Brighton of the North?

I don’t think I have ever woken up as early as 7:15 am in order to do a mystery shop. Unfortunately, it showed.

Today I went on a ride up to the west coast, behind the Lake District, to Barrow in Furness. If Market Rasen was the middle of nowhere, Barrow is definitely the end of nowhere.

However, it was the train journeys that were the main source of contemplation on this trip. An 8:15 train from Huddersfield to Manchester was greatly appreciated. You’ve got to love it when an unexpected train appears to speed up your journey.

Unfortunately, even though I picked an early train, I didn’t pick the right carriage. I had to sit on a table sharing with four other monged out tired commuters. I felt slightly awkward. But why should I have? The table seats are there so that four people can sit around the table. So why did I feel as though I was intruding, sitting next to three other complete strangers? Socially, why will people walk to the far end of the train simply to get a seat on its own? I was just glad I had a seat.

What made my journey slightly baffling was the dietary habits of a woman sat across the isle from me. She ordered a tea in a disgracefully deep Oldham accent, and asked for three milks and three sugars. Three milks! in one of those teas? There’s more milk than bloody water then! And three sugars? She won’t need to eat for a week after that energy rush.

So with the tea junkie’s thirst unnaturally quenched, I left the train at Piccadilly. The station really is very snazzy. It’s just so vast. In fact, it’s so big you can’t find a bin anywhere in the place, as it’s a ‘terrorist target’. I walked half way into Manchester just to find one.

As I was mooching around Manchester waiting for my train and on a lookout for a bin, I had a gander at the Hilton Hotel. For some reason people don’t seem to like Manchester’s Hilton. Apparently the sticky-out wedge bit is an eyesore, well, most people I know say it is anyway.

The thing is, surely the point of the building was not to look aesthetically amazing, but at least to be an icon of the skyline. Take Madrid’s Puerta de Europa, the two leaning towers. They look fairly abysmal in my opinion, but then again I recognise them and relate them to the city. So they are icons. The Eiffel Tower is just a lump of scaffolding built to be knocked down again a year later. But it is an icon with Paris. So even though the Hilton may not look good at all, it helps to give Manchester its own iconic identity.

I tried to explain this to a passing tramp, but he wasn’t listening.

I then got onto the train for Barrow. A long journey made worse by the fact I was absolutely shattered and my ipod had already died. Luckily, I had an inane business man sat near me. It was clear he had been bought a new phone for his birthday by his wife who feels that a new Blackberry will give him less stress; he didn’t have a clue how to use it. A very smooth Bollywood ringtone kept bluring out into the carriage, and all he did was look at it, as though perplexed at what to do. The ‘hello’ noise he sent down the line was so confused, as though he had never seen a ‘talkie phone’ before. He kept taking his hand away from his ear to look at the screen in mid-speech. It was like he’d been dropped out of the sky from the 19th century. He even ran off the train at one stop and them ran back on again. Poor man.

Eventually we began to snake into the Lake District, most certainly the most beautiful place in England. What was even better was to see that lambing season was in place. Now I know what you’re thinking; aww look at all those lambs springing and prancing and oh so cute. Well, let me tell you I was licking my lips. More lamb for the slaughter mwahahaha! Only kidding, but I was wondering, why are lambs deemed ‘cute’, whilst sheep are disgusting, woolly, grotty, smelly, tangled and shaggy? At what point does a joyous lamb become an ugly sheep?

Anyways, back to the train. We passed a station named Ulverton. The sign read ‘Ulverton, Historic Market Town’. Historic, I deduced, means it’s been there a while, but are we also to assume that to use this term means that whatever is 'historic' is famous for being so? So, is Ulverton famous for being a market town? I’ve never heard of it. And as far as I’m concerned it isn’t something to boast about, with my past experience of market towns consisting of Market bloody Rasen!

I’m glad I didn’t have to stop at Ulverton.

Eventually I got to Barrow in Furness, did my shop, bought a swanky little bottle of high percentage Peroni (which I have just finished and won't be hurrying off to buy another), and strolled out. Barrow itself seemed a nice place, although two things intrigued me.

Is Barrow the Brighton of the North? Walking past a building, there was a huge sign saying ‘Love Barrow’, but in a seriously camp font (see picture above). To intensify the campness of the town, as I was walking towards the station, a 65 year old guy minced past me in very tight white jeans and a flowery open-collared shirt. I can just image him being kicked out of London in the 60s and he reconciled to Barrow to start up a northern gay movement. Not that I have any views in particular for or against gay people, but to see a gay O.A.P strut past a camp ‘Love Barrow’ sign was certainly an eye opener.

Back to the train for the ride home and I was knackered! At this point I’d like to apologise to George Chubb, whom I commented on in my Namibia Diary for sleeping whilst traveling. I did the same. I was so tired. I know how he felt. My head began to droop on the glass window. My eyelids slowly fell. My head cracked on the windowsill and I smashed my eyebrow. Wait… shit that really hurt! Luckily no one saw.

I gladly got back to Huddersfield to find I’d just missed my train. So, I got the bus home. Now this is where I can feel like a right old codger… I remember when it was 50p to get the bus from town to home. It’s now bloody £2.20!!! I could almost get a taxi for cheaper than that!

Money these days, it’s just not what it used to be.