Blighty 2025 - Travel

Yesterday was our third and final trip into London. We drove to Didcot Parkway railway station again, paid the nearly £8 parking fee and walked into the station concourse, as we had previously, although this time I had our travel tickets, printed when I collected the previous trip's tickets.

There had been an "Incident" somewhere between Didcot and London that was messing up the train schedule, but we managed to board a packed train that was stopping only at Reading and London. The rail network in and around London is amazing, so complex and heavily used, and it runs fairly well on any given day. Incidents, though, do mess things up and I doubt that the 1320hrs to London would have been that busy otherwise. But we all had seats, and the train was fast, and we emerged from it into the vast cavern that is Paddington Station, and I hit the noise filter on my hearing aids. London is such a noisy place.

We had to make a quick run to an Argos store, the reason isn't important. I divined that there was one some fifteen minutes walk from the station, but why walk when you have a Transport for London (TfL) Oyster card in your pocket? After the mandatory loo break, we stood on Eastbourne Terrace, curiously on the west side of the station, and waited for a bus. Now the TfL phone app is a thing of wondrous beauty, and while I had already worked out that we could get a Number 7 bus, the app said we could get a 36 as an alternative. Sure enough, a 36 lurched around the corner and we boarded it for the short trip to George Street, on the Edgeware Road.

Then it was off to Portobello Road, also on a Number 7 bus, only this time going west, not east. The app said there was "Disruption" on the route, so it was an unusual ten minute wait, but the bus wasn't too busy and we made our way up to the top deck for the fifteen minute ride. 

I have a social comment to make here, and it's about mobile phones. I have one, yes, so I don't eschew the whole rationale behind them, but boy are they ever intrusive? There was a man at the bus stop, walking around and talking loudly into his phone. He got on the bus of course, and continued to talk loudly into his phone. He got off the bus and he was still talking loudly into his phone. Everyone else was treated to half his call, which was nice. That was just one, though. All day we encountered people talking loudly into their phones while riding the bus, or the tube, or walking down the street, or whatever. Are these people so important that they can't wait to hold their long conversations until they find somewhere quieter and more private? I guess it's me getting old, but it doesn't seem too difficult to me to keep phone calls to less public places. I mean, what did these folks do before the invention of the shouting machine? 

Dear Wife made another social comment. She said she liked getting away from the tourist-dominated parts of Central London and mingle with some of the people who live in the great Metropolis. West of Paddington you're into Ladbroke Grove, where the people are more likely to be residents. The ethnic mix of Londoners is wonderful to see, and to hear, and I don't care what the current obsession with right-wing politicians is about, diversity IS strength. 

In Portobello Road is a market. There's a different one every day, for six days a week. I'm not sure what Monday's theme was but the road was closed to traffic and it was lined on both sides by stalls selling all sorts of weird and wonderful stuff, including what's known these days as "Street Food", which smelled divine. The street is also home to masses of interesting little shops, cafes and restaurants, and I'd imagine that you could happily spend many hours there. Unfortunately for us, Charlie was tired and was hankering for a ride on the Underground, so we fairly whisked along through the market, to our destination which was a shop used as a filming location in the second Paddington Bear movie. Sadly, Charlie wasn't much interested in the shop, but we did get the photos before moving off to the Underground Station at Notting Hill Gate. There are a lot of terraced houses in that part of Town, gentrified for sure, very expensive to buy, but very nice to observe as we walked. Many were brightly painted, but the presence of so many Banham door locks and burglar alarms told us these were wealthy people's homes in what was once a poor part of London. There were some bulky, brick built, 1920s London County Council apartment blocks, but even those looked to have been sold off. Margaret Thatcher is responsible for a lot of bad stuff, I can tell you.

We were making for Waterloo Station and a rendezvous with family. Charlie enjoyed his Tube ride, and we enjoyed another loo break and a snack, while people watching in that other huge cavern of a railway station. Unfortunately there was a very loud busker giving it some welly close by, and that added to the general level of the noise.

Heading home from Waterloo, we rode the Tube again, straight to Paddington this time. As we approached Paddington, though, the train's guard came onto the PA system and said that there was no rail service westbound out of Paddington. What? I had visions of trying to get hotel rooms in London for the night because there is no real alternative to getting to Didcot and the car other than by train. As we came up into the mainline station, though, I was mightily relieved to see the departure boards all functioning as they should, and trains apparently running normally. The guard on the Tube train clearly had old information and, as our arch-researcher, DW, discovered, the cause of the rail disruption was in fact the "incident" that had occurred in the morning and was long resolved. Although not specifically labelled as such, it looked like someone had decided to end it all on the tracks at Hanwell Station. The language of the reports suggested suicide, and the reference to The Samaritans kind of sealed it. I can't imagine being moved to do such a thing, and while lots of people were delayed earlier in the day, that's as nothing compared to the poor person at Hanwell.

We ran to catch a fast train back to Didcot, which was packed, of course. I upset everyone when I said to a young woman that she shouldn't have her shopping bags on the train seat when it's so busy, and she gave up her shopping bags' seat, and her sitting seat, and left the car entirely! Maybe I shouldn't have said that bit out loud, but it pisses me off when people use seats for their bags, very clearly in the hope that no one will sit next to them. I saw it on the morning train, too, and some people are just so polite that they won't ask, nay demand, that people leave the seats for people, and not for bags. I guess years of commuting frustration got to me.

Despite all my grumbles, the public transport network actually functions really well in and around London, and the fact that just about every train we caught was packed full tends to speak of its success. I am not a fan of privatised trains and their labyrinthine ticketing, but with tighter Government control, things are getting better. TfL's Oyster Card is great, as is its control of public transport within the Capital. I'm not saying it's as cheap as chips to use TfL's services, but the cost of getting around in London these days is acceptable. Kids who are eleven and under travel free in London, too, although five and over have to have their own, free, Oyster Card. Isn't that great?

We're done travelling to London now, at least for this trip. I will be reporting on the fun and games in Andy Burnham's Greater Manchester travel systems next week. Watch this space.

Blighty 2025 - The Paddington Bear Experience

Trip number two to the Big Smoke, London, and a visit to the Paddington Bear Experience for young Charlie.

I'd managed to replicate the good deal on train fares from Didcot to London, so we made our way there in time to get a mid-morning train. Trying to negotiate the payment machine in the car park, I realised that I may not have paid for the full stay last week, so I'm wondering if there will be an excess charge waiting for me at the car hire place when we return the car. That and the speeding ticket I may have picked up. Tsk.

The morning trains into London are busy, so we elected to take the slow train that started from Didcot, having seen the hordes awaiting the fast train from somewhere further west. We were right, too, because as the fast train pulled out of the station, there were people standing in its aisles. It's an interesting sight for people who live in North America to see a fast and very frequent service to London always rammed full. Public transport in Ontario is sparse, expensive and, as a result, poorly used.

We arrived in London with plenty of time to spare, and made our way by Tube to Westminster to witness Big Ben sounding out the twelve "bongs" of noon. The trouble was, just like our visit in 2023, it was pouring with rain. We shuffled around a bit in the lobby of the Tube station, bought a quick Greggs lunch and ate it standing up outside the shop. At about 1140, we ventured out and the rain had mostly moved on, so we took up a position part way across Westminster Bridge and waited in the spitting rain and blustery wind, admiring the iconic scenery of Central London. London is constantly changing, so the skyline is quite different compared to when I moved to London in 1977. But, most of the older buildings have been cleaned up and are no longer soot-blackened. Indeed, Big Ben's home, the Elizabeth Tower, has been so well restored that it looks new.

Bongs duly delivered, we shuffled over to the old Greater London Council's offices on the South Bank, which is now a hotel and home to various tourist attractions, including the Paddington Bear Experience. On the way, we took a quick gander at the National Covid Memorial, something the conspiracy theorists and anti-vaccination people should do, it's sobering. That side of the river, opposite the Palace of Westminster, is often used as a film location, and if I can dig out my favourite photo of Ingrid Bergman and Alfred Hitchcock there, I'll add it to the blog.

I opted not to partake in the Paddington Bear bonanza, but grandson, grandma and mum were ushered in, some way in advance of the time on their tickets. I shuffled off in search of a seat, maybe in a bar or a coffee shop, but ultimately never found one. I don't like drinking in pubs on my own, nor sitting in coffee bars, and I wasn't in the least bit hungry, so I walked around Waterloo Station for a while, then made my way back to the pre-arranged meeting spot. Sadly I had underestimated the Paddington Experience time, and spent the next hour waiting alternately outside by the river, or inside the building when it rained, all without a seat.

While there, I spent my time admiring all the adult teachers and chaperones leading big lines of school children on their summer day out (what a job!), listening to the multitude of languages being spoken, and marvelling at just how noisy London is, even outside. Perhaps I should have turned my electric ears off?

When the Paddington thing was done, and a good time was had, I believe, Emma decided to take Charlie on the London Eye, the big wheel thing by the river. It was £42 for her and £38 for him, so a combined total of £80, which was far too rich for us grown ups, and frankly quite the rip-off for a 25 minute spin on a wheel. There were combination deals available that dropped the individual price if you visited other attractions, but the costs were alarming when you add them all up. It is expensive in London, I know that, but there's some serious gouging going on in the tourist hotspots. It was ever thus, I suppose, but it annoys me all more now I'm older.

We had an afternoon to use up, and the rain had abated, so we decided to head up to Chalk Farm and the filming location for the Brown's house in the first two Paddington Bear films. There's some serious money (and a lot of Range Rovers) in Primrose Hill, and it showed as we walked through leafy streets. I'm sure the owners of 30 Chalcot Crescent must get fed up with with people photographing their house, but we did it anyway.

From Chalcot Crescent we walked through to Primrose Hill Park, and that wonderful vantage point over London that features in so many films (although curiously not Padding Bear films). It's quite a steep walk up there, but the view was a great reward. For Charlie to see the London Eye and the Elizabeth Tower from up there made the excursion worthwhile.

Michael Cain at Primrose Hill in the film, The Fourth Protocol

An executive decision was made to schlepp over to Hackney to visit Sutton and Son's Fish and Chip shop, home of the extensive chip shop vegan menu. We were there in 2023, and really enjoyed the food, so felt it was worth the effort of getting there.

Transport for London (TfL) has an excellent phone app that will plan you a journey based on your location, but it has to be used with some discretion. The first couple of options it threw up would have taken us on exciting trips through London but without getting us very far, very quickly. Using my local knowledge, I filtered out the impractical options and went for a bus to Camden Road Station, and the Mildmay Line to Hackney Central. There were other options has I chosen to go to Hackney Downs station, or any other location nearby, but when you enter a specific location, the app has no discretion, although you have to use some.

The traffic was bad, but sat on the top deck of a bus it doesn't seem so awful. We missed a train at Camden Road, faffing around using the lift at the station, and the next train that came along, only ten minutes later, was rammed. But it was only a few stops, and we tumbled out of the train with lots of other people at Hackney Central. It's only a short walk around to Graham Road, and Sutton's. Well, the meal was fab, as it was before, and made a fitting final event of the day. 

Emma made the point that in Hackney, were surrounded not by tourists, but by local people, and it made her happy to think that. I'd add that the ethnic mix in Hackney is wonderful; everyone's a Londoner, but from a multitude of global backgrounds. It's excellent.

I had planned to go back to Town on the bus, but was outvoted by Charlie, We climbed onto another rammed Mildmay Line train to Highbury and Islington, then onto rammed Tube trains back to Paddington Station and our train back to Didcot. All the day's running around had been using our pre-paid Oyster Cards, just tapping into a station and back out at the other end, or tapping onto a bus. There are lots of other ways to pay your way, but Oyster is easiest and cheapest. This was our second time in London on this trip and I'd still only used about £15 of the £25 I'd pre-paid. We may need to top the cards up for our next visit, but given all the travelling we'd done, it's been great value.

Back at Padddington Station, we had to wait a short while as our cheap day tickets were not valid until after 7pm. The first fast train was up on the destination board, but no platform number was listed. The platform was only indicated with about nine minutes to go before the train was due to leave, which meant a massive crush of people suddenly headed to the entry gate at once. This is standard practice at London termini, and I'm not sure I understand why given that the train had been sat at the platform when we arrived at the station. Network Rail who operate the stations, and the train companies, have been roundly criticized for this practice, particularly at Euston where crushes of people have reached dangerous proportions. It doesn't seem like anything has been done to address the issue, though. I can't imagine having to suffer this day after day.

The fast train was fast and we were back at Didcot before 8pm, and home by 9pm. A very long day, for sure, but heck, that's what we're here for.

Blighty 2025 - Unplanned Oxford

 A sound sleep did help, but not as much as I'd have liked, and it was still a stressed morning as everyone started to find their feet in their new surroundings. Still, the shower was nice.

We had another run into Witney to complete the immediate supplies requirement. It was still busy through Burford, where despite a perfectly good, and free, Car Park at the bottom of the town, people were causing all manner of traffic-related problems while they tried to park at the side of the main road. 

Sainsbury's in Witney was very busy, which is something we're not used to, comparatively speaking. Charlie was "wired" and had to be withdrawn from the fray so that Mummy and Grandma could complete their shopping without losing their minds completely. Back at the cottage, Charlie's excitability continued, so his mother decided that a ride on a train might help. With remarkable spontaneity, off we trotted to the village of Charlbury where a reasonably priced train ticket could be had for the seventeen minute run into Oxford.

I'd never been on "The Cotswold Line", and like a lot of Britain's railways, it's been brought back from near death over the past few decades by paying passengers wanting to go into London after moving out into the countryside. The train, a nine(!) car Hitachi set in the dark green of the Great Western Railway company, pulled up at the tastefully refurbished station. (I just read about the station, and it's second platform and double track were reinstated in 2011 after being removed in 1971. The reinstated platform was extended to accommodate the nine car sets in 2018). It had come from Great Malvern and was heading into London Paddington, carrying a fair few more passengers than I'd expected, especially given that it was a Saturday. I pulled a face about the nine car set because that's a very long train compared to the five car sets on most UK Cross Country operated trains that do far longer distances. Indeed, there was even an hourly service in each direction on that route, which kind of knocks spots off Canada's VIA Rail's sad attempt at providing a service with a four car train only four times a day servicing Chatham Ontario.

Anyway, a swift seventeen minutes later we were walking into an incredibly busy Oxford, not looking for anything in particular. Goodness, but Oxford is vibrant. Obviously it's a university town, the university town I suppose, so there are hordes of young people about, but it was also full of day trippers and longer-term, more serious tourists as well. With Charlie in tow, it's not easy to walk around too much, so we visited a Pret A Manger store for a snack, a gift shop for some gifts, and did a small circuit that included Cornmarket Street, the Covered Market, Turl Street and Broad Street. It is a fabulous little town, even when crowded, and I'd recommend it to anyone visiting the UK, and that's not mentioning all the fabulous colleges and museums that you can visit if you stay longer. The high point of the day was witnessing one of Farage's Reform/right-wing "National Strike" demonstrations in town. There were about a dozen "Reformers" waving Union flags (the biggest of which was upside down), two dozen Police officers, and hundreds of counter-demonstrators waving Pride flags and easily out-demonstrating the Reformers. Fun, fun, fun. 

When Charlie started to get anxious about missing the train, we made our way back to the station, and then back to Charlbury and the car. We took a detour around the lanes to get chips from a place in Witney, but the little fellow had crashed out in the car and he wouldn't even eat his vegan nugget thingies when we arrived home. He cuddled with his mum and went to bed, which was really him doing what we all wanted to.

If things go according to plan, we'll go a little further afield tomorrow, but that's another day.

Plymouth (The Original One) 2024 - Homeward Bound

We had an interesting trip back to Canada, starting with the very nice taxi driver who hailed, he said, from Czechoslovakia (not the Czech Republic or Slovakia, you will note). Very chatty and with a better command of English than me. He was driving a Toyota Prius, which seems to be the choice of taxi drivers in provincial towns, as that model of car has conveyed us around quite a lot.

On Plymouth Station, waiting for the London train, we watched with interest as an empty five-car Hitachi set rolled in and stopped halfway along the platform, waiting it turned out for a similar five-car set to arrive from Penzance. At Plymouth, they were to be coupled together to make a ten-car train to London. Only they didn't couple together. The fancy self-coupling system failed, and after twenty-five minutes of the railway people trying, we were about to have the whole train cancelled on us, even though there was a perfectly serviceable five-car set right in front of us. Sanity prevailed, though, and the set from Penzance was abandoned while everyone piled onto what should have been the first half of the train. Once again, all seat reservations were cancelled and the train became very busy. Of course, running late were were going to get stuck behind stopping trains, and despite the "Train Manager" asserting otherwise, the slower trains did delay us and our original twenty-five minutes late became forty-five minutes. It wasn't an issue for us because we'd built a big cushion in our plans, but the poor guy across the aisle was chuntering the whole way as he was going to miss his connection at Reading. 

 

Apparently we could have claimed compensation for the late arrival of the train at Paddington, but frankly I couldn't be arsed. 

The Heathrow Express from Paddington to the airport is indeed an express, albeit an expensive one. Fifteen minutes into the airport from Central London is not to be sniffed at, though, if you've ever had to negotiate traffic and transit in that big city. We didn't pay the top fare, though, because we are smart people.

We arrived at the airport with no more issues, checked in and went through security. I had the whole body scan treatment, shoes wiped and everything, because I'm special, and we headed into the huge shopping mall, sorry, departures area, to await our flight. Given this was a Saturday afternoon in October, it was horribly busy in there, so we opted to go out to the departure gate straight away. I say straight away, but we had our sandwiches first. Who wouldn't?

As with the flight two-weeks ago, it pushed back bang on time and we were heading west in our surprisingly uncomfortable Airbus A350 seats. Also like the outbound flight, of the three meal options offered, two were curry. What is this obsession with curry? Naturally they'd run out of the non-curry dish by the time the meal cart arrived at our seats, so I was well and truly buggered. The flight attendant was beside herself that I had no food, and searched the entire aircraft for a non-curry meal but couldn't find one, so I went hungry. Given that I had eaten a month's worth of food in the previous two weeks, it really wasn't a hardship, but why give up a reason to feel aggrieved? Such a crappy choice of meals kind of calls into question the whole idea of having two out of three meals essentially the same. Don't worry, I have let British Airways know my displeasure, as you knew I would.

In Toronto it all went smoothly. I had filled in the ArriveCan app on my phone before departure, so our customs declarations were ready to go when we went through the passport scanner. People of a right-wing bent here in Canada get very upset at the mention of that App, built as it was to ease the COVID limitations. Me, I'm very happy to be able to do stuff on the app and sail through the airport with comparative ease. If you're a Canadian arriving home by air, the ArriveCan app is the mutts nuts.

Another bit of app automation is the Park N Fly airport parking. I logged the fact that we'd arrived in the terminal, agreed the price (already quoted when we dropped the car off) and immediately was issued with a bar code with which to exit the parking lot. The bus from the airport to the parking lot was driven by Michael B, a jovial man of Jamaican heritage who crammed lots of people on, which was a good thing because he wanted to get people home, and talked himself into a load of very good tips. The car was waiting at the lot, so we loaded up, used the app barcode to get out of the lot, and then we were on our way. That's the kind of app that makes me glad I have a smartphone.

We didn't have to go too far, which was good because even though it was only 9pm in Toronto, our bodies thought it was 2am. We had a room booked at a Marriott hotel in Mississauga for the night, about twenty minutes from the airport. When you just want to get your head down, the general state of the place isn't too important, but this hotel could have been a little more on the ball. The poor woman on Reception was on her own and rushed off her feet, our room was decorated in the current hotel room vogue of "Dark", and the single beside light didn't work. DW tried calling reception, but the aforementioned Reception clerk was too busy to answer the phone, so a visit to the desk was required. The maintenance man turned up quite quickly and fiddled with some wires to get the light working, which did at least make the room usuable. While he was doing that, we took stock and decided that the housekeeping at this hotel could have been a wee bit more thorough. It wasn't horrible, but at nearly $200 a night for an out-of-town hotel room, you can expect better. Indeed, the whole room looked tired, although that seems to be the norm these days.

We did get to bed at a sensible (Toronto) time, and I slept through until 2:30am when I was woken by people crashing around in the corridor outside. I went back to sleep, although DW had a similar experience at 3:30am. I guess that's what happens at hotels close to airports. I was wide awake at 5am, though, and while the dawn dawned, listened to an podcast about the rise of Hitler, as you do. It's alarming that the similarities between old Adolph and today's right-wing populists are striking.

We had planned on a vegan breakfast at a local Copper Branch outlet, but it was closed this Sunday morning, so we set off down Highway 401 in glorious sunshine and way more traffic than should be allowed on a Sunday. A word about driving the the Greater Toronto area; it's friggin' crazy. The speed limit is 100kph, but to find anyone else doing less than 110 would be a miracle. The general speed in around 120, with many going much faster, and weaving between the many lanes in order to make progress. They drive feet from the back of other vehicles at this speed, too, and it's no wonder there are so many rear-enders. There's a new High Occupancy Vehicle (HOV) lane on the way out of Toronto, but unless you're doing at least 130, people are trying to drive over the top of you. I don't use that lane unless the main lanes are slow because I don't want to drive that fast, I don't want to use so much fuel, I'm not in that much of a hurry and I don't want a speeding fine. That last one is never going to happen, though, because the Provincial Police have given up enforcing the rules. They won't stop anyone unless they're going fast enough to merit having their car impounded - it's known as Grandstanding I think.

Anyway, apart from the lunatics, the people driving in the middle lane, the trucks using the left-lane and the tailgaters, it was a very pleasant run. The temperature reached 22C (October 20th!), and the red, gold and yellow trees were spectacular in their autumn colours. The traffic did thin out as we went westwards, and we didn't really get held up the the construction zones. We did stop off in London (Ontario) for a different vegan breakfast at Odd Burger, then in was a gentle run home with no other distractions that US plated cars driving significantly over the speed limit as they made their way home. Call me a crusty old git, but I do think visitors to another country really should have a stab at obeying that country's laws. When they know that they're never going to get caught, though, I guess it's a free for all.

 

That was the run home. We've had better travel experiences, but we made it in one piece, which is really the most important thing.

Plymouth (The Original One) 2024 - The Arriving

 Another trip eastwards and across the ocean for us, this time to DW's ancestral home Plymouth. Not the Plymouth of Massachusetts, but the one in Devon from whence the Mayflower sailed. We haven't brought the Airstream, obviously, but I thought I'd document the trip here, especially given that we might have been camping were we not in Merrie Olde England.

Travelling to England is always expensive, and always a chore. We'd booked the best price seats we could manage given that we wanted a full service airline, Premium Economy seats, and a direct flight (so not cheap), and placed our faith in British Airways from Toronto's Pearson Airport to London Heathrow. That of course meant a drive up the dreaded Highway 401. It's construction season on Canada's roads right now, and we knew that there were around six or seven different construction sites between home and the airport, and because we were travelling on a Friday afternoon we decided to allow ourselves plenty of time. It was a good job that we did.

We were about twenty-five minutes past our target leaving time, and immediately hit a snag when the train crossing lights started flashing on LaCroix Street in town, and we spent five minutes watching one of those never ending freight trains pass by, although the angst was slightly offset watching a couple of drivers ahead of us panic when then realised they'd stopped so close to the tracks that the barriers would likely hit their cars when they came down. I mean, there's half a dozen trains through there daily, so it's not like it's a rare event, but still they stop on the tracks. But I digress.

 

On the 401 it was busy. Wall-to-wall trucks, but at least it was moving. That lasted up until Colonel Talbot Road when we hit the first of many, many slow-downs. On a trip that should take just on three hours door-to-door, it took us over four hours. The Friday afternoon traffic likely made things worse, but that run up was the worst I'd experienced in my fifteen years in Canada. But in this case, we'd left so much slack in the schedule that we were not even mildly late for our flight.

Toronto's Pearson airport isn't the best place to be on a Friday evening, but then it's not the worst, either. The check-in area in Terminal 3 isn't really big enough to accommodate the number of people that use it, but then again, neither is the same space in Terminal 1. We dumped our bags in fairly short order and made our way through security screening without too much of a fuss. Airside, things have changed a little from when I first started travelling regularly through the airport. Firstly you're forced to walk through a big duty-free perfume selling store (which was new), and the long departure gate arm now has many more retail outlets than it used to have. It certainly gives the place a livelier feel, but they are all, without exception, hugely over-priced. London's Heathrow airport has long been known as "Thief-row" thanks to the high prices levied on airside clients, and Pearson Airport is catching up. We were in Terminal 3 last November but things had changed even since then, with most of the regular seating removed and replaced by tables, with a central restaurant and bar in the centre. In T1 there are I-Pads on the tables through which you can order your over-priced food and drink to be delivered to your table. Now it's just a QR code etched on a metal plate on the table and you can order the same over-priced food and drink from your cell phone. I don't think I'd mind too much if the tabled area formed only part of the departures seating, but it doesn't, it's all encompassing. You don't have to make an order when you're sat at the tables, but it's kind of implied. It's not as if any of this is essential for the travelling public because pretty much every flight out of there gives you a meal within an hour of takeoff anyway. My cynical mind tells me it's all about profit, and I'm never in the mood to voluntarily help the GTAA (Greater Toronto Airport Authority) get rich. We, being the ever economical souls that we are, brought home made sandwiches. I did spoil things by going to buy an over-priced cup of coffee from Starbucks, but walked away from the line waiting when the three people serving seemed that talking among themselves was more important than moving the line and actually selling coffee. In my annoyance I bought a bottle of water and KitKat for the eye-watering sum of $9.38, which was three times what I'd have spent at Starbucks. But hey, principles are principles.

Our aircraft for the flight was an Airbus A350, wide-bodied mediocrity and indistinguishable from any other in its class. The Premium Economy cabin is over the wing so my two windows, one slightly behind me and one slightly in front, were not going to be of much use. The two overhead storage bins above us were marked "Crew Only", so I heaved our bags into one on the other side of the aisle, much to the consternation of the people sitting below it. Being English, the woman made a quiet comment about not using "their bins", but made her feelings truly known with the fixed stare she gave me.

Our seats were not the most comfortable I've ever sat in, but were so far from the seat in front that the tray table was mounted in the arm rest of our seats and not on the back of the seats in front. The seats also reclined with a leg support coming up from below. I like to sit up so didn't use that function, and nor did the woman sitting in front of me, which was fortunate. As is normal though, the person sitting in front of DW did recline, fully, so she was forced to recline as well, although as she was intended on a goodly nap, that was OK. Me climbing over DW while the seats were reclined was pure comedy, but when you have to go, you have to go.

The meal served about an hour into the flight was, well, not my thing. The choices were Cod with Polenta, or Curry. I have a feeling it was the same choice on the flight we took to London last year. When it was served, the fish was OK, but the Polenta was horrible and the little bowl of ricey stuff that was on the side looked and smelled like the sort of thing I would pay not to eat. I don't know why British Airways insist on serving food that they think might look a "a bit jazzy", and pretty much always contain a curry option. Air Transat did the same for a while, but reverted to more standard fare when people like me moaned about it. The best meal on a 'plane I ever had was on a charter flight from Kephalonia to London, and it was a beef stew. If the charter people can do it, surely the major airlines can. The "hot snack" served before landing was a "hot mess", and again I ask why? Trying too hard to be too fancy really doesn't work.

I couldn't get comfortable during the flight, even when resorting to the old standard sleep aid of watching Bridget Jones' Diary for the umpteenth time, and as a consequence didn't sleep much. Canadian astronaut Chris Hadfield had suggested some good Northern Lights viewing that night, but nothing. Curse that Astronaut. It was thick cloud cover as the day dawned and we flew over my other ancestral home, Ireland, and it stayed cloudy pretty much until we popped out of the clouds a few miles from Heathrow. All in all, it was a bit of a manky flight. That said, it left Toronto bang on time, and arrived in London ahead of schedule, so well done BA.

Terminal 5 at Heathrow is a wondrous place, but when you get dropped at a gate far from the terminal you have a choice of a long walk, or get crammed onto and all too infrequent shuttle train that runs to the terminal. Every time we've been presented with the shuttle option it's been overcrowded beyond belief, so we decided on the walk this fine morning. There were a few of those moving sidewalk things, but still a fair bit of walking, although having been sat still for six hours or so, it was not a bad thing.

 

The bags came out quite quickly at the luggage reclaim, and we made our way down to the Heathrow Express train, which was no mean feat with me hauling two big cases. The Heathrow Express is one of three rail-based options to get into London from the airport, is the fastest by far, and the most expensive. The Elizabeth Line is a new rail line across London and would take us into Paddington railway station directly, if a little more slowly. The Underground's Piccadilly Line would get us to Paddington with a change of trains at Gloucester Road, but is a seriously slow way of travelling given that there are many, many stops on the line. While the Express may have been expensive, I bought the tickets online, ahead of time, and with our rail discount card, the price was only around £6 each for the single fare, as opposed to the regular £25 if you buy on the day without a discount card. When the train starts its run into Paddington, you soon realise why it's called the Express, because that thing really flies. It takes fifteen minutes from Terminal 1 & 2 to Paddington, compared to over an hour on the Underground, which is quite impressive.

At Paddington, we had a wait before picking up our train to Plymouth. About a three hour wait. To get a well priced ticket on British trains, you have to plump for a specific train, and book seats. Doing that, and using the discount card, we were able to afford First Class tickets, which in this case worked very well for us as we were able to use the First Class Lounge at Paddington Station. The lounge is three rooms, two with sofas and the like, and one with tables and chairs. Snacks and drinks, non-alcoholic of course, are complimentary, so we hunkered down for the duration, just happy to shake off the rigours of the journey so far. It being Saturday, the station was busy with non-commuters, many heading to football matches. I took a quick walk up onto Praed Street, just outside the station, and surveyed the very familiar scene. A student nurse of my acquaintance worked at St. Mary's Hospital just next door to the station, and while she didn't merit a Blue Plaque on the wall, Sir Alexander Fleming did his groundbreaking work on Penicillin there and has a Blue Plaque, and the royal princes William and Harry were born there. Like so many other streets in London, notable things have happened there. While up on the street, I came across a heap of London Black Cabs, all purring along using electric motors rather than the old chug-chug diesel engines of the past. It turns out that the cabs are hybrids and do have their internal combustion engines, but a lot of the time run noiselessly and smokelessly on battery power. What with the hybrid buses as well, London's air is getting so much more breathable.

 

When it was time to board our train (they notify you of the appropriate platform only minutes before departure), we looked in vain for Coach K, where our booked seats were located. A quick question to one of the train's crew revealed that they were short of a few coaches and there definitely wasn't a Coach K. All seat bookings had been cancelled as a result, so it was sit anywhere. Fortunately the train wasn't terribly full, so we found a couple of seats and settled in for the run down to the Westcountry. Like the aircraft we'd flown in, the seats here were not the most comfortable, but there was plenty of room. And, like the lounge at the station, snacks and drinks were complementary. Similar to the Heathrow Express, this train took off like a scalded rabbit and we were quickly pelting through west London at a serious clip and heading to Reading. The weather was OK and the scenery getting greener as we crossed and recrossed the River Thames. Reading, Taunton, Tiverton, Exeter, Newton Abbot, Totnes and finally Plymouth, took us a little over three hours. The weather closed in, the sea was battering the sea wall at Dawlish, and by the time we reached Plymouth, the rain was coming down, but then this is the Westcountry in October, so nothing unusual about that.

 

A short taxi ride from the station and we were on Plymouth's famous Barbican, and opening up Number One, Stokes Lane, our home for the next two weeks. We were both shattered, but did manage to get out to the Co-Op for some essential supplies, dodge the many young people out in the wet streets, and buy some proper English fish and chip shop chips, which is surely the best way to end what was a long and uncomfortable trip.

I'll write a little about our accommodation in the next instalment, and about the purpose of the trip, but for now, I'll round off this very long post by saying it was very nice to be back in Devon.