Slack Jawed Babbling

This is where the coastal blog posts get even more sketchy than usual. My only visits to Pembrokeshire were when the kids were little, in the early Noughties. I haven’t managed to add any recent trips to that visit. I can’t pretend that what follows here does justice in any meaningful way to this beautiful, craggy seascape of tiny coves, flowing bays and pretty seaside towns. Particularly as one of the visits largely centres on a bout of seasickness out of Fishguard ferry terminal. But hey, this was always going to be an imperfect project, so I will plough on regardless.     Our journeys over to this far-flung, westernmost corner of Wales were, in common with many others, to rendezvous with the ferry for Rosslare across the Irish Sea in County Wexford. Mrs A’s family are all Irish and although most of the rellies were based in north Dublin, we had some wonderful holidays combining visits to the capital with stays around the south coast, from Fethard to Dungarven to Kinsale t...

Near the end of June 2021 and the station car park at Berkhamsted was quiet for that time of day. Covid-19 was still gripping the country with the steely fingers of the new Delta variant. The 10.30am to Euston was empty and might have been an untimetabled ghost service that rail companies use to fulfil requirements of ancient transport legislation.  Heading out to Cardiff was a different story though. A train curiously packed with passengers wielding wheelie trolleys and ruck sacks. Foreign travel was still an amber or red list hazard, so airports wouldn’t be seeing much action; and the train didn’t call at any obvious tourist destinations. Then it clicked. England were playing Sri Lanka in an international T20 that evening in Cardiff. That would be the reason for all the sports tops as well, then. The seat reservations policy of GWR was designed to comply with social distancing restrictions. It was a causing problems. A restless couple relocated to the seats behind me after being ...

These posts have so far all been presented according to the pattern of the traditional pre-1974 county structure of England without too much fuss. The geography of Local Government in England is a fractious mess (I’ve already had one nerdy pop at this subject back in Sussex ). The old ceremonial counties make sense for this sort of project. Only a small liberty was taken with East Yorkshire which is technically a unitary authority, rather than a county. I wanted to include Bristol on these travels to mark the city’s influential and sometimes controversial role as one of the major seaports of the British Empire, together with some of the curious, charming and overlooked settlements on each of its flanks. But how to categorise the area? What should I call it? (Never mind what anarchists have to say about this. Labels are important.) Avon would be the natural description as a former non-metropolitan county for this part of west of England. However, it has ceased to be. It is an ex-count...

I've done enough of these trips to give a fair impression that when it comes to public transport, I know what I’m doing. It’s an illusion. In Taunton I jumped aboard a service bus and asked for a return to Watchet. 'To where?' said the driver with more than a hint of fake bemusement, I thought. 'Watchet', I repeated firmly. Trying not to make it sound like a threat, I quickly added 'on the road to Minehead?'   'I know where it is, matey. You need a 28. This is a 2A.’ Oh. Easy mistake to make when you're squinting at the front of an on-coming vehicle and simply following the crowd at the bus stop. Baaaa.   'There's one now.' He gestured at the double-decker overtaking us. I sheepishly stepped down and out to wait another hour. Once settled on the correct service, the journey up to Watchet was a swinging, pitching ride around the foothills of the Quantocks. I admired stout, often steep slopes tufted with moorland bracken and receding heat...

Departing Exeter St David’s railway station I continue to bump in to the legacy of that man Paul Theroux on these trips. Back in 1982 on his ‘The Kingdom by the Sea’ round-Britain yomp, our mentor took the Exeter To Barnstaple branch line, where conversations with passengers were about the Falklands War. The conflict is still the topic of discussion today as we mark forty years since HMS Invincible sailed down The Solent accompanied by a flotilla of support vessels and a ticket to save Thatcher’s premiership. Without over-stretching the history-repeating-itself observation, the Russian-Ukrainian war is currently doing the same for Boris Johnson.   Theroux seemed to enjoy his journey between Exeter and Barnstaple, but was far from optimistic about the line’s chances of survival. I’m chuffed to say (as if in some way I’m responsible) that it is still open and busy with regular services, despite his doom-laden predictions.  The railway infrastructure has changed so much sinc...