It ain’t ‘alf grim up north

Hurray, summer is upon us! Everywhere we look the daffodils are in flower, the birds are tweeting, and the tramps are in their t-shirts. Unfortunately, summer also means exam time for me. So, what a lovely excuse to get away from the pressures of exams and essays by going on a mystery shop, to Colne.

Colne, for those who don’t know, is in the middle of fucking nowhere! Trying to describe it to my mates went like this; “it’s near Burnley? Above Accrington? Other side of Manchester? West of here?” and so on until I got the map out.

I didn’t realise how far it was and so booked the visit willy-nilly (I’ve been craving to put that word in a blog). I then had a right good gander on the Internet and found it was a two and a half hour journey, just to get there. Unfortunately, what I didn’t realise was that there was only one and a quarter hours of actual train travelling. The rest of the time was mooching around station platforms awaiting my transport.

Well seeing as I booked it I had no choice but to go anyway. And so, at 11am on a pleasantly warm Friday morning, I was stuck in Accrington station with nothing to do, apart from watch a guy run almost in slow motion to catch a train that had already set off, as I awaited one myself to Colne.

I’ve begun to enjoy watching people run for trains. I’ve done it twice now myself, so I can justify laughing at others. I think it’s the sense of decreasing hope after every long, languid step, as the inevitable doors shut fast and the train pulls away from the platform, which amuses me most. Or maybe it’s the slow relaxing of the arms, as the weight of the briefcase takes full affect again, during which the realisation that the chase is over slows the runner in their tracks. Actually, it’s the grudging plod back to the timetable boards with a blend of annoyance and anger as they look up to find out the next train isn’t for 50 minutes, which tickles me most.

Anyways so after 45 minutes I get on the train, and finally get to Colne. I must say Colne is an odd place. The shops and buildings are modern, globalised and cool. The streets are properly tarmaced. The town hall is neatly polished.

However, under all this is still a feel that this place has been socially left to its own devices. As my dad put it, ‘It is a place that has missed out on the regeneration which has centred around Manchester’.

And, to be fair, it kind of has. Although buildings and supermarkets look fresh and exciting, the people seem trapped in a different age. Imagine if you will, a population of people from the 1960s all now living in a modern-day town. This is what Colne is like. Everyone knows each other. People hold conversations from across the street. Window cleaning is an important disk in the spine of the local economy. It is as though society has been cut off from the outside world. It’s charming, to an extent.

Unfortunately, there are the problems that occur in every other town in the country. The main one is semi-antisocial behaviour. Think of those guys who drive around with their windows down and their music splurging out of their stereos. They own the road. They take no shit. They can go at whatever speed they like, wherever they like. Now, imagine this, but everyone is doing it.

For this is my lasting impression of Colne. A long, jammed street full of cars with the windows down and music turned up to ten. What amazed me was that people over 30, with actual wrinkle lines and grey hair, were doing this too.

I thought it was a childish, immature effort to gain attention from the opposite sex, one that you grow out of that first time you plough your car into a lamppost. I didn’t realise this kind of thing stuck around with you throughout adulthood.

Anyway, I eventually find myself back on an Accrington platform, waiting 58 minutes for my train back to Leeds. I had enough time to walk round the whole of Accrington if I had wanted, but stuck to the station.

That’s if you could call it a station. Accrington station is two platforms, either side of a double rail track. There is a ticket booth that is shut, and a total of three seats. That is all. People are always sitting on these seats. The floor looks like someone had competed in a ‘spray vomit around as much as possible’ competition, and won. I didn’t sit down.

Instead I stood on the bridge overlooking the rail lines. Above is a picture of the station, and that is basically Accrington. One way in, one way out. Eventually, I happily took the later of these options.

Scotland – Day 5 – Inverness to Home!

Sat on a gradually filling stationary train in Aberdeen station, waiting to get back across the boarder, feeling very annoyed.

The good soul that I am offered to do a final mystery shop on a restaurant in Aberdeen, one that I shall not name. I’m going straight to the point, the food was absolutely dreadful! You wouldn’t feed what I had to your pet’s parasites.

I stomached a poorly prepared burger that tasted as though it had just come out of a microwave, Rustlers style. The cheese wasn’t melted, and I counted 14, just 14 undercooked chips. The bun was white and dry, and had about three fields of flower poured over it. This, plus a lager, came to £7.

I honestly don’t know who would willingly buy what I ate about half an hour ago for such a price. I bought a burger like this in Leeds, with the same disappointed result. I learnt my lesson and will never go back to the Oak for food. However, this was worse, as my hopes were high and I was bloody hungry!

I checked out the toilets as part of my mystery shop, and found one of the two cubicle doors was missing; figures.

Right well sat on this train I’ve begun to wonder what I have learnt on this trip. I suppose the main one is don’t go to Shetland or Isle of Lewis for a city-tour holiday. Don’t get a ferry unless the sea is very calm. And finally, don’t go to Aberdeen for anything, or you will end up with a pie that tastes of the inside of a particularly inflamed bunion staring up at you from the table.

Also, I have leant that public transport actually works, as long as you prepare and book and check and double-check about three weeks in advance. One good thing I have learnt is that you can get stuff for free, as I have been paid for this ‘holiday’. However, I have also been taught, through a long lecture by Henry the Stornoway B&B man, that Scottish pubs are notoriously unruly and should be utterly avoided.

If asked again if I could do a grand tour of Scotland, I’d have to seriously contemplate it. The pros are that I get time to myself to relax where possible and explore a bit. The cons are that there’s the risk it goes tits up, the meticulous planning involved beforehand, and the enormous weight of a backpack attached to you for five days.

As for public transport. I don’t think I fully appreciate it when it’s good. When it’s quiet. When it’s efficient. However, when you have two and a half hours of utterly shite music being played behind you on a crammed train from Edinburgh to Newcastle, sat next to a guy who seemed adamant to drink his way through the entire Magners orchard, who stank of a very heavy smoker.

When public transport works like a charm you barely notice it. It’s when you have to mix with nobheads that the brown stuff hits the whirly thing.

Scotland – Day 4 – Stornoway

This trip is now finally beginning to have a physical effect on me. I’ve now bought three bottles of whisky, adding to a very heavy bag. It feels like I’m of on a Duke of Edinburgh expedition. My shoulders and back are killing me.

Some of this pain was my fault however. Two days ago I was wondering around Lerwick and decided to go to the library (rock on!). The map said it was up Banks Road. So, turning up the road without looking, I began an ascent that was ludicrously steep.

Unfortunately, I had already begun to climb the bloody North Face when I realised how steep it was. I couldn’t turn back, knackered, as others were also walking up it. To make matters worse, a woman with a pram was overtaking me. I have to say an old crone with a pram speeding past a young (maybe not fit or healthy) man in walking gear is fairly embarrassing on the side of the guy. Therefore, I turned on the pistons and power-walked past her, past everyone else, and reached the summit first.

Victory! I shall not be embarrassed today! These were my thoughts as I set off for the library from the top of the hill, when suddenly I realised I was limping. So focussed I had been to avoid embarrassment and respectfully reach the peak first, I was unaware that my left calf had strained beyond the pain barrier.

So, sat on a bench next to the library, I had to endure the pram woman stroll past me again as I nursed my leg.

The pain is still niggling me now. Plus I jarred my right knee getting off the Inverness to Ullapool bus, so now I’m pretty much a walking cripple.

Back to Stornoway. It’s fairly dull to be honest. I managed to waste most of my time waiting for the ferry by taking photos of seagulls and bins. They have palm trees in the park. The Artic Circle is more tropical than this place, why on earth do they have palm trees? Just plant some heather in the park, that’s suitable. (Oh yes, I know my sturdy foliage)

One good thing about Stornoway is the bed and breakfast facilities. The place I stayed in last night was fantastic! The people kind, the bed comfy, and the telly supplied DAVE! Buzzcocks is so much better when watched in the middle of nowhere.

Anyway I’m now sat on the ferry going back to ‘the mainland’, as the locals call it. Some nobhead girl behind me decided to unleash the wit earlier, when the captain on the tannoy system asked for our attention. She replied “Huh, no!” and her three comrades in comedy all laughed. I suppose the irony is, is that by saying ‘no’ she clearly showed that the Captain had got her attention. She’s listening to a pink ipod and eating a Yorkie bar at the moment… classy. However, I think the pink hoodie nails it!

Sat on m bed in a B&B in Inverness now. I’m going to have to have an early night, as some nobhead (this word is the clear epithet of the day) kid sat right next to my head when I was snoozing on the boat. He turned the volume on his Nintendo DS up to some foghorn level, and then started elbowing my head whenever Mario went round a particularly tough corner.

I woke up and just stared at him. Stared and stared until he cocked on and walked off. I wouldn’t have minded if he was a little kid on his own, but he was about 11 and his lard-arsed excuse of a father was sat next to him.

No whisky tonight, just water.

Scotland – Day 3 - Coast to coast

Another night on the bloody sleeper seats left me with a crooked neck and a severely impaired lower back. However, I did sleep! I reckon I got maybe five hours last night. Buzzing.

On the train to Inverness at the moment. The Scottish highlands are far greater, more emphatic and simply more beautiful than anything in England. It walks all over the Lake District. The Pennines are simply a smudge on the Earths face in comparison.

In the train, however, there is nothing. There’s just nothing to look at, contemplate or muse over. There’s usually some freak to watch when on trains, certainly in Lincolnshire anyway, but here there’s nothing. What’s worse is, I can’t believe I’m complaining about the lack of something that usually I get very annoyed and complain about!

Ate my easter egg. It was a Simpsons one. Very tasty. Pity it was crushed beforehand. Although I suppose that saved me a bit of manual labour.

Hungry.

Well I finally got some food from two bonus mystery shops in Inverness. Once again I got sushi as I feel it’s too nice and cheap to pass up! I don’t know why people feel repulsed by sushi. What most don’t realise is, is that that the majority of sushi is actually cooked. The excuse of ‘ergh raw fish’ doesn’t stand up in my eyes. Plus even the raw stuff aint bad for you.

I’ve realised my accent is just not understandable in northern Scotland. I asked for some rice yesterday in the supermarket, and had to repeat myself three times before the woman went “Argh, rrrrrrrice!” rolling her /r/ with as much conviction and patriotic passion as she could. I found the rice, and then buggered off.

So I’m now sat on the ferry, about to embark (or disembark? What’s the difference?) on a voyage to Stornoway, with a bleeding nose. It was my own fault. The laptop got jammed in my bag, and, during the loosening procedure, I wrenched the thing out of my bag and into the bridge of my nose. I now look like an absolute tit typing with one hand whilst my other attempts to hide the tissue stuffed up my left nostril.

There’s an unopened packet of Hula Hoops on the seat near me. It’s been there for an hour now and no one has claimed them. However, there’s a bag right next to it. Maybe it’s been left from the last voyage? Maybe the Hoops (their street term there) are free pickings now? I’ll bide my time and see if anyone claims them.

Shit. Some old bint has moved in and claimed the bag, and the Hula Hoops. I had plans for them as well.

Scotland – Day 2 - Lerwick

I am going to start this post with an urgent, harrowing message. The Shetlands have a population of 21,000 people, with 6,800 living in Lerwick, the main town. It is a billion miles from even an inkling of external civilisation, and the only way to get here is by boat or plane.

How, then, can a disease spread so far north? How can the final remnants of internationalisation and common (but not popular by far) culture reach these historic isles? How the hell have fucking CHAVS managed to wrap their grubby little claws around this remote society?

It’s a sad indictment on the rest of the UK that we have managed to influence a society so far away and remote. Not that everyone is a chav in Lerwick, far from it. However, like every other town or city in this country, the streets are riddled with loitering youths with their tunes and hoodies which are just not appealing in any sense of the word!

Anyway, apart from that, Lerwick is a grand old place. Possibly not in the top 10 of places to visit before you die. Probably not in the top 100. However, if you happen to stumble upon it then it’s definitely worth a look round.

The Shetland museum is interesting and interactive. Fort Charlotte is cool place to chill out. The library is inside a church! Oh yes, it’s mental down Lerwick way.

There are one or two things I have realised though. The Scots, in general, seem very awkward when it comes to any sort of interaction. Even though the guys at the museum and the information centre were very helpful, you do get a sense of ‘the local shop’ when you walk into a newsagents or a pub when everyone looks round.

People on the streets seem awkward too. When you pass someone in the street or on a footpath, I find it polite to say “Hi”, “Morning”, or even “Good morrow to yon self, fine sire of the island realm”. Well, maybe not that last one. Basically, when you do greet someone they look at you as though you have just threatened them. A quick glanced eye contact is accompanied with a short grunt, which coming from a Scot sounds like someone clearing their throat. It’s as though they’re embarrassed to recognise me. (Feel free to add amusing joke about my facial features here)

Great. Just looked outside. As soon as I get onto the boat the Sun comes out. I may go for a stroll on the open deck!

Oh yeah – and I watched the Chelski vs Liverpool game on a poor reception TV last night, and was utterly thrilled at the result. There were seven Pool fans sat next to me. I silently buzzed.

Scotland – Day 1 - Getting to Shetland

Well it's been a few weeks since my last shop, but I'm glad I can finally get my fix!

So, I’m sat now on a boat in the middle of the North Sea heading towards the Shetland Islands. Nine hours ago I was happily tucked up in bed down Yorkshire way. Now I’m sat in a quiet bar, with no wi-fi connection, and Paul O’-bloody-Grady in my ear. I hope they put the footy on tonight, or else I may go and watch that 3D kids film which for the life of me I can’t remember the name of.

The journey up was fairly smooth. I slept on the train from Huddersfield to York. I stood on the train from York to Newcastle. I got kicked out of my seat and slept on the floor on the train from Newcastle to Edinburgh. And I wrote an utterly disgraceful opening of a poetry essay on the train from Edinburgh to Aberdeen.

I got to Aberdeen fairly early and so, having a few hours to kill, I went for a mooch around the town. I have to say it wasn’t too different from any other commercial inner-city street. No snazzy local shops, just Topman, Greggs, and the signature closed-down Zavvi.

I managed a beef and gravy pie from a grotty little indoor market that mirrored Queensgate in Huddersfield. It was quite nice to say it looked like it was made out of asbestos and malaria.

In open sea now, and it’s choppy. Apparently this is a smooth crossing. Well done Joe, remembering all those seasickness tablets… oh wait, no you didn’t did you! Well at least you’ve got some food to keep you occupied… ah! well you haven’t packed any have you!

Well what to do, what to do. Bar? I think so!