I am currently embarked on a  journey to Paris where I hope to work in the English language bookshop Shakespeare and Company. Although there are perfectly good flights that would get me there in no time at all, I have decided to travel through the UK visiting old friends who have since moved away. The following is an assortment of excerpts from my travel journal.

Friday 12/10/2010

I have once again boarded the Dunblane train to Edinburgh, a route I have travelled, on and off, for one reason or another, since I was thirteen years old. Now at twenty-six I have left home for the fourth time, and I doubt whether it has ever scared me so much…

…I remember boasting in the smoke-ridden Cellar Bar of Aikmans (a favoured undergraduate pub). I flippantly opined that there was nothing to keep me in Scotland after my studies and that I intended to “skip the country” living on my native wit. Whether I can in fact do this remains to be seen.

Monday 15/20.2012

The megabus down to Manchester was exceptionally painful… …mostly due to the couple who got on at Glasgow and sat directly behind me.

He was loud, Scottish, and stupid: she was Irish and bright by comparison. It wasn’t so much that there conversation was inane (what’s the difference between a caravan and a “horse-van”?) although this sort of thing is wearing after a while. No, it was the incessant lip-smacks coming from directly behind my head…

…Sarah-Lou works in a Vegan Bar where they call her Eddie, and where almost everybody appears to be an artist, poet or musician. Or all three…

…This morning we took the train into Manchester Piccalilli from Mauldeath Road. Maul Death Road – you cant make this stuff up. Slou dashed off to her lecture…

…I bought the coffee that I have almost finished with approximately fifty minutes busking in the middle of Manchester. First thing on a grey Monday morning is not a good time to busk but it was good practice for my gig in Chester this afternoon. What do people see when I busk? Some shake their heads, some smile, some stop and talk to me, some sing along. I know I cheered a few people up on their way into work and that, coupled with the coffee, might just about make it worth it…

…The train pulls out of Piccalilli, sun shines, though the old caravan windows and my spirits rise. The trip has begun and now I am in it, the wheels might make a drum beat as we march in file towards our stations. Cargo containers, primary colours, building blocks and overhead wires – what is the difference between a tram and an electric train? – away rust and urban decay, I roll by trees and streets and what might have been Bo’ness; churches, suburbs, factories. Factory? What Factory? Blue is beautiful, blue is best!

My arrival in Chester…

…met a self styled forty two year old “punk rocker” ex crack-addict with a harmonica who insisted I get out my guitar so that we could have a jam. I played some blues riffs and he improvised over the top reasonably well. He then decided to give me some of his solo repertoire, which included Jingle Bells and Old Susanna. Alas, when unaccompanied he rendered both of these songs by playing the same note again and again with perhaps a hint of the rhythm of the songs he claimed to be playing…

…pub is called “The Old Harker’s Arms”, situated on the canal. Did Jonathan pick this as our meeting place because we are a pair of Old Harkers harking back to our glory days?…

…According to the barmaid, the pub gets its name from a company of canal boat chandlers surname “Harker” who used to operate out the premises…

Tuesday 16th Oct 2012

After a morning spent reading “Innocent Eredira” by Gabriel Garcia Marquez, I walked into Chester along the canal to try my hand at a bit of busking…

…discovered the council offices and made sure I could busk. Everything seemed positive… …I set up at the cross but was not well received. There were some jakies who kept asking for requests ad I fear my association with them inhibited donations…

…In forty five minutes I had earned £1.10, a new low… …still I met with disaster as I would with triumph and bought a bottle of cava on the way back.

Wednesday 17th 2012

Last night had an excellent meal with Jonathan and Rosie. I had to teach Rosie songs on the guitar in exchange for dindins which made the thing more fun rather than anything…

…and port had me just about nodding as we played a game called “Carcassone.” Cards with parts of a map are picked by each player and matched to those already on the table domino-style. One can put a “man” on cards one wishes to dominate. With the completion of cities and roads, players gain points, and at the end there is a reckoning where uncompleted works are taken into account…

…On the train to Euston I was sat opposite two ladies who were going off on the Orient Express. They were very friendly and gave me a gin and tonic. In fact I was hard pressed to refuse a second, the first being rather strong and I was aware I had to negotiate the underground shortly…

More instalments at irregular intervals soon, later, or not at all.