The day was Thursday, 12th April 2006. I was playing snooker with Chris (badly, as usual). He mentioned going somewhere at the weekend, just one of those “jump on a train and disappear for a couple of days” things. He had a couple of days off work, and I was on my 9 days holiday, which I booked earlier in the year, just in case plans came off to go and see the Grand National. They didn’t, so they were technically “free”. Initially, I’d planned to sit at home and watch it, but that all changed with the idea of going somewhere.
First of all, Manchester was mentioned. It’s not too far on the train, though this idea was rejected on Friday night when Chris phoned up, and I realised the FA Cup was on. Not good. Maybe another day.
During the conversation, I’d mentioned I’d never been north of the border… well, not properly anyway. It was then and there that the Manc plans were scrapped, and we should head off to Edinburgh.
I informed Daddykins of the plans, and for whatever reason, he instantly went upstairs and started looking at the Edinburgh webcams… The plan was, I’d phone him when I got there, and he’ll take a screenshot of me on the webcam… anyway.
We were going to travel light, the only luggage I had was my coat and a jumper. Everything else that was needed such as toiletries could be purchased when we got there, or supplied by the hotel.
I headed off to bed that night, with Chris announcing that he’d be at my house at 10 in the morning. I got up at 9, just enough time for a bath and a shave before Chris arrived. Predictably, he arrived at 11, though that didn’t matter as we were getting the train from Durham, 20 minutes down the road. We’d planned to get the 12:20 train, so that would leave us plenty of time to sit down and have a relax, which we did for about 10 minutes, on the wrong platform, until I’d pointed out that the trains stopping were going in the wrong direction.
The platform on the other side of the track was much better looking. It is here, my faithful viewers where I break out the first of the photos for you all to see.
First off, we have Durham station’s greenery.
And, how pretty it looks, with all its greenery and…. shit. And, how much did the tickets cost? Forty-seven pounds. Sorry for swearing, F-o-r-t-y - s-e-v-e-n. The journey to Carlisle was only £16, though that wasn’t on the main line.
Er. Moving on swiftly, the train eventually arrived. Or, at least a Virgin Train. It was 10 minutes earlier than the one we’d planned to get, which should have been an added bonus… shouldn’t it? About 10 minutes into the journey, the tannoy blasted into life, with a shrill Scottish Voice. Names have been changed, because I can’t remember them.
“Good morning, Ladies and Gentlemen, this is Grizelda, your customer service operator…. (blah, blah, blah, bling, bling, blah) …. please also note that GNER tickets are not accepted…”
At this point, I looked like this:
Had I just purchased GNER tickets? How was I supposed to know? They’re orange and green and have black writing on them. That’s all I knew. I consulted Chris, who, being interested in trains, would know whether these were valid for Virgin trains.
“Oh yeah, they’ll be fine”, was his reply.
Phew, was my immediate reaction, though I don’t think he was utterly positive at the time. After stopping at Newcastle (and almost losing my camera), I began to have doubts. Things were about to get worse.
Again, Grizelda gave out her spiel about GNER tickets not being accepted. Two people got on at Newcastle, and sat in the aisle opposite us. she then came round and started examining tickets. She stopped at the newly boarded passengers, and began examining their tickets… I only heard what Grizelda said, as the passenger spoke too quietly.
“Sorry sir, these are GNER tickets… well, this is a Virgin train… that’s what I made the announcement for before we left… No, because we don’t stop at GNER stations… that’ll be £37 please… sign here”
That’s it, I was doomed for sure. Other people had got on the wrong train, and I now knew how much it would cost. Even worse, is that she would examine our tickets next. My arse was going 5p-50p.
Grizelda approached… “Can I see your tickets, please?”
I handed over my ticket. I could almost see the money grabbing glint in her eye. Before I knew it, she said “Thank you, sir” and handed my ticket back. I heaved a sigh of relief, and Grizelda disappeared down the carriage, never to be seen again.
“Uneventful, yet extortionately expensive” describes the rest of the journey. Shortly after all of this occured, the snack bar opened. I was hungry, Chris was thirsty. He returned with a bag of crisps for me, and a can of John Smiths for himself.
“How much did that come to?” I ask, expecting to hear a reasonable figure…
“£3.80… the crisps were a quid”.
It wasn’t even a full size can of beer, though the crisps were of the “Big Eat” variety. Things didn’t get better, he got a sarnie and another can of beer later on. I think that one was closer to a fiver in the end. Jeeesus. Eventually, we left the extortionate prices behind, and arrived at Waverley Station, right in the centre of Edinburgh. And, the station was confusing. Which way do we go out? I seem to remember saying that one of the webcams was on Princes Street. Lo and behold, there was a sign pointing right for there. So, off we go. Obviously, the first task would be to find a hotel for the night, as for £47, there was no way I was spending just a couple of hours there like we did in Carlisle.
We headed off to the tourist information place, and asked for a brochure on hotels. we were given a phone-book sized directory of hotels, so surely it can’t have been hard to find one… it wasn’t.
We hauled this rainforest-containing tome outside, and sat down, with the possibility of spending the next day or so flicking through it. No sooner had Chris sat down, I looked up, over the road, and noticed a sign… “Royal British Hotel”… It became clear that the tree-terrifying brochure on hotels we’d been given was useless. Almost every 2nd building is a hotel. The woman behind the information desk could have span a wheel and said “Walk in that direction and OPEN YOUR SODDING EYES”.
Well, that was easy. How much was it, and could we actually get in there? That was the big question…
I waited outside patiently while Chris investigated availability. No sooner had I put on my “Waiting for someone” pose, I got approached by someone with a clipboard…
Her: “Hello, would you be interested in contributing to a market survey???”
Me: “No, you’re alright thanks, I’m just waiting for someone….”
Time passes.
Her: “You look faimiliar… You remind me of someone….” (she says, clearly recalling from some “small talk” script she had planned, to entice me in taking her survey, which was about to backfire all over her face)
Me: “Johnny Vegas?”
Her: “Och, noooo! You’re far too pretty for thaaaaa’ !”
I laugh, slightly flattered, though I’m not sure if she knew who he was - after all, she was old enough to be my ancestor. and I’m not “pretty”. Her small talk continues.
Her: “have you taken one of our surveys before??”
Me: “I highly doubt it, I’ve only been in Edinburgh 20 minutes”
Her: “Ahhh, ok… just visiting then, eh? Which part of Wales are you from?”
Me: (stunned) “Er… Wales? No, I’m from Hartlepool”
Her: “Attelpool??” (What is it with people not understanding 9 fucking letters???)
Me: *sigh* “It’s near Newcastle…
Her: “Ahhh, yes, I used to live in Newcastle…”
Of course you did, love. And I lived a quiet little cul-de-sac on the moon. At this point, Chris stuck his head out of the door with his thumbs up. Hooray! Not only was accomodation sorted, but I’d also gotten away from the clipboard wielding, cloth-eared Caledonian with a geographical defect.
The room was perfectly acceptable… two single beds, a bathroom (which occasionally filled up with the smell of raw sewage if you left the sink taps running) a kettle and a telly.
The photo also features me, and, of course, the obligatory “Corby Trouser Press”.
It didn’t matter, as there were no plans to spend a massive amount of time in there, and certainly not enough time for me to press my trousers. We dropped our belongings in there, and headed off out for our first taste of Scotland.
We headed off in a random direction, down Princes Street. It’s typical, almost traditional, that my first stop on these trips is either a Greggs or a record shop. After a short walk, I spy a HMV nestled quietly under another hotel. I felt a compulsory need to buy something Scottish, as if it was some kind of law. I walk out of there with 2 Deacon Blue CD’s for £7. Bargain-tastic. That is the only time I will say that when referring to this trip.
Anyway, we walked around for a bit, hoping to view Calton Hill. This didn’t last long, as a possible footpath leading up to it was blocked off, and the path we chose seemed to only lead to a residential side street. Not much fun in that.
We walked back up Princes Street, and I dropped the CDs off in the hotel room.
The first thing we needed to do was get money. we went into the very impressive looking Bank Of Scotland to find out where the cash machine was. This building was very majestic looking, with marble floors and high ceilings. We asked where the cash machine was, and were pointed outside, to a little out-building, hosting the cash machines, complete with a very strange look from the receptionist… I’ve just realised what T-shirt I was wearing at the time….
Well, that explains that, then!
To our horror, the cash machine only gave out Scottish notes. Here, in Hartlepool, for whatever reason, they’re classed as works of evil. Give a taxi driver or barmaid a Scottish note here, they will curse your unborn children. Bugger. This means, that I had to spend £50 in 24 hours. Luckily, in Edinburgh, this was easy.
Following our visit to the bank, we headed back onto Princes Street via an alternative route, which gave us our first glimpse of an impressive structure…
The famous Scott Monument. This wasn’t the photo I was hoping to show, but I’ve yet to go through and properly tag my photos on flickr. Not that this is important right now, of course.
Chris liked the look of the building, and I did too, thinking it would be a good opportunity to get some photos. I didn’t know when I took that photo, you could climb the 289 steps to the top of it, for a £3 entry fee. My word.
Now THAT’S an impressive view. I just wish it had been that little bit clearer. I absolutely love the constant stream of people disappearing off into the distance.
I can only post highlights here, I took many more photos from up here, viewable in flickr.
Near the bottom-left of the picture is the national gallery of art, which we visited next… a very impressive collection of artwork, despite the fact I almost depreciated its value by almost knocking over a priceless antique chair. How classy of me! I was still wearing the same t-shirt, by the way. It must have got a few strange looks.
At that point, we moved away from the priceless to the erm… pricey. Chris wanted a bottle of spirits to take home with him, so we headed off to find a whisky shop. Admittedly, it wasn’t hard, and Chris bought a bottle which resembled the train tickets in price…
Thank you, shocked monkey. We shall see you a few more times before I’ve finished this essay.
We headed off back to the hotel room, as Chris needed to drop the shockingly expensive scotch back into the hotel room. We went down a side-street consisting of a bar and bookies. It was then, and only then, I remembered the Grand National was on… I thought it was finished, until I noticed throngs of people outside both of these establishments. In fact, the race was only half way through when I watched it, tip-toeing over the crowds to get a better image of the monitors Chris was a bit bemused and/or frustrated over the fact I was standing full-stretch to view a horse race. But, tradition is tradition, and although I never actually found out who won until the following day, I still saw at least half of the race. Which means, my tradition of not missing one since 1990 still stands! By this time, the shops were shutting and it was time for a break. We picked up some grub from the Sainsbury’s around the corner, which for me involved sausage rolls and tortilla chips.
We returned back to the hotel, Chris dropped off his whisky, and I had a poo, my first one ever out of England. Not that you needed to know that, but it’s a bit of a milestone.
It was time to arrange the night entertainment. Toiletries were the order of the day, so before “TV Burp”, we headed back to the very same Sainsbury store, and stocked up on deodorant. Well, that’s a lie. Chris stocked up on it, I merely used his tin. Greedy bastard that I am.
Back to the hotel once again. and we had a bit of a relax while watching Harry Hill, comedy genius that he is. No sooner had the end credits rolled, I was ready to go out and experience a bit of the nightlife of Edinburgh…
We entered one place… I got the drinks… “Pint of Fosters and a pint of John Smiths, please, mate.” It wasn’t until I’d said “mate”, that I realised the barman was actually female. It’s just as well that the pints we got served were complete shit, so I didn’t have to go back to the bar and face “her”. Chris’s class was dirty, and you couldn’t see through my lager. We drank up, and went to a place which looked just that little bit better. It was just round the corner, and it was named “Ivanhoe”. We were to spend the rest of the night in there. Naturally, they could have extracted the price of a pint of lager with a spoon (£2.90 for a Kroenenburg), but it had a good atmosphere…
I have a feeling many people from Edinburgh might announce its utter shitness, but as a “tourist”, the lager was good, though the karaoke wasn’t I’ve never heard anything so bad in all of my life, and I’ve been seal clubbing (I haven’t really).
There, however, was one good singer out of the lot, who got up and did an excellent Celine Dion, to the tune of “Think Twice”. I fell in love with her voice. I remember nothing about her, except that, and the fact she’s applying for X-Factor. If she does that song, she’ll be up there with the best of them.
After that, things got hazy, and I’ve had to pick up the rest of the story from my phone, as I can’t remember much of it…
… clearly. The EXIF information says this photo was taken at 23:01. I’m not sure if we left because the karaoke had ended, or whether it was closing. Either way, we returned back to the hotel. At this point, I remember getting some type of adrenalin rush, and I have no idea why. Possibly it was because Princes Street, and in fact a large part of Edinburgh is lit by white streetlighting. Sad, I know, but I distinctly remember noticing that.
In fact, after briefly returning to the hotel for a piss, we headed back out for a short time….
I’m sure you’ll be desperate for part 2…..
Technorati Tags: chris, comments, drank, drink, drunk, edinburgh, flcikr, holiday, Photos, scotland
