I started off today with a good weather report and confidence that everything would go smoothly.  My tickets for the next 4 days have been booked via Thetrainline.com and so I head off to the station elegantly attired in shorts and T-shirt.  First disappointment of the day was delivered by the weather which was not the baking sunshine predicted but instead was bloody cold.  Secondly, the ticket machine at Slough refused to believe I was pressing buttons when I was and so an increasingly irritated line of people swelled behind me as I tried to use this “simple method” of retrieving my tickets.  Having finally got them, I strode onto the platform and then checked them noting for the first time that I had a seat booked from Reading to Swindon, but that ticket wasn’t for an hour and a half.

I made the decision to head for Reading as I could nip out of the station there and get myself a jacket as I had managed to pack poorly as usual.  I had, however, got the most important thing with me – a book (actually, I had two).  The trip from Slough to Reading was quite strange.  The train was almost completely silent, with various people sprawled across seats asleep.  It felt more like the last train of the night rather than the 09:00 that it was.  It was good to see a couple of people with books – I thought they had almost died out!

At Reading, I blagged my way out of the station and headed into town to buy myself a jacket.  I found myself torn between M&S (pricey but good quality) and Primark (cheap and definitely poor quality).  Finance won the day, so after grabbing a cheap hoodie I headed back to the station for the first coffee of the week.  Back there I made the mistake of heading into the waiting room to use the toilets.  The toilets themselves had that delightful smell of stale urine usually reserved for the landings of multi-story car-parks, while the waiting room itself reminded me of the one in Beetlejuice – only with less cigarette smoke.  When whatever Supreme Being decides where I go after this life, I suspect I’ll be spending some time in the purgatory of a room just like this.  With that cheerful thought, I decided to leave the glumly staring and largely silent people behind me and concentrated on my book.

The book referred to is Drawing Blood by Poppy Z Brite.  If you like drug use, casual homosexual sex and a story that flirts with the supernatural much in the way McDonalds flirts with the concept of fine dining, this book is for you.  Personally, it was a book I endured rather than enjoyed.  I finished it with a sense of relief.

The train on to Swindon was far more crowded than my first train and I wonder why people claim to enjoy train travel.  As I watched a harassed mother being bullied by her 3 year old child, and got to experience the piercing shrieks with which he indicated his displeasure I appreciated even more the pleasures of driving or motor-biking.  Though both those options would have made it a lot harder to read my book.  By now, I have moved on to the second book: A Disaffection by James Kelman.  The story of a Scottish school teacher who is increasingly unhappy with his lot and who seeks solace in drink.  To describe this book as “grim” would be the sort of under-statement that is used when describing Alan Carr as “mildly annoying.”

Before I started this holiday, someone asked me if I enjoyed travelling by train.  I have to say, that I do not.  The train is merely a device for moving from A to B and doesn’t seem to have the mystery and majesty that people used to ascribe to it.  That may be something to do with the current trains, or possibly a savage indictment on modern society.  But it’s way too early to do start with a savage indictment – especially with an election looming.  My lack of excitement about travelling by train is not helped by my arrival at Swindon.  I am greeted by drizzle and a town centre that is grey and grim.  The upside is that I arrive at the bus stop with seconds to spare and settle myself into my seat congratulating myself on my excellent timing.  This was, of course, in no way complete luck.  The bus itself was a double-decker and so I sat upstairs with a sense of excited nostalgia – only to find the the roofs are considerably lower than they used to be.  Some may claim that I may be taller than when I used to ride regularly on double-decker buses, but I poo-poo such comments as fake news.

The bus headed out south and it wasn’t until we crossed the M4 and got into the countryside that I felt that my holiday had properly started.  For the first time I got to look out at green fields and hills and the prospect from the top floor of the bus gave me a good view.  Of course, the view was somewhat marred by the rain on the windows of the bus, but that would clearly stop before we got to Avebury…wouldn’t it?

As it happens, it didn’t, so I decided to look around before tramping around the stones.  Avebury itself is an odd little place.  The centre of the village comprises a handful of cottages and a pub (The Red Lion) all of which are sited within the stone circle.  The remainder of Avebury lies to the south the of the circle.  The insistent drizzle led me to take shelter inside The Henge Shop.  This sells an array of typical tourist souvenirs (including bookmarks which I made a beeline for).  There were no henges to my disappointment.  Probably just as well as I am a renowned impulse buyer and I don’t think my backpack would have been up to the challenge of carrying a henge.  I also suspect my landlady would object to the installation of a henge in the spare room.  The shop had a large selection of books on witchcraft, dowsing, crystals and the sort of topics that a friend of mine would describe as “New Age Crap”.  Bizarrely, it also included the Harry Potter books.  I also spotted a DVD of Children of the Stones.  I remember this TV series from the late 1970’s when it scared the crap out of me.  I have a copy at home, though I’ve never watched it as I suspect I will be disappointed.

Having indulged in some retail therapy, the rain had stopped so I was able to head out for the main event in my visit – the stones themselves.  While this isn’t a Karnak, the stones are certainly impressive.  I’d like to say that walking around them was a deeply spiritual experience, but the presence of a busy road going through the middle of them tends to distract you from their contemplation.  There’s also a variety of other things to distract you.   A woman in a long green robe, with a walking stick topped with a carved goat head was explaining to some bemused tourists that they had to speak to the staff in its’ own language or it wouldn’t understand them.  Another woman thought it was a good idea to let her delightfully rambunctious children climb all over the stones.  But apart from the distractions, it’s a nice walk around the stones.

Once you’ve done that, a walk into the village to the south reveals a very pretty little village and a fairly attractive church.  There is also an avenue of stones that heads out about 1 km to the east of the main ring.  The road they parallel is far quieter than that through the centre of Avebury and for the first time I could hear birdsong and get some idea of being in the countryside.

I actually really liked it here – not least because The Red Lion serves good food and a fine cider.  (I’ve been here once before many years ago for a ghost hunt at the pub.  A frustrating night as one of our group was a confirmed sceptic and spent most of the night making silly jokes.  The best moment of the night was at the end when we were all sat downstairs for our final chat and could quite clearly hear footsteps above us in what were completely empty rooms.)

So there is it, A is done and I’m heading off to Bristol to get myself in the right place for B.

I hope this was slightly more than an inconvenience.  If not, blame R – contact me and I’ll send you her email address so you can forward the hate mail.