An Eigg-citing Journey in Scotland

My latest Scottish adventures took me to the western side. The Isle of Eigg was the principal aim, but getting there also provided a chance to stop in at Fort William (briefly) and Mallaig (twice).

Once again, it was the Caledonian Sleeper, departing at 9.15pm from London Euston, that got me out of England. It's great that this service is still going and that it has a guaranteed future. It's unique and has a real romance to it. But, most importantly, it means you can wake up to views like this:

Immediately after disembarking the train at Fort William at about 9.30am, I found myself standing next to one of the two steam trains that run the 'Jacobite' route from Fort William to Mallaig.



This is one of the longer steam train journeys available in the UK, taking an hour or so and passing through the stunning Glenfinnan.

You may already be familiar with Glenfinnan through the Harry Potter films:

That was to come later. First, though, I had a few hours to kill at Fort William before catching the afternoon steam train. All I really wanted to do after the sleeper journey was have a coffee and read a paper. To my surprise, Fort William Station, although small, is well equipped. It even has showers. So their spacious cafe was perfect, and before I knew it it was time to make my way to the platform, where the other train was waiting for the afternoon trip:



The ride was gloriously scenic and very busy with excited tourists, although one sulky teenager was less impressed as he turned to his parents and asked:
"Do we have to take this thing back as well?"

Clearly he hadn't experienced the alternative- the Scotrail service train- which is a self-explanatory example of why the Harry Potter film-makers went with steam.

Along the way we stopped at Glenfinnan, for photos, and for the engine crew to get coffees personally delivered:

We arrived in Mallaig a while later, and settled in at The Moorings B&B before heading out for a very pleasant evening walk in the warm sunshine:

We found dinner at the excellent Cornerstone Restaurant, which is upstairs in a building overlooking the harbour and has great seafood. The Stornoway Black Pudding starter was just beautiful, and the service was friendly. All in unassuming surroundings. Afterwards we strolled around the harbour and even managed to see a seal, right in with the boats.

The next morning it was off to Eigg. We fought off the early midges and boarded the Loch Nevis, one Calmac's relatively recent additions to the fleet. It's compact but efficient, with a cafe and plenty of observation space on board.

Lots of people got off at Eigg as well- the first sign that it wasn't, as I'd previously thought, an extremely small island with about 20 minutes-worth of walking to do. There were some great views to take in, including sandy beaches and fantastic, sweeping hills:

The island also has a small arts and crafts shop, with a cafe, by the pier. A small church can be found up the road from the beach, and there are other small surprises along the way including the old post office building- now a sort of museum. We stayed at the brilliant Kildonan House where we were catered for in real style. Even if the weather had been poor (which it wasn't), it would have been so relaxing just to hang about in the beautiful house and gaze out at the view.

The next morning it was back to Mallaig. We stopped at Seafari, who have just recently started a service from there, to spend an hour on the boat looking for wildlife. The whales eluded us, but there were plenty of guillemots and seals to be seen:



There were times when it felt like we could have been out on some Southern European coast. I'd never seen so much sun cream being used in Scotland.

We spent lunch at the Tea Garden, watching the world pass by, and then boarded the Scotrail train back to Edinburgh (changing at Glasgow). I will not go into much detail about this other than to say that it was a) a very, very long journey; b) had no catering; c) did have a jobsworth guard who was happy to lie to passengers in order to get them to sit in particular seats when no moving was necessary.

I can't recommend Eigg enough, and Mallaig has plenty to offer as a base of operations. Now it's back to city life, but surely it won't be long before a return visit it made. 



Watch very carefully. I shall run this only once.

The first daft but noble thing I ever thought about doing was a Land's End to John O'Groats cycle ride. It was about ten years ago. Luckily, I realised that it would be very hard and, as I am ultimately lazy at heart, that I wouldn't really enjoy it.

Unfortunately, my cousin Danny didn't reach the same conclusions when he had the idea a few years later, and I ended up being involved in LEJOG in 2010.
My second daft but noble idea was to run the London Marathon after being inspired by one of my step-brothers. This time, my admiration didn't diminish, but after a few hours we were back to a situation where wild horses couldn't drag me to apply for a marathon, or even a half-marathon.
After this I modified my ambitions. I applied for the Sport Relief mile but circumstances intervened and I never got round to it. The 2010 and 2011 Be A Gunner, Be A Runner events came and went, too, and I didn't pay them much regard other than supporting their causes.
And then the 2012 one was announced.

Meh, I thought. What the heck. I'll apply. I can always pull out.
But I didn't pull out, and soon had my Dad on board too.
Meh, I thought. I can still pull out before...oh wait, I can't. Not really. I'd better get training!
It turned out that this is what wouldn't work out.
I loathe running. It bores me, and I also find myself getting irritated by the enormous number of joggers constantly shuffling/zipping/darting about my personal space in my corner of SW London. I had expected to get over this for the sake of not humiliating myself at The Emirates but bad weather/work/procrastination got in the way. So I concentrated on general fitness. Pizza Hut menus gathered dust in the kitchen drawer. Coffees were skinny. Desserts remained on the supermarket shelves. The Wii Fit suddenly got used several times in a week. My bike was pressed back into regular service. I played football whenever I could, to stay active. Three weeks before the run, now alarmingly being called a 'race' in the newsletters, I decided it was time to jog home from work.
Did I mention I'd been playing football? Perhaps I should have explained that this was done on a concrete surface.

The dull ache of shin splints brought me to a stop within 100m. I continued as best I could, but was unable to put more than a few seconds of running together. I rested up as much as I dared for the next few days, then tried again on flatter ground round my area. Same thing.
I was now really worried about the run and consoled myself with the picture I'd seen from a previous event of a person clearly walking part of the 10-lap, 6.4km course.
I pretended not to note that she was slightly overweight and at the very least in her early 60s. I thought of my Dad, who had been doing lengthy-ish runs for several weeks now. I began to map out where the marshals would be when the inevitable moment of quitting the race would come, perhaps 4 laps in.
Fast forward now to Race Day, and there we were, near the Woolwich entrance to the stadium, freezing in a very chilly wind and both wondering if we had made a terrible mistake. Lucozade was downed. Questionable stretching skills were applied. A desire for scarves was felt. The large black T-shirt offered no insulation:

Stuart Amory took the warmup in entertaining fashion, and as he did so I found myself casting my gaze to the course, gated off to my right. There didn't seem to be many gaps at all in the gateline, except at the finish line. If I did bow out, it was going to be very obvious: I couldn't do it at the finish line, I realised, because they might think I had come first. I would have to explain that I was in fact bailing out...it would just be too awful. I'd be better off hiding behind a pillar and slipping out hours later as the clearup was starting. But it was too chilly even to be doing that.
As we progressed through some suggestive hip-swivelling I found myself sizing up my fellow runners, trying to work out who might end up being a walker or just very very slow. Unable to believe myself, I felt marvellously out of my depth. Not only was I dressed like a runner, wearing a race number and 'dancing' in public at a football ground in North London, I was now scanning my fellow fundraisers like a vulture, hoping to find reassuring signs of weakness that would make me feel less of an idiot. So much for that warm, happy feeling you're supposed to get when you do something for charity. I had somehow become cold-hearted cynic. What next, I thought? Will I be elbowing runners to the ground in order not to be last? Will I fake an injury to get out of it when the going gets tough?
Dear me, I thought, as I tried unsucessfully to rotate one arm forwards and one backwards. That moment at Norbury Football Powerleague last year when you handballed it in the heat of a game has clearly got to you.
Finally, the 'race' began. I got two laps done before the shin splints began to appear, at which point I slowed the pace and plodded on, gradually walking short stretches from around the 4th lap. With my iPod kindly remaining in my shorts pocket and not flying out as it had threatened to do, I was managing a lap for each song almost all the way round. Detaching a square on my wristband for each lap, I suddenly found that I was on the last two laps. A warden on Gate K, and the general build-up of spectators ensured that I was still running for at least half of each lap. I picked up the pace to a full run for the last one and completed it in 50mins, being rewarded with the first actual medal I've ever got for sport:

Who knows if I will do it again next year? I think I do...and I think not. But I may well come by and watch and of course support the charitable cause, which this year was Save the Children, following CentrePoint and Great Ormond Street Hospital (for whom I did LEJOG) as Arsenal's recent Charity of the Season. 

So it turns out running isn't too bad, after all. But if I had to choose between doing LEJOG again or running a marathon...well...I'd have to think about that one. 

A Bohemian Christmas

Christmas is a time for relaxing- seems an odd idea, doesn't it? Perhaps I should rephrase that. Christmas is supposed to be a time for relaxing. It often isn't. But that's ok, because winter itself usually sticks around for a bit either side of the festive days themselves. So when the house has calmed down a bit, it's time to unwind in some peace and quiet if you can.

If you happen to have been very lucky, you may well have been given some items for Christmas that will help your relaxation endeavours. But if not, don't worry- because it's the season for giving, and that surely must include yourself at some point.

Between them, my family and friends have most certainly done their bit to aid my idea of a Bohemian winter-time. Except a fireplace. I still don't have one of those. Cursed new-build properties...

All the other ingredients have appeared, though, and come recommended, gift or not.

1. An interesting new book. You can't go wrong with this- and hardbacks carry an extra credibility. This year, my anorak-like interest in World War Two in London was addressed by my dad:

Any book featuring showgirls wearing gasmasks cannot fail to be interesting.

2. Next, it's vital to have a hot drink (at least to start off with). From here, I take my cue from my mum, who presented me with a selection of teas from the excellent Whittards.

It's a real shame that Whittards are in financial difficulties. They are a great shop, accessible in a way that the smaller tea and coffee speciality shops are not (a publicity issue, rather than a criticism of the actual shops).

3. Now, of course, you need to have a classy mug in which to drink your chosen beverage. I have long been a fan of the range of classic Penguin book mugs, and received this one as my fourth:

Plenty still left to get hold of. They look fantastic and are the perfect accompaniment to a spot of reading. If you can get the title to match your interests, moods (Thinking to Some Purpose, for instance) or general thoughts (Great Expectations), then so much the better.

4. Music. This season's new addition to my CD rack will doubtless provide the perfect atmosphere:

5. And to complete the picture, and ensure quality audio...Sennheiser can help out there:

I should add that these are genuine things I have received- there are other varieties of all these things available, and I have not been asked to endorse them! They do, however, add up to a truly Bohemian experience and I'm eternally grateful to the givers.

If you can, get yourself some peace and quiet, a good book and a warm drink, and get down to some real festive spirit. It does wonders.

BlancVerse

Arsenal Stadium Tour

After returning from Scotland it was off to North London for a tour of my beloved (and arguably beleaguered) football club. After cutting it a little bit fine and then striking it unlucky on the Tube, I did in fact miss the start of the tour, and was lucky to be allowed in after a passing staff member felt generous enough to let in a family who were making even more of an "oh no" face than I was. We caught up with the rest of the tour group in the Diamond Club seats. They say there are no bad seats in this stadium and it's true. But some are better- and more upholstered and costly- than others.

We were told some astonishing stories about just how long the waiting list is for Diamond Club, and how incredibly expensive it is. Impressive, but of course it is all the more annoying on match days when you see empty seats here, and at Club Level too.

Next it was downstairs again to see where the players come in, starting with the brand new crest to celebrate the 125th year of the club's existence, and the time capsule placed by Thierry Henry and Patrick Vieria a few years ago.

I used to work with Michael Thomas' sister. To my shame I hadn't really heard much about him and his legendary goal until she said her brother had once been a striker for Arsenal. At first I thought she must have meant as a reserve or youth player once, but when she told me the name I was amazed to find it was the man himself, stuff of legend and even featured in the Fever Pitch film (which I saw screened on the Emirates pitch earlier the year- the moment of the last-minute winner got a cheer, as it was the best we'd felt that month after Carling Cup and Champions League exits).

Next we headed to the Home dressing room. The away dressing room was out of bounds on account of the fact it was having its already (deliberately- mind games) smooth floor polished. Apparently it also has harsher lighting, no cushions and is shaped in the least Feng-Shui manner possible.

Unlike the Home dressing room:

 The physio room is just off the dressing room. I get the impression this is used a lot, being Arsenal.

 I would LOVE one of these in my house. Jacuzzi with full body massage seats. Not allowed before games, apparently, as it relaxes the players too much. Odd, as our defenders often seem pretty relaxed all of the time anyway.

 Then we went pitchside. Having already walked on the pitch (and had a beer on the halfway line) earlier in the year, this was a slight anti-climax, thus making me feel utterly spoiled. I did get a closer look at the staff and players' seating, though. Apparently Arsene Wenger's seat is No.13. Wonder what it was at Old Trafford. 82, perhaps.

 Next stop: press room. There is a translator's booth behind where I took the picture from.

 And finally (not counting the walk through the car park to the shop), we saw the fairly awesome facilities that are made available to the press so they can sit and criticise our style of play and transfer policies in comfort. They have been voted best press football ground facilities for the press in Europe.

When the tour was over, it was back to Arsenal tube station where I had the rare feeling of leaving the Emirates without having to stand in a huge, pressing crowd for half an hour. I return for the Swansea game on the 10th September, where I hope to see some of the new panic buys players brought in as part of our development and title challenge.

Next blog will be up soon, with an account of a first ever visit to Barcelona...

Scottish Scenes

In April this year I sat outside a cafe in Aviemore, impressed at the warmth of the day. I remarked to my travel companion that when I had last visited, the previous August, it had been torrentially rainy and more than a little chilly.

It came as no surprise, then, that I visited again this August, it was a similar tale. Only this time, there was a delayed train and exploding coffee cup into the bargain. I think I shall book my next visit to that nonetheless spectacular part of the country in December- then I be guaranteed sunshine and warmth, surely.

This summer's northern adventure was largely to see family. Here are the photographic highlights of my travels.

Had to snap a picture of this orginal L-plate VW Beetle, parked just off the Royal Mile in Edinburgh.

It was in remarkably good condition considering its age and the weather.

At Family Outpost No. 1, the cats got some camera time. More of these in a future blog.

Crossing the Forth Bridge we spotted this huge passenger liner.

The fast-flowing River Nethy, taken from the Nethy Bridge itself

At the ever-popular Strathspey Railway, this was the highlight of the vintage adverts.

Meanwhile, back at Family Outpost No. 2, an abandoned cottage caught my imagination. This used to be lived in during summer months. It had no electricity. Based on this summer's weather it's a good thing they did have fireplaces!

Frozen in time, a peek through the window.



And that was Scotland for another holiday. Then it was back to London, where the highlight was a tour of Arsenal's Emirates Stadium- blog to follow.

Moving Scenes

MOVING SCENES

Taxi waiting outside down the path from my door

As I give myself the thirty-year farewell tour

Through rooms and spaces

Where I ran my first races

Family’s destination of '82

Family book was only open a page or two

Before the world I knew

Where the family tree grew

Going from low to high,

To speak, learn and try

Crawling on all fours, years or more

All the trips and falls

Among these four walls

We stamp our identity

In this western corner of  our city modernity

Redefined as the time goes by

Monday to Friday, go to school, work hard

Try not to be too naughty

Revise on Sunday to the Top 40

And then some

Capital hits of the 90s Jensen

Who’s the Kid? Not him, looking it back on it now,

Upstairs looking tidy- yes or maybe no,

This house audience to an era of radio

Then it was analogue, now it’s digital

Faster, yes, but have we really made more sense of it all?

We put hopes and fears

Even a son or a daughter,

Adding whole life stories to these bricks and mortar,

Now everyone telling how they’re so very sure

That it’s very hard to close that kind of door

Memories come as close as they can get to purity,

It’s not the material but the visual security,

Over nearly 3 decades, so now one less key on my chain,

Time to find a new umbrella to keep out the rain,

But let the sun shine bright, now the future gleams,

Taxi’s pulling away , pulling down

The curtain on these moving scenes.

© BlancVerse 2011

24 hours in Cornwall

The final excursion of the Easter holiday was completed with a lightning quick visit to Cornwall. Last time I went there it was August and offered severe cycling (for charity) and wild variations in weather. This time, despite the earlier time of year, it was much warmer- and no need to pedal up vertical hills.
As the best journeys seem to, the adventure began with the overnight sleeper- this time from Paddington:

Night Riviera

The service was very friendly and in most regards the setup was the same as the Scotrail one, although there seemed to be more confusion in the booking- even though I had a solo berth, both beds were set up meaning a bit less room and no access to the special TV service. But, if truth be told, having the top bunk down meant it felt cosier underneath, so I can't complain. 

A few hours later, and after 3 seconds of sheer panic when I thought I'd locked myself in the train toilet on approach to the station,  I disembarked at St Austell. I had a 90-minute wait until the first bus to the Eden Project, and there's not a whole lot to do there at that time of the morning. After naming two seagulls (Susan and Steve), reading the Guardian and watching the commuters come and go, I found myself on Bus 101. I was the first member of the public to arrive at Eden, by which time the day was in full swing and my first glimpse of the place was stunning:

At this point the place was still basically deserted and none of the food outlets seemed open at that point. So I tentatively entered the Mediterranean Biome, hoping that the cafes would spring into life soon, before I sprang out of it through hunger. I was immediately impressed:

Spanish garden

Some plants from the Med

Before long, though, the need for refreshment had me hunting a cafe once more, and I headed for the Core. On the way, I snapped the impressive model of a man made out of electrical waste- the detail was amazing (his teeth are computer mice). It reminded me of the Iron Giant somehow- great art. 

The Core offered Jo's Cafe, more cosy and intimate than the huge places back at The Link at that point, and I set myself up with a great little breakfast in what felt like a remote hotel balcony of some sort:

It should have come as no surprise that the birds are more tame around there, and sure enough this blackbird was caught in the act of hopping off the chair to pick up some scone crumbs...

And before long the robin wanted in on the act, too:

Daylight robinry

Back to the Biomes, starting with a more comprehensive look at the Mediterranean before heading to the Rainforest.

Clementines

"Aloe aloe aloe."

The Rainforest Biome seems to be the main focus of Eden, not least because of the realism of the environment. The biomes let UV in, and the place is vast, with aspects of the cultures of its countries thrown in for effect, too. A highlight was the Malaysian area and the recreated hut:

The heat and crowds were just enough to turn me away from the 40 minute queue to the top of the biome, so a lunch break followed, then off for a last look around the Outdoor Biome- highlights included the sculpture in the 'field'...

And the sparkling view as the sun beat down. 

Eden was completed with a last visit to Jo's cafe and then off back to St Austell. After some fun and games finding the ticket machine, I caught possibly the cheapest-looking train to Penzance. Where, it turns out, there are very few ways to spend two and a half hours in the evening. The nicer bits of the seafront were inaccessible anywhere near the station and lots of places were closed. So, equipped with refreshments and my iPod, I steeled myself for the wait, and watched the sun go down over Penzance until the sleeper arrived and was ready for boarding

And so ended my Cornish adventure. 

Eden is a fantastic place and with the annual entry pass you get automatically, I intend to be back within the year. 

And now: back to the grindstone!