It didn’t start so well.

If you have just stumbled across this entry I would suggest that you read my entry from the 10th June 2018 entitled, “I haven’t really got lost” as it explains exactly what is going on in relation to this particular series of entries which I hope to link sequentially if I ever work out how. They refer to a trip I am currently still on in my home country of Northern Ireland where I have been for jut over a week and may be for an unspecified time for reasons which I shall touch on now.

Obviously I shall not be going into details but my octogenarian Father has not been enjoying the best of health lately and it had been a while since I saw him so that was overdue. Coupled with this my younger brother had told me that there was to be a gathering of cousins from my late Mother’s side of the family so it really was a case of killing two birds with one stone

I really do dislike flying short haul now as it is just so much hassle for such a short time in the air. I do not particularly dislike flying per se but with the exception of London City which is a couple of miles from my home, it takes me a minimum of 90 minutes to get to any one of the other four “London” airports none of which are actually in London! Add to that the requirement to be at the airport two hours before departure and it makes for a long journey. If I am going home I fly into Aldergrove airport which is about an hour bus ride to central Belfast then another hour on a train to get to Portadown and then an irregular bus or a taxi to Tandragee.


My preferred mode of travelling back to Northern Ireland is a “railsail” ticket which includes train travel from London to Holyhead, ferry to Dublin and a train to any station in Northern Ireland. Somewhat oddly it does not include the bus from the ferry to Connolly station of the Busaras bus coach station) but even allowing for the €3 single the fare is certainly comparable with flying even on the “cheapo” airlines which I refuse to use anyway having been let down by them far too often.

It all starts at Euston station.

I had opted for the 1210 train as opposed to the 0910 boat train purely to avoid the rush hour on the Tube which is such a pain. The seldom used alarm function on my ‘phone did it’s thing and I woke in mid-morning feeling absolutely wretched. Whatever had been laying me low previously seemed to have return with a vengeance and I really felt like doing nothing except staying put and going back to sleep but I knew I would regret it if I did not go as planned so I forced myself into the shower, packed a small rollalong in a few minutes and headed out.

At this point I shall utilise a review I wrote for the now sadly demised Virtual Tourist website, suitably edited, which is still relevant as I do not see much point in re-writing something that took me so long in the first place. It actually refers to the journey the other way but the details are the same in reverse.

“When I began travelling in the 1970’s the only realistic way to travel to and from Northern Ireland was by boat as air travel was hideously expensive. Travel to London without driving involved either an overnight boat to Liverpool, a train to Larne and over to Stranraer with an awfully long train / coach trip or the Dublin / Holyhead option going through the Republic of Ireland and train or coach from North Wales. Frankly, none of them were a lot of fun.
As the years went on, air travel became more affordable especially with the advent of low-cost carriers and just about everyone adopted the aeroplane as their default mode of transport. I did the same myself but just recently I am becoming more and more disenchanted with air travel, especially within the British Isles. With the post 9/11 security regulations at airports, cost of travel to out-of-town airports, check-in hassles and now the appalling practice of having to pay through the nose for checked baggage I really am fed up with it. I recently worked out that is just about the same time for me to get door to door from my home in central London to the centre of Edinburgh without ever going near a ‘plane. It is also immeasurably more comfortable and I do not have to produce my passport to travel within my own country which really does annoy me.

I should mention here the excellent Man in Seat 61 website which is literally all the information you need for train travel you anywhere in the world. It really is essential reading if you are going to ride the rails. It was there that I discovered this travel option and I decided to check it out some years ago. I like train travel and time is not a major concern for me.  So what are the details? At time of writing it was £68 each way and you can book online which attracts a small fee but it is possible to purchase them at this price until 1800 the previous day or from any major UK rail station.

Heading for Chester.

My journey started at London Euston and involved a change at Chester. Some trains involve a further change at Crewe. I settled in my pre-reserved seat still feeling so rough I did not even fancy a coffee much less a drink. I did not even feel like reading which is unlike me and just sat and looked out the window at what was a pretty decent day. Had I wished to use my laptop, there were power points provided although you need to pay for wi-fi if you are not in first class.

Far more comfortable than cattle class in a cheapo airline ‘plane.

The day had started OK but the weather degenerated the further North and West we went which was a shame. It was sad the weather was so foul as the little I could see indicated that there was some lovely scenery with the journey along the North Wales coast and its numerous holiday destinations and caravan parks, crossing the Menai Straits and then across Anglesey, or Ynys Mon as it is locally called. I do remember reading that this was the last place there were considerable numbers of druids before the advance of Christianity obliterated them.

Trust me, you won’t get lost.

Here is the drill if you do take this route. The small railway station at Holyhead is actually the same building as the ferry terminal and is well signposted, you really shouldn’t get lost. If you should, for whatever reason, need the left luggage office (it was closed when I was there!), it is on the left at the end of the platforms as you walk towards the ferries. There is a shop and refreshment facilities. The pick up area is to the right as you walk from the station to the ferryport and if you want to walk into town the entrance to the left over the modern new walkway will lead you there.”

Across the Irish Sea.

I still was not feeling great but this was to prove the least of my worries. The route is jointly operated by Irish Ferries and Stena Line and I was due on the 1715 fast boat which, even allowing for the bus transfer in Dublin would leave me in plenty of time to get the Enterprise train North. I joined the queue and waited, and then we waited some more to the point it was clear we were never going to depart on time. We had our bags screened by security and let in a waiting room which certainly fulfilled its function as we waited, man did we wait! Included in the passenger list was a group of about thirty or so pupils from Bocombra Primary School which could potentially have been a right pain but in fairness to them and their teachers they were very well-behaved if a little noisy. We eventually got the bus for the short transfer to the ferry and it was nearly 1900 before we cast off and got underway. I knew that my 2050 train was looking extremely doubtful. What annoyed me was that at no point did I hear any explanation as to the delay although I am guessing it may have been to do with the very thick fog.

Again, I shall return to my earlier writings to describe the boat.

So much more comfortable than flying.

“The boat was a huge improvement on the cattleships of my distant memory with a lot of things to keep you amused. There are various eating and drinking options, large screen TV’s, comfortable lounges and even a cinema (extra charge). I have to say that the price of food and drink is pretty high onboard, probably something to do with the captive audience thing. Euros and sterling are both accepted and basically if you buy something in sterling then you get your change in sterling and the same with Euros.”

Comfortable as it was I neither ate, drank nor even read and was content to vaguely watch the news on the large screen TV and try to doze. There was certainly nothing to see out the window but fog.

We arrived in Dublin very late and I went to the bus where I paid my €3, having made sure I had some € on me. Last time I did not and was completely ripped off at the desk who changed € to £ at one for one. At this time of the night, there was nobody even on the desk so I would have been completely stymied. Had the bus left then and there I might have just made the train but the driver sat put until the people who had stowed their baggage had retrieved it from the baggage carousel. He seemed in no hurry with the driving either even though there was no traffic at all. The upshot of all this was that I arrived in Connolly Station 12 minutes after my train had departed. Brilliant!

I was sure it was a forlorn hope but I went to the information desk and, rather more in hope than in expectation enquired if there was another train that night which of course there wasn’t. I was effectively stranded in central Dublin on a Friday night with no accommodation and probably little chance of getting any. The guy on the desk was very helpful and phoned the bus station for me but nothing doing there. When I asked him about somewhere to stay he suggested a hotel just across the road or, failing that another one just around the corner.

The first one was posh, obviously expensive (Dublin is a very pricey city) and full. Ditto the second. The friendly young lady there suggested a nearby street near the bus station where there were several possible options. Her directions took me along a particular street and, lo and behold, what was there but Jacobs Inn, a sizeable looking hostel. At weekends Dublin is a magnet for hen and stag parties and I wasn’t really hopeful but it really was any port in a storm at this point. I wandered up to the desk and enquired to be told that I was in luck and I secured the very last bed in the establishment. The young man on the desk rather apologetically told me it was a 12 bed mixed dorm and it would be €36. “It’s the weekend,I’m afraid”, he said.

Jacobs Inn, a very welcome sight.

Even at 58 years of age hostels don’t bother me at all and I rather enjoy them in many ways as they are much more sociable than soulless corporate hotels and are great places to meet travellers. Having been in the Forces, communal living does not bother me in the slightest and in matters of accommodation all I really require is a clean bed long enough to fit my 6’5″ frame and a decent amount of hot water (or cold depending on the climate obviously) to shower in.

For some reason, probably operator error from this technophobe) I could not manage to ‘phone or SMS my brother to let him know the situation albeit that he was less than 100 miles away as the crow flies. I suspect it was because I was in another country although I really do not know. I sent him an e-mail from the dorm on the fast internet wifi, then headed for a look round.


Jacobs is one of the “new” breed of hostels that I made so much use of on my unexpectedly extended wander around Europe last Spring / Summer which will eventually form the basis of yet another travelogue as it is a Hell of a story. They are such a far cry from the places I hostelled in right back to the 1970’s with curfews, chores, lights out and no TV!  I really do rate them as a travel option in the 21st century and I am glad that the 26 years age limit is long gone or I would never get in. Whilst it is not common, neither is it unheard of for me to meet people of my own vintage. Beware you youngsters, the grey travellers are coming! It is a subject I shall return to in future.

A quick exploration showed the hostel to be spotlessly clean and well-kept with all the usual facilities and boasting a fourth floor roof terrace where I went for a smoke and which offers fine views over the city. Those that know me will find my next statement all but unbelievable but I was in Dublin City Centre on a Friday night with some brilliant pubs within about a 400 yard radius and I did not even go out for a single pint of Guinness! I sat drinking bottles of water in the company of three young American girls watching some American TV police drama on the large plasma TV. Normally I wouldn’t even think about watching something like that but I still didn’t feel up to doing much else and it did actually turn out to be reasonably enjoyable, something about a serial killer and FBI criminal profilers, just don’t ask me what it was called. I took my leave of the ladies and turned in a touch before midnight. Dublin will still be there next time.

As I was getting ready to “hit the pit” I had a look round the dorm and saw that most of the bunks were still empty so I was more or less prepared for a night of little sleep as various drunken rowdies returned at all hours of the night. In the event, the young people were impeccably behaved, tiptoeing about and whispering very quietly and still I got not a wink of sleep. I did give it a good go but I have a sleep disorder and am generally fairly nocturnal. Coupled with the fact I had been dozing most of the day, the warm embrace of Morpheus was never going to happen. I have learned not to even bother fighting it and lay there reading my book to pass the time.

I know that technically I am now into the 3rd of June so I shall break this here or it will get untidy.

Technical note.

Due to me feeling so bad I didn’t take any images on my way to Dublin so the images here are all from previous journeys although nothing has really changed and they are here merely to provide an idea.

Stay tuned and spread the word.

A totally schoolboy error.

So, all was set. Get the ludicrously early 0638 train to Harwich for the Hoek van Holland boat on Monday morning. That in itself was not a problem as I have a sleep disorder and staying up all night is no problem for me. I managed to miss the bus by seconds as the driver (typically Transport for London) chose to ignore me running for it having obviously seen me so I jumped in a taxi from the local firm which I have used for 30 years and made the train with loads of time to spare. I don’t intend to make this site a marketplace but I like to pass on useful information as well as observations and I do recommend Dell Cars for a taxi in the East End.

Onto the train and everything was looking great. Nice day on the boat, quick train transfer to Leiden and meet my friend for dinner, what could go wrong? Everything, and completely my own fault! We were approaching Shenfield station and I decided to do my usual check. I habitually do it before leaving home and I really wish I had on this occasion. Ticket – yes. Wallet with cards – yes. Passport – oh no. Holy blazes, how can a man as well-travelled as me forget his bloody passport? Schoolboy error and utterly unforgivable for an experienced traveller but that was the situation. I knew there was no way I could make the morning sailing so I turned round at Shenfield, got off at Stratford and got a bus home to regroup and replan. A very tasty Eggs Royale for breakfast en route in my local pub softened the blow somewhat.

Well, at least I got a decent breakfast.

I knew I really had to get to Leiden as I had let my friend down a couple of weeks previously when she had invited me to Lubljiana and I had cried off after initially agreeing to meet her there. I love Slovenia and I always have a great time with my friend but events overtook me and so it was Leiden or bust as they say.

Back again that evening to Liverpool Street, not even sure if my partially used ticket would be valid as I did not want to be arrested for fare-dodging or, worse still, let my friend down again having promised her to be in Leiden. Another delightful man called Karl (culled from his name badge) dealt with me at the ticket office and assured me that my ticket was still valid as it was for that day and I could use it on the night boat.That was a good result as it saved me another £63.

A fine boozer in every sense of the word.

I even had time for a pint in the Hamilton Hall which is a pub I am well acquainted with as it is the station bar there and is absolutely beautiful having been previously the ballroom of the adjacent very smart old railway hotel.  If you ever visit, look at the ceiling which is magnificent.  Don’t worry, it is a Wetherspoons pub which means it is very good value for both food and drink.

A pleasant and relatively uncrowded train took me onward to Harwich. OK, it was a bit full as far as Chelmsford but I did manage to get a seat which is rarely the case on a commuter train on the utterly disgusting British rail system now. Our rail network has been appallingly fragmented and sold off to (mostly) foreign companies who treat them as nothing more than a cash cow for their shareholders. The travelling public, who have to pay their obscene prices, be damned!


I got to Harwich a couple of hours before the 2300 sailing time and asked the guy on the check-in if there was a decent pub in the vicinity. He answered in the negative, saying that the port was a bit out of the way and suggesting I check in as the onboard bar would be open.

This is not always the case on international ferries due to international waters, licensing laws and so on. Well, that sounded like a plan to me.

It must have been all of 400 yards!

The pedestrian gangway is being replaced at present and so a ludicrously short bus journey was required to get to the vessel.


There are two vessels plying this route, the Brittanica and the Hollandia and I was on the latter. Passengers are effectively restricted to three decks. 10 and 11 are the cabin accommodation and nine is the area for bars, the cinema which shows first run films at €8:50 for adults (2017 price), bureau de change, shopping and all the appurtenances of a modern ferry.

Your boarding pass also serves as your keycard for the cabin door and I got into my cabin with no problem. However, a problem did arise when I tried to use the keycard to turn on the lights as you have to put the keycard in a slot as is now so often the case in hotel rooms. Try as I might, I could not get it to work. Stena, the operators, very helpfully station two crew members at the stairway on each level to assist passengers and I just knew by looking at them that many were Philippino as I have spent a considerable amount of very enjoyable time in that lovely country. I was to be proved correct later on but back to the saga of the dark cabin.


I spoke to one of the crewmen on deck 11 and he said it was quite a common problem and gave me a plastic “swipecard” as opposed to the cardboard boarding pass, and it worked a treat. The treat was increased when the light finally did dawn as the cabin was a delight as I hope the images convey. I had sole occupancy of a double cabin with bunk beds which was very well-appointed with TV (UK and Dutch channels), en suite bathroom where the water in the shower proved to be piping hot and a good pressure, and I was very pleased with it. As always, my dear friend Mr. Gayton had steered me in exactly the right direction (he is a very experienced traveller) and I was very pleased with my “digs” for the night.

I have mentioned elsewhere that I stand 6’5″ in my bare feet and beds can be a problem lengthwise but I was able to stretch out fully and not touch the bulkhead at either end. I reckon the bed must have been 6’7″ or 6’8″ easily and as well as being a very decent length was extremely comfortable with the provided duvet keeping me warm enough. It was an inside cabin but that was no problem as it was going to be night and there would have been nothing to see anyway!

I dumped my pretty meagre kit and headed straight for the bar as I was thirsty as usual. The barman who dealt with me was extremely friendly and from his appearance, accent and occupation as a seaman I was sure that he too was Philippino so I decided to chance my luck a bit and show off. As we chatted (he spoke perfect English) I dropped into the conversation the line “Which island are you from, Luzon? For those that don’t know, Luzon is the large island in the Philippines which is home to the capital, Manila. In due course, I shall be writing a journal about my trip there here on the site. He beamed a smile at me in that ultra-typical Pinoy (Phillipino) fashion and answered in the affirmative, naming a place in Northern Luzon that I had never even heard of. He seemed somewhat amazed that I had even been to his home country and genuinely delighted when I told him I had spent five months there so we chatted some more as the bar was pretty quiet on a Monday night in early April.

I loved this little detail.

Despite the smoking fascism that exists all over Europe now, Stena (the ferry operators) have had the common good sense to have a dedicated smoking lounge (just beside the Riva bar on deck nine) and so I stationed myself in there armed with a pint of Strongbow and my trusty Marlboro Lights to set about writing the start of this journal as I had set myself a task to try to keep one reasonably “live”.

The duty free I didn’t bother with as it isn’t – it is Federal states of E tax.

Just a quick word about the smoking. I know it is ruinous for my health not to mention equally ruinously bad for my bank balance given the obscene taxes imposed by my Government but I have been doing it for over 45 years now and there is no way I’ll ever be able to stop. I do urge anyone reading this (if anyone does) and especially young people that if you are thinking about smoking then think again. It is a bloody stupid thing to do and I do not recommend it in the slightest despite smoking up to two packs a day myself although I am cutting down a bit. You literally might as well take banknotes out of your wallet and set fire to them, at least that way you’ll save your lungs! Here endeth the health lesson but I feel it is worth saying and so back to the journal which is what I am supposed to be doing here.

Suitably refreshed and with nicotine levels raised above the critical I adjourned to my lovely cabin, had a quick chapter of my excellent book whilst glancing at the BBC news and turned in for a wonderful night’s sleep. This may seem like a fairly unremarkable event but those that know me will know that I suffer from a sleep disorder, as mentioned previously, and am generally nocturnal and insomniac so a good night’s kip was a real added bonus.


I will actually get to the Netherlands in the next entry so stay tuned and spread the word.


Sadly, it is home time again.

Despite the slight excess (I stress slight as it was in my terms) of the previous day I was up early as I had to vacate my room because this was to be the last day of my trip and I had an evening train booked back to London. I asked the young lady in the bar if it would be possible to leave my kit there rather than lug it around and she very kindly agreed to stow it for me. I should mention at this point whilst researching for this small series of blogs that I read, admittedly on the rather good Calderdale Tourist website in the interest of fair reporting, that people round here are very friendly and I cannot find any fault with that statement.

IMG_6936 - Copy
Proper Ulster Fry breakfast – heart attack on a plate.

I mentioned that I rarely take breakfast and that is true except when I am back in Northern Ireland and eat an Ulster Fry literally every day but usually about 1400 so I suppose it is properly brunch! These fries are monumental things and would give a heart doctor the twitches due to the level of choresterol involved and although it is not strictly relevant to this I am going to post am image here of the type of things involved and perhaps the reason why I don’t eat breakfast too often!

They should really serve this on a sideplate, it looks a bit lonely there!

However, I headed back to the Percy Shaw which features in  previous entries to partake of something that I really love i.e. poached eggs in all their myriad forms. Admittedly, it was about 1030 by the time I got round to eating so I was about ready for it. I do like Eggs Benedict but my absolute favourite is Eggs Royale and Wetherspoons do a very good version. It came with the eggs poached just how I like them and offered with a very pleasant Hollandaise sauce not to mention the undoubtedly farmed salmon, tasty as it was.  At less than £5 (2015 price) it was good value as is all the food here. Another breakfast favourite is the pancakes with bacon and maple syrup described in a previous entry (two back in Todmorden) and which again was a steal at less than £3 (2015 price) although it is not much more now.

I cannot give actual prices as I edit this in December 2018 as Wetherspoons do not have a national pricing policy and prices vary according to location. I suppose it is to do with overheads. I know their airport outlets are stupidly expensive for a “no-frills” chain. However, enough of this, you are probably here (all 20 of my “followers” (whatever that means in computer speak) at the last count and thank you again) for a following a meagre travelogue so here is the one for this day, sparse as it is but I like to wrap a project up.

I had no plans for the day as the only other building I really wanted to see was the Piece Hall but it was right in the middle of a three year, £19 million refurbishment so that was not an option. I went for yet another fairly aimless wander about doing not much of anything. I had a couple more pints, including a farewell drink in the Old Post Office which I was genuinely sad to leave, walked to the station and caught my train back to London, all without incident. I got home about midnight, crawled into my pit a fairly tired but happy man.

Time at home then for a bit of reflection, not that night obviously but later.  What had I learned?

There is still a stereotype within my country that Yorkshiremen are dour, tight-fisted and not accepting of “foreigners” i.e. anyone from the next county never mind country. The stereotype does not appear to have migrated to the fairer sex yet although presumably some equality warrior with nothing better to do shall soon take the matter to Court insisting she should be stereotyped like her brother.

Obviously I have met Yorkshiremen before I went there this time as a 55 year old man. I served with them in the Forces and literally put my life in their hands, and they in mine at which point stereotyping goes out the window a bit, don’t you think?

As I hope my blogs here have shown I was met with nothing but friendliness, civility, good humour and numerous small acts of kindness for which I thank each and every one of the anonymous people who were responsible for them. Even after 30 years living in London I still have a very strong Northern Ireland accent and so was very obviously an outsider and yet I felt very much at home there.

How then to summarise the whole adventure, for such it was. I had visited many places I had never been, had a superb time with dear friends doing something that may well be my favourite leisure activity, met some fascinating people and learned so much along the way as I tend to do when I travel.

I would love to go back to West Yorkshire and undoubtedly will in the fullness of time although I think I would base myself somewhere different. Don’t get me wrong, I loved Halifax but I would merely like to go somewhere else to see some other places. As I write this I am formulating a plan to walk the disused arm of the Halifax canal down to Salterhebble, then walk the Rochdale all the way round. It is only about 17 miles or so and a couple of days will do that, at least it will if I can manage to keep out of all the excellent pubs I told you about! After that the Rochdale joins onto another group of different waterways in what I believe is called the South Pennine Ring so matters can be extended as far as required.

I do hope that my meagre writings here have given you a sense of what I saw and did and how much I enjoyed myself and I trust they were in some way informative. Much as I loved my former websites, I really am getting to like this idea of having my own which I know is not going to be taken away from me unless kaufer has his goons eradicate it so if this site disappears you will know what has happened.

My main problem is that there is so much to do and I do not know what to tackle next. Even with some of it already written it has taken me literally weeks just to cover seven days here. I have three extended trips to Canada to cover, three to Sri Lanka, a month in Malta, three long distance footpaths around London, the list just goes on and on. Northern Ireland anyone?  Scotland?  Madeira?

I’ll tell you what, we shall make it easy on both of us. You shout out a country and I’ll tell you if I have been there and then write about it. How does that sound? I have not decided what I will do next but I’ll let you know and until then stay tuned and spread the word.

That is why I spend basically all my waking hours on here, I want to get people to travel. Is that such a bad thing? I know all about finance and holiday allowances and family / partner pressure but forget that, it is just snowflakes by the fire.

All I want people to know is that this site is honest. If they do, then I am happy. I had not expected this potentially “last chance saloon” especially as I refuse to use social media.  I do  thank you for being kind to an old technophobe.

Again, stay tuned and spread the word.