The definitive travel blog

I’m one of those people who like going places and for whom the journey is as exciting as the destination but I’ve never wrote about a journey or how it inspired me to write. These notes that were made on my last trip explain exactly why.

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On a train going to London. A minor delay as a freight train has broken down in front of us. The reaction from the other passengers was as if the train manager had declared the end of the world instead of us being twelve minutes late.

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I am reading The Invisible Man from time to time as I’m going to Bromley which is where H G Wells was born and lived for a while. I’ve never read the book so it feels fitting to read it for the first time during this trip.

(I was going to Bromley and I read one whole chapter in three days in case you were wondering.)

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We are pausing again, this time at Chippenham. (They love potatoes in Wiltshire, they have the Devizes for Chippenham. I’ll get me coat.) I can only see one other passenger and he appears to be as unconcerned as I am that we’re not moving. We will be in London approximately one hour late so I will be able to claim at least half the cost of this leg of the train journey. What’s not to love about delays?

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Moving again. For some reason Pokemon Go likes the movement of the train. I’m not picking up many Pokemon or much in the way of XP but I’m going to hatch at least one egg on the way to London. This makes me childishly happy.

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11.10 – 45 minutes into the journey and I’ve just had a text from GWR to say that the train will be delayed!

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I, rather bravely, didn’t bring a jacket with me and I may get rained on on the way home on Thursday (I did but I didn’t melt). I think I’ll buy a jacket in Bromley (I didn’t). I really want a denim jacket (I do) and, if I buy one in Bromley I’ll be less inclined to go into Hema and spend a fortune on cookies and kisses (I bought a tin of mints).

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A herd of cows walking in single file across a field. (Black and white ones in case you were wondering.)

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Call for the train manager to contact the driver. Will this cause another round of barely concealed yet civilised tutting in first class? (It did.)

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I asked the steward for popcorn at the beginning of the journey but there was none on the trolley. He’s just brought me two bags! Lovely man! (See how easily pleased I am.)

At this point I lost myself in a bag of popcorn and a bottle of water (still but chilled) and found myself in Paddington.

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So there you are – exactly why I’m not a travel writer. I’d put all the other buggers out of business wouldn’t I?