Sun on a Javelin

From here to the magic world that is Walton Hall using the railways of this green and pleasant land is a gentle saunter. An hour on the HS1 to the patron saint of livers and then a stroll along Euston Road. At Euston there is a glorious choice of speedy conveyances, many of which are going to faraway places with strange sounding names; Birmingham, Liverpool, Coventry and Tring. There are even international trains to Aberdeen, Fort William and Inverness and most stop at Milton Keynes Central. Today I selected a train which would terminate in my hometown and the temptation to stay on and enjoy a beer at The Pev was great. Eschewing that delight I alighted at MKC and, by chance, met a couple of colleagues so we shared a cab. Fast forward a few happy hours where I not only attended a meeting but met a lot of colleagues; some I've known online for years but never met. Time for the return trip.

It started well with a shared cab to the station. There was a direct train to the nation's capital but it was one of those little DMUs rather than a beautiful Pendolino but it worked. I played the flaneur along Euston Road once more and then the travel turned to custard.

As I arrived the display showing my next train changed from it being in 10 minutes to being in 30 minutes. This then extended to about 45 minutes late before it was cancelled. Then the next train was also pushed back. The reason, we were finally told, was that there were swans on the Medway high-level bridge and because they were protected by the Queen all traffic had to stop until they were moved. My first thought was that a few of us could take an octogenarian but I guess she might have had the Household Cavalry with her and it might be tough fighting a horse in hand-to-hand combat. Then I realised that I was getting off before the Medway bridge so I wondered why they couldn't run me down to Strood but these guys never listen to reason so I left it. Finally we split over an hour after I should have been sped under the Thames.

Strood railway station is the polar opposite of St Pancras. I think it has toilets and beyond that it has a shelter and a matrix arrivals and departures indicator on each of the four platforms and loads of nothing else. Of course I was able to watch high speed trains stopping and leaving again to head over the previously troublesomely be-swanned bridge, the fastest stretch of track on the route, and down to Ashford and beyond. Finally the little train that runs along the Medway valley arrived. It then runs back stopping at stations that service towns that only appear as often as Brigadoon. The romance of rail travel.