British national rail, which was very fast efficient and perfectly on time. Only criticism would be that the overhead racks are not big enough to fit most bags so they all end up in a pile near the door. And some of the other passengers make a heck of a lot of noise.

Whatever, the train rolled into the splendid York railway station a bit after one. York station, when it opened in 1877, was the largest in the world and it is a beautiful structure still today.

Our hotel is an easy and pleasant 10 minutes walk from the station. We are right across the road from a fine.  medieval chuch, St Olaves, and a statue of the Nowegian saint gazes across at us through our window.

York is a huge and welcome change from London, there are lots of pedestrian only streets, the street scapes with mediaeval, Tudor, and architecturally sympathetic more recently buildings (William Morris would approve of them I think), are largely intact, and the pace of life is vastly more relaxed.

We went for an orientation exploration walk, through the garden past the ruins of St Mary's Abbey, said hello to the squirrels, declined the chance to view the interior of York Minster at 10 pounds a head, walked along a section of the old city walls, found our way through tiny winding streets filled with houses with crazy bowing beams and angles, then back home for a rest before dinner, and a stroll along the banks of the Ouze with it's long boats and their little chimneys smoking away in the dusk.

It seems to be a lovely city. We are looking forward to exploring further tomorrow.

Red House, Bexleyheath

A visit to the Post Office first off, to send back a book and warm weather clothes which we probably won't be needing as we head North. It was a very reassuring experience - this post office exuded an air of calm competence, a feeling of efficient utterly reliable systems that would carry our parcels unerringly to their destinations.

John picked us up at 10, and the traffic was good so we got to Bexleyheath and the Red House well before their opening time.

I think we managed to schmooze the lady at reception, telling her we'd come from Australia to see the house, as she sent the three of us off on the 11.00 tour, leaving a large group who had just appeared to. cool their heels till the next tour at 11.30.

The house itself, built for William Morris, textile designer, poet, novelist, translator and social designer, and founder of the Arts and Crafts Movement, was claimed by the National Trust to be"one of the most influential buildings in the history of domestic architecture and garden design." Not too sure about that, but it certainly is a distinctive creation.

The house was built in 1859, in a style drawing upon Morris's thinking about the use of natural materials and on his interest in medieval and gothic architecture.

The location at the time was beyond what Morris described as the "creeping sore" of London. The creeping sore has well and truly reached Bexleyheath, and the house is surrounded by suburbia. Morris become a prototype commuter, walking three miles each day to catch a train to Bloomsbury in London, making for a three to four hour a day commute. I can relate to how hard that must have been. After six years, a combination of financial pressures and the wear and tear of living in what was then a fairly remote location led to Morris and his family leaving the Red House.

A beautiful place and a lovely garden, with lots of beautiful decorative touches remaining despite bits being carted off to other museums and galleries,  but it has a sort of melancholy air - a wonderful ambitious shot at creating an ideal beautiful place that would become the heart of a new movement, but one that didn't quite come off. You certainly get a sense of the intense creative energy of the man.

After lunch in the cafe, which was the original kitchen, we drove to John's house which is a mini gallery in its own right, and spent a pleasant few hours, before he dropped us right outside a shop in Greenwich which Anne wanted to visit. It was great to have a local to give us something of a Londoner's perspective on things - it made our visit here much richer than it would otherwise have been.

So, now we are psyching ourselves up to leave tomorrow. We will be sorry to leave Greenwich.