“Paul, have you been to Vienna?”
“No.”
“You’d love it.”
So it was after a conversation in the Kirkcaldy High School staff room, I dragged my roller case, and laptop rucksack through Aberdour. My legs still tingled with the annual Wiston Lodge midge bites, acquired during Tinto Summer School 2026. My eyes were heavy, and my brain wondered who had the idea to leave the day after said summer school, with barely 24 hours to turn everything round from one travel experience to another.
However, I trundled on to catch a train from Aberdour at 08:46 BST.
The train from Aberdour to Edinburgh Waverley was nicely on-time. At the latter station I enjoyed a bacon roll, and coffee from a well known chain before boarding my train to the English capital.
En-route on the platform I noticed the names on the North British Railway Company War Memorial, situated close to platform 5. I must have passed through this station hundreds of times, and had yet to “clock” this particular area of remembrance. A flash of memory came from my recent trip to the World War I Battlefields of Belgium, and France. A former pupil from Kirkcaldy High School, where I teach is on this memorial. A check of a spreadsheet later confirmed this, and I found the name of “George GG Swan”. As it happens, this is a name I had also located on the Thiepval Memorial in the area where the “Battle of the Sommme” occurred between 1st July, and 18th November 1916. George Swan died on the first day of that fateful battle, aged 27. I was glad to have located him, for a third time. I spoke to a nice American lady who was standing by the memorial. She turned out to be of “army stock” herself, and shared my excitement, and interest.
I boarded the “LUMO” service to London Kings Cross at platform 4. It was running slightly late due to a complex situation involving trouble getting the rolling stock from the depot to the platform. This had led to the cancellation of a connecting train from Glasgow, and this in turn meant my train was delayed for 5 minutes to wait for a service following this. As a result, and most likely due to holiday season the train was very busy indeed. The various staff members informed us of this repeatedly, and sternly. We were instructed in no uncertain terms to ensure that our luggage was stored in an appropriate manner such as to leave enough space for all 400 or so passengers.
This done, I found my reserved seat, with someone sitting in it. A very quick, and friendly conversation revealed that this person had a reserved seat on the other side of the cabin, and was in mine in order to sit with a partner. I was only too happy to take theirs in exchange, next to a very pleasant if somewhat sleepy, and hung over lady. I felt pleased that she had clearly enjoyed an engaging evening previous, and hopeful that that there would be no consequence of this for myself. The train departed at 10:31 BST.
As we crossed the border between two former (and sometimes present) enemies, I enjoyed the first in the series of “Crookhaven” novels. This had been recommended to me by Morag, my 9 year old niece. She had read this tome as part of a badge to be gained during her time in Brownies. It was a “book she wouldn’t otherwise have read”. Given that I trust her judgement on all things more that most people, I took her advice to read this, and was glad I did. I resolved to read the entire series and felt thankful that I had these in my bag, along with several other paper, and hard-back volumes I intended to immerse myself in on this particular trip.
The hung over lady duly departed the train at Newcastle, and I felt privileged to have an empty seat next to me for a period. It was in fact reserved from Newcastle to London Kings Cross. I mused upon why so many people seem to buy train tickets, and not use them. As far as I remember, the only time I have done this myself is when I have travelled to Edinburgh on a return ticket, and someone has offered to drive me home.
The empty seat remained empty right to London Kings Cross. This fact pleased me as one who is very much fond of his own space. We rolled into the station at approximately 15:00 BST. This was some 20 minutes after the scheduled arrival time, but my policy of ensuring a significant change “buffer” duration proved helpful. Time did not press on me whatsoever.
After tea, and an apple/almond tart at a patisserie bearing my name, I crossed security and the European Union border with no issue. This was a contrast to my experience the previous year at USA customs/immigration where I had been re-interviewed by both.
I waited in the departure lounge for my train to Brussels, scheduled for 17:00 BST.
The train departed on time, despite a delay in boarding due to a “technical issue”. At 19:00 CEST we were informed that we were now in France. I set my pink Casio an hour forward.
I alighted the train at Brussels-Midi at 20:04 CEST. It was then a 20 minute trundle to Hotel Bedford, where I checked in.
I could have sworn the gentleman at the desk said my room was 713, as reflected on the card I had been given with the number written in biro. However, on arrival from the elevator to the 7th floor I found rooms 712, and 714 next to each other. There was no evidence of the room I had been assigned either in reality, or on the map of the floor.
Thus, I re-descended in the elevator to the ground floor to make enquiries. It turned out that I had not only miss-heard, but also miss-read with my room number actually being 719. I re-ascended in the elevator and found said domicile without further incident.
Leaving behind my heavy bags, I walked towards the “main drag” of the city to take subsistence. Finding an establishment with sufficient room for me was a little challenging, but I eventually stumbled upon “Brasserie Du Lombard” where I ordered a beer, and some “fries”. These I enjoyed, feeling that finally, I was truly on holiday. The traditional mayonnaise was included as a proverbial nod to “When in Brussels”.
I ordered a second beer. As I enjoyed it, and read “The House With Chicken Legs” (another recommendation from Morag), the wind blew, and a torrent of water landed next to the gentleman at an adjacent table. This prompted the involvement of the waiting staff, who took photographs of the splash-pattern. It was unclear as to whether this was wind related, or potentially some kind of “garde à l’eau” incident from an apartment above. This precipitated the arrival of the police, who attempted to raise a response from said apartment. With nothing forthcoming, they instead seemed to linger in the drinking/eating establishment I was frequenting. They left, and nothing else ensued before I also left, and settled my account.
I retired to my hotel room, intending to sleep like the proverbial log.
