There is the possibility that I was reaching a little with this one – but the other V’s that I found were very pedestrian – I thought a trip to Victoria Station would be pretty dull.  So instead, I sneakily turned to Latin and found the Via Devana.  This is the name that the Romans gave to the road that led from Colchester (Camulodunum) to Chester (Deva).  https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Via_Devana.  As I have resorted to Latin to get myself out of this particular hole, I will try and make sure to look at Roman things while I’m there.

The day is eye-wateringly sunny, so I get to the train station with the Age Appropriate Hoody packed in my backpack and my baseball cap ready for use later on.  It’s only been 2 days since “U” and my legs have recovered thanks to a very long hot bath.  Somehow, I managed to get away without getting sunburned – no idea how!  After my last trip, I am aware of the need for preparation so I have both sun cream and water with me.  I (as usual) arrive well in time – in fact, I’m in time for the train prior to the one I have planned to use.  With a dazzling display of self control, I stay on the platform so that I can stick to my original plan.  This is helped by todays’ book: Long Lost by Harlan Coben.

The platform is packed with people though very few are talking – clearly I’m travelling with commuters.  The only thing to break the silence is a woman further down the platform who must have bought her penetrating laugh from Cackles’R’Us.  She must do well at Hallowe’en.  I wonder what she finds so funny – surely Bake Off: The Professionals wasn’t that amusing last night?  Maybe she (like me) caught up on Game of Thrones and she finds the sight of things burning amusing.  Alternatively, she could be related to George R Martin and she (like him) is thinking of the money pouring in.  I mean, who is he kidding?  All the hype about the last season, including a 6 month delay and extended episodes and what we get is … disappointing.  The pace is either glacially slow or frantic with plot lines that are tied up without any real care.  It’s almost as though he’s already thinking of the spin off series.  I feel sorry for Tyrion who has been reduced to the status of a watcher, just numbly watching everything and looking haunted.  Though, I admit, it did look good.  I keenly await the launch of a range of Kings Landing Marshmallows (Toasted by Dragons).

The train is as crowded as the platform was.  My backpack goes on the luggage rack and I sit in front of it.  Every time we stop (and we stop everywhere), I get paranoid about someone stealing it and keep twisting around to make sure it’s still there.  There are people standing in the aisle and just beside me is a man who has very little regard for personal space.  He is enjoying his nutritious breakfast of a packet of crisps, though as people keep jogging his elbow, several are on the floor.  His lack of masticatory precision also means that his T-shirt is liberally sprinkled with the debris of the ones that make it into his mouth.  He also seems to be fascinated by me and every time I look up, he’s staring at me.  Luckily, this isn’t very often as I’m devouring Long Lost in much the same way that Pac-Man devoured those little snack pellets.

At Paddington, I head to the Spiral Line as I’m going to Liverpool Street station.  During this trip I’ve managed to pick up a different main-line station each time I’ve gone through London and it’s beginning to feel like I’m playing some macro version of Monopoly.  The Spiral Line, of course, has trains every couple of minutes – except today when the wait is 7 minutes.  I consider heading south on it and then using the Central Line but due to the Spiral Line’s peculiar set up this doesn’t involve just walking across the platform – instead, I have to go back up the stairs, through a barrier and into a completely different part of the station.  Yes, clearly this was designed perfectly.  Just as I think this there is an announcement stating that there are no delays on the Underground.  The packed platform of people would seem to make that another example of fake news.

When it does arrive, there are no seats on the train.  Then it stops in the tunnel prior to the next station as there is a train at the platform.  HOW?  It’s been at least 10 minutes since the last train, so what the hell is going on?  When we eventually get there, we are further delayed as there is a change of driver – presumably, the first one was fatigued with all the waiting.  And then, to top it all, some fucking busker starts down the carriage with his accordion.  I ignore him as I have been informed that telling people to “Fuck off” can offend.  He does trip over my rucksack, so score one for me.

We finally arrive at Liverpool Street and I head to the overground station.  There is no Fortnum and Masons here as this is not an International station.  There is also no sign of Tom Cruise running around, although I do check.  I head for something to eat and go for the appropriately named “Eat”.  What you get here is over-priced food and glacially slow service.  Despite their lack of speed, the woman behind me gets a very testy “next, PLEASE” when the cashier has to ask her for a second time.  Apparently her hesitation of 1.8 picoseconds constitutes some kind of offence.  I’m asked if I want a bag.  I refuse, then change my mind.  This is not allowed and I am looked at in the same way you look at someone who has just trodden on shit and walked across your cream carpet.  I do not get given a bag.  The staff here need some kind of award for being not just unhelpful and unpleasant, but actively hostile.

Juggling my food, I leave.  I find that my platform has been announced, so I get straight on and snag a table.  I then find that whoever designs these trains has decided to skimp on size – I haven’t been this uncomfortable since I was on that National Express coach (All the way back in J – remember?)  But I only have to last one stop, though I’m tempted to stay on and go to Diss.  Just because.

I use the loo which is refreshingly low tech and hurry back to make a paranoid check on my bag.  All is in order, so I settle down for my largely flavourless lunch.  There are lots of announcements being made – and I haven’t got a clue what any of them are about.  I hope they’re not important as they are approximately the same volume as the music you can here when someone is sat beside you and is listening to Linkin Park on their headphones.

The journey is very quiet — helped by the sotto voce announcements.  The only blemish on this is the man having a loud business call halfway down the carriage.  Apparently he is “very excited about suspension seats”.  And he has exactly the kind of voice that makes me believe he is.

Finally, I arrive at Colchester station and begin the walk into town.  The sun is still shining brightly and I head for the centre which is dominated by an odd looking tower.

It’s quite a busy road, but as I go along there’s a wide variety of buildings including some really attractive ones.

Even if this wasn’t a straight road, there are reassuring signs to help me find my way.

No, I have no idea why they have used elephants.

The centre of town is liberally peppered with some nice buildings and a large number of students who are all in remarkably good spirits.  Presumably because they’re wandering around rather than actually doing any work.

Unlike them, I spend some time looking at the architecture..

.. and the rather bizarre artwork which (juxtaposed with the above) doesn’t really work.

But once I get to the centre, I spot signs for the Castle Museum and head that way.  This does exactly what it says – it’s a castle converted into a museum — and it’s been done really well.

Inside, they have retained some of the original walls and put a very modern display inside.  This really could fail to work, but here it succeeds brilliantly.

They have kept some areas like the prison cells pristine, so that you can see exactly what they were like.

They have an interactive trail for children where you pay £1 to hire a tablet that does various things as you go round, adding texture and depth to the displays.  (Yes, I did hire one and yes, I got a funny look).  In several places, it allows you to see how the area would have looked when the castle was in use.

There are lots of places where they encourage people to touch objects, see how they felt and it is very well balanced between entertainment and education.  as a result, there are several school parties here of remarkably polite children.  I have a great time wandering around here.

And look – something Roman!  There’s actually an awful lot here about the Romans, so by the time I leave I feel utterly justified.  Honest.

Outside, the castle is placed in the middle of a park and it’s really nice to see so many people relaxing around this building.  My enthusiasm is somewhat dampened as I realise 2 benches have street drinkers on them and I overhear two girls who look at the castle, causing one to turn to her friend and utter the immortal words “It’s like … history.”  Yes, indeed it is.

But the park is lovely, well maintained and with some excellent statuary.

Hold on, if it’s made of wood is it statuary?  Topiary?  Let’s just go for sculpture.  Having wandered around the park, I then head off to try and find the tower that I saw when I first arrived.  And find it I do.

It looks just like a jumbo water tower.  Luckily there’s an information panel close by to tell me what it actually is.

Oh.

I am thoroughly enjoying my time here, but if I don’t head back soon I run the risk of having to travel through London at rush hour.  So I head back to the station, but still manage to find some interesting places on the way back.

At the station, I grab a coffee, a sandwich and a pasty for dinner tonight.  I almost immediately regret the coffee – turns out Pumpkin coffee is bland everywhere.  As I’m waiting, a lady sits on the seat beside me and starts having an animated conversation on her phone.  “Of course we’ll come and pick you up from Marseilles.  It’s no problem.”  I sigh to myself – some people live in a completely different world from us mere mortals.  There is a long discussion of where she will leave her car while she collects “this amazing crab.”  Apparently it’s Indonesian.  I’m sure she will declare it when she imports it.  She hopes it won’t rain – I fervently hope for a monsoon in Marseille.

The train arrives and is once again equipped with painfully narrow seats and sotto voce announcements. Harlan Coben keeps me occupied all the way back to Liverpool Street.  I begrudge the time away from him and head down to the dubious quality of the Spiral Line.  At Paddington, there is a run for the train and I grab my last table for this particular set of journeys.

Long Lost gets finished before I get back to Slough, but I don’t start the next one.  It’s occurred to me that I only have 4 destinations left.  What on earth am I going to do then?

So, dear readers (I am reliably informed that there are a quartet of you now), that’s it for this year.  I hope my travels have entertained you somewhat and that you will follow me next year as I plumb the depths of W, X, Y and Z.  Once that’s done, this particular Artificial Construct will be over and I’m wondering what to do next.  If you have any suggestions, let me know.  Au revoir until 2020!