Whitehaven , What A Letdown.
Whithaven's (PFI funded) bus station refurb. Completed Christmas Day 2014. Due to be handed over following final payment on the 2nd of August 2089.
Welcome fellow Wednesdayclubers to this, Thomas Crook's first Travel Log
It was whilst on a cultural fact finding visit to swap ideas with our French cousins, members of the Club Mercredi du Paris (all expenses paid, but for your benefit). I found myself sat outside the quaint roadside Cafe' Coq , gazing out at the famous continental toings and froings.
At this point the waiter walked passed me to clear a nearby table. He leaned back over his shoulder and said.
"Are you enjoying the view monsieur" ?
"Yes thanks, but i'm happily married" I replied.
The waiter blushed "Non non, the beauty of Paris the Beauty of Paris ".
"Oh Oh of course it's fantastic" ( think I got away with it ) ?
Myself and Norman , (yes Norman) an English ex-pat who had recently moved to Paris three years earlier when he lost his job in the Falklands Islands painting trees on the inside of windows.
He told me that he'd decided to leave when things started to dry up. We began to engage in light conversation. He was equally enchanted by the wonderment of Paris, although he pointed out to me that he never misses a chance to spread the word that there are places in the world people should see before they die.
Well there I began my insatiable intrigue and desire to visit this hallowed place as Norman described it. The Jewell in Cumbria's crown, WHITEHAVEN.
On my return I hastely arranged a meeting with club treasurer Mr Colin Darcy-Dallas. He was equally enthused by my story and immediately released funds to finance my trip. The next day I arrived at Wigan North Western station early, and approached the kiosk to speak to the ticket lady.
"Return ticket please" I enunciated clearly !
"Where to " she asked ?
"Back here obviously" I said with a cheeky grin.
Well what I thought would create a bit of a titter, caused young Janice behind the glass to launch into a verbal barrage so vile that four skinheads a bronchitic ex coal miner and a soldier returning from Afghanistan, where that disgusted they stopped drinking.
Eventually I caught my train ( following a heated police statement ).
Thank God I didn't try the oldie but goldie I thought.
"Will I like Dr Jeykell , have to change at Crewe" ?
( He! He! made myself laugh then ).
It turned out that I did in fact have to change trains at Carlisle. En route I asked the guard if my connection to Whitehaven was on time ? He paused for a second then muttered "@!:@ing Whitehaven" then walked off.
I was in shock, why would someone treat the Cumbrian Jewell I had heard so much about with such distain. Unperturbed I was determined to journey on. With not one jot of my excitement and yearning for all that is unknown dented.
For now ?
Carlisle station (proof you can polish a jobby) In the grand hall under the great clock donated by Alexander Graham Knocker. Somehow they have managed to add insult to insult.
Where once stood Old Mary's Pastries and Confectioners, they have created what I believe is now known as a food court. Combining a KFC , Mc Donalds, something called Shoesheet, Pizza Hut and a traditional Bangladeshi chippy. I don't think that was ever in Wainwrights guide.
I went to the information desk (now sponsored by Wonga) and asked the attendant, who by the way looked younger than an egg.
"Whitehaven train Love" ?
She looked up from her ayeblobb and said "fer een"!
"Pardon" ? I said with a bemused look.
"Platform fer een and don't call me love you creepy relic"! she screached.
Time to leave.
I quickly purchased my TwelveinchMacshrimpcurriedsteakpudding meal deal and headed to platform thirteen. I woke the chap at the gate, thinking twice but still asked.
"Whitehaven"?
"Yes sir" he grunted. "And today is a free first class upgrade".
"Great which carriage is it" ? I enquired.
" You can't miss it" he replied, "It's the one with the seat".
As the train set off I settled down and tucked in to my food. Ten minutes had passed and sudddenly I felt the terrifying urge to relieve myself of my culinary choice (both ways).
I thanked my God of choice that I was the only passenger on board and luckily had a bog to myself. How wrong could I have been.
Now I have been in some sticky situations in my life, but what faced me on opening the toilet door I can only describe as a scene from the yet unmade movie.
The Hostel meets Saw 11 ( without loo roll ).
Needs must I guess, so I entered the abyss. And with true British endeavour and good fortune that the sink was within hurling distance. I grasped for some unused pages in my note pad.
I pushed through....?
I can only hope that there wasn't anyone on the platform as the train slowed down to pass through the first station, Cummersdale (yes real name).
If anyone had seen me through the smoke glass window they would have reported a murder. I left the cubicle somehow a different person than when I entered it ,but the show must go on and I returned to my seat.
After a further half an hour into the journey my eye was drawn to the access door of the drivers cab. An arm appeared with a very hairy hand on the end of it , the finger of which resembling a Richmond's thick Irish sausage teased me toward the door.
As I peered into the cab I witnessed what I can only describe as a cross between a lumberjack and a dish cloth. My eyes beheld something with the whackiest beard i've ever seen.
Then suddenly and without warning words where uttered from where I imagined the mouth would be, without the slightest hint of bristle movement.
"Don't look so shocked, your're not the first person to be surprised to see a lady driver" growled a voice. " Have you ever wanted to drive a train " it asked ?
Now my fear turned into intrigue " who hasn't " I enthused ?
" Well I need a piss and a fag love, and all you have to do is keep your foot on this pedal. If you see anything red take your foot off the pedal and the train will stop, got it " ?
Before I knew it I was in the drivers seat, foot on pedal and thingy had gone.
( Bloody hell I'm driving a train, Wehay ) ! ! !
My excitement was short lived when my vision was blotted out by a shock of red. As instructed I immediately my took foot off the pedal and to my relief the train ground to a grumbling hault.
"Whats happened , I didn't get me knickers past me ankles " ! An out of breath voice shouted behind me.
" RRREEDD , red I saw red everywhere " ! ! I screamed.
"Well done but I didn't mean that sort of red. What you've done is run over a cow " It said calmly.
Shaking inside I spluttered " There's something else, it was as if i was being watched then not watched then watched then again not watched " I burbled.
She leaned forward resting her muscular hand on my shoulder.
" Let me have a look.... Ahh ? Don't panic you've just got one of it's eye balls stuck in the windscreen wipers ".
This was the end of my train driving career. I hastened back to my seat wandering if at the next station I would be having my second police interview of the day ?
WE ARE STILL AWAITING THE CONTINUATION OF THIS TRAVEL STORY . IT WILL BE UPDATED JUST AS SOON AS THE CARRIER PIGEON ARRIVES FROM CUMBRIA.
DUE TO A CHRONIC BOUT OF EXPLOSIVE DIARRHOEA , THOMAS HAS BEEN EXPERIENCING SOME DIFFICULTY CONTINUING HIS REPORT.
WE ALL WISH HIM WELL AND HOPE THE MINT & ALOE VERA TOILET TISSUE WE HAVE DESPATCHED TO HIS GUEST HOUSE WILL PROVE HELPFUL....?
THOMAS RETURNS........... ?
I Must have nodded off, because when I woke up I felt really warm with the blurred vision of the moon in front of me.
Then I realised I must be in Dallas.
" You could've bought me dinner first you tight git " he sneered....!
Only kiddin, it was all I could come up with as a reason for my long absence.
