Sunday: Too late now

A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step, they say. The 12.00 to Paddington may be more prosaic, but just as practical.

And so to Kings Cross. Platfom 0? Really? I was hoping at least for 9¾…

No decent views of Peterborough Cathedral or York Minster today. Too much leaf on the trees beside the railway line.

“Electric trains stop here except for access to Table Slip Road”. Shunting yard outside Darlington station takes today’s prize for Best Combination of Bewildering and Unsettling in a Public Notice.

Newcastle to Carlisle by train, although it’ll be a bus after Hexham because of weekend engineering works. I’m on a ghastly Pacer railcar, a product of British Rail Engineering Ltd in Derby that’s as second-rate and cruddy as their HST (one of which got me to Newcastle) was a triumph. Pacers are basically buses with railway wheels. No bogies mean that they emit tortured metal-on-metal squeals when taking even the gentlest curve. Why does only the North have them? Put a few Surrey stockbrokers in one of them and there would be hell to pay. Hurrumph.

Sic transit gloria Geordie. At Blaydon station, the only shops I can see are Costa, Subway and Domino’s.

10pm in Carlisle. I’ve taken a quick look at the commemorative poppies installation in the castle (on tour here since last week), had some supper, and now it’s time for bed as I’m hoping to get an early bus to Bowness tomorrow. It’s still light, and things are only just beginning to get started in the clubs and bars. People seem to know one another here – there’s much friendly waving across the street.