Christmas Postcard From Manchester

Thank you for all your contributions below the line on last week’s article about my dreadful spelling. Turns out I don’t have some bizarre neurological condition after all; rather, I’m just like the rest of you. This could explain why nobody reads the articles and no one reads the comments and why, from time to time, we’re short on articles, i.e. none of us can read and write. Shall we stick to pictures from now on?

Before we do, and before I share an illustrated journal of myself and Mrs AWS’s trip to the Manchester Christmas markets, I must tell you this.

Arriving at our Debatable Lands halt the other Thursday morning, the first thing we spotted was our ex-MP sitting on a bench, wearing a collar and tie but unshaven. Two possibilities presented themselves. One (and hoboes do sometimes wear collars and ties), he’s been sleeping rough at the station since his disappointment last July.

And two, like a retiree or salaryman let go, he pops back to the office, in his case the House of Liars and Thieves at the southern end of our local main line, to gaze through a window and pretend he’s still a member. A sad case either way.

Not to worry, our train arrived on time, and, if as curious about us as we were of him, Mr Stevenson will have seen us turn left upon mounting the steps to find our first-class seats.

Book ahead, go off-peak, invest in a Two-for-one card, and the trip is expensive rather than extortionate. Write an article to make it tax-deductible, cancel the newspaper, switch the gas and electricity off while you’re out and you might even break even.

Our reserved places were beside a window; the first-class carriage was about half full. Catching a glimpse of myself as we eased out of Citadel Station on a fresh and unusually dry and clear day, I had to concede – don’t I look like Tony Blair? At least from the bags under the eyes down. In the other direction – wish I had his hair.

This was a TransPennine Express service from Glasgow to Manchester Airport. Importantly for the Instagram pictures, they don’t have antimacassars with first class printed on them in big letters, so you’ll have to take your own.

South of Penrith, while negotiating the Clifton and Lowther curves, we passed ‘our’ bridge. This is being assembled next the railway line and will replace the existing rail bridge over the M6 in the new year. This necessitates a shuttle service of main line trains being diverted over the Settle and Carlisle as per a previous article entitled Christmas Transport Catastrophe! Myself and Mrs AWS’s next outing!

Thundering south, we spy Kendal, in its dip in the landscape, and stop at Oxenholme, which is at one end of the branch which serves the Westmoreland town and continues to Windermere.

After many days of rain, the outlook is bright and fair. The land looks well. However, further south, entering Lancashire…

…there’s no shortage of flood water beyond the line side.

Past Preston, we still haven’t been fed. Coffee and a biscuit, yes, but nothing from the TransPennine kitchen. A word on the organisation of such things:

Despite the guff claiming Nova 2 (Class 397) trains work TransPennine Express services on the West Coast line (Manchester Airport – Glasgow/Edinburgh and Liverpool to Glasgow), ours was a 5-car Nova 1 train (Class 802).

In the guff, these serve the TransPennine Northern Route from Liverpool Lime Street to Manchester Victoria, then across the Pennines to the likes of Leeds, Hull, and Scarborough. Some services continue along the East Coast Main Line as far as Edinburgh.

However, today it was forming one of the Anglo-Scottish routes along the West Coast Main Line. Only a few years old, these are Hitatchi-built units famous for thier rock-hard seats.

With half of the expensive carriage being the kitchen, only 24 passengers are seated in first. Two catering crew attend, with one serving the first class passengers while the other pushes a trolley through a standard class that consists of 318 seats.

The Nova 2s (Class 397) are usually used on ‘our’ route. Almost identical to their Japanese stablemates, these Spanish-built CAF units are also five-car trains, only a few years old, and again have 24 first class seats but only 264 in standard.

How do you tell them apart? In the Nova 1 the first class 2+1 layout has the single seats in airline style, whereas the Nova 2 has them facing each other across a table. Likewise, in the 2s, in standard class there are more tables between sets of four seats – hence the lower capacity and hence a better chance your place will line up with a window.

Additionally, in Nova 1s first class seats have a little hook next to the window that you can hang your coat on.

With a ratio of 1:24 you think we’d get fed. I queried upon approaching Bolton and was admonished for ignoring the stewardess when asked if we wanted breakfast upon boarding. A split decision. Deaf and happy in my own little world when boarding trains; I inclined to believe her.

However, Mrs AWS, not only a female of the species herself but one who has waited on tables, confided in me that a gal’s shift is a lot easier if she only feeds those who ask.

Not to worry. Being out of vegetable omelette rolls for Mrs AWS, Sylvia rustled up two full English breakfasts in double-quick time despite being both north of the 11 am deadline for such things and south of Bolton.

Very nice it was too, but the portions aren’t vast. Also, it’s served on a wooden plate with a wooden knife and fork – perhaps to help avoid a blood bath? One’s obliged, as if a South Coast plutocrat on a Caribbean cruise, to share the menu:

Polished off just as we rolled past the skyscrapers and slipped into Piccadilly Station bang on time.

Off to a good start, but what awaits us on the other side of the sliding doors? Has King of the North Andy Burnham made a success of his Manchester mayorality, or has he made a body bags Burnham botch of it, as per the Mid Staffs hospital scandal? Find out next time on Christmas Postcard from Manchester!

To be continued…
 

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