Bo'ness United v Broughty Athletic
Game 126 of the season and probably the last as the rugby league and cricket seasons are now in full swing. A lot of the English leagues are over or in the play offs, which are too busy for my liking, so it was either Cornwall or Scotland where the dead rubbers were being played out.
Original plan was for Hill of Beath Hawthorn, but their game against St Andrews has been moved to next week. Instead, fellow East Super League members Bo'ness were chosen for their game against Broughty. This had originally been discounted as the Flying Scotsman was being hosted at the Local steam railway, and a town full of kettle cranks didn't enthuse, but typical Network Rail incompetence had cancelled the visit, so the area was an anorak free safe zone.
Fortunately, you are spared of yet another shot of an HST at Swindon, as I am now at my northern residence, so instead it was the 0604 off Sowerby Bridge into Leeds.
From Leeds, it was the 0710 East Coast service, heading for Aberdeen, formed of an HST with the trailing power car bestowed in an advertising livery for the National Rail Museum at York.
Unexpected companion was Mad Dai. He is going to the rugby league magic weekend in Newcastle and in an outstanding example of typical Dai organisation, he had managed to book his train tickets for this weekend, his hotels for next weekend, when the event is actually in two weeks time. As his train tickets were non refundable, he decided to come up anyway and stay at mine. Here the Angel of the North overlooks him and decides that even he isn't big enough to act as Dai's guardian.
A diversion via the High Level bridge gave a good view of the Tyne as we entered Newcastle.
At some point in the last 10 years, a law was passed that everyone arriving in the station at weekends must do so in fancy dress. I am a big fan of fancy dress. Not that I'd ever wear it, it is just that not many people have badges saying 'I am a tiresome cunt so do everything you can to avoid me', so having a dress code that indicates the same is much appreciated. Anyway, here the Cookie Monster sits in an orderly fashion, chatting away to Robin Hood, whilst two kermets, who obviously had Dai's planning skills, swig Fosters at 0845 in the morning.
North of Newcastle and over the Royal Border Bridge and the river Tweed, into Berwick....
....with the floodlights of Berwick Rangers visible from the train.
Further north, the line runs along the cliff top with the North Sea less than inviting below.
The imminent approach of Edinburgh is noted by the passing of Meadowbank Stadium, home of Meadowbank Thistle, with Hibs Easter Road just behind.
Into Edinburgh Waverley and onto a Scotrail unit heading for the infant massacre centre/home of Andy Murray, Dunblane.
Passing through Princess Gardens, and Edinburgh Castle high above.
Just past Haymarket, and the line passes between Tynecastle.....
.....and rah rah rugby stadium Murrayfield.
The line also parallels the new Edinburgh tram line, which cost about five times Scotland's annual GDP to build, yet was surprisingly busy, seeing as it goes from nowhere to nowhere, and takes longer and is more expensive than the competing bus.
My destination was Linlithgow, or Gleann Iucha as the station name board also lists it, though I'm not sure how many inhabitants of West Lothian survive on Gaelic alone.
First stop was a pair of bizarrely conjoined guide pubs.
The main building is the Star and Garter hotel which was cleared with a Tryst - Carronade IPA.
The annexe is called Platform 3, and despite having one of those horrendous FREE wi-fi with your BEER signs, second only to Keep Calm and Drink Beer in pub sign cuntery, was ok. It was cleared with a very good Isle of Arran - Dark......
......and had this little fella scurrying around the roof of the bar.
Linlithgow is where the bus for Bo'ness departs from. Operators are Prentice Westwood, who sound more like a provincial solicitors, and use an ex Arriva London Optare Solo, which used to be dedicated to the 631 shuttle between Golders Green Station and Henrietta Barnett School.
By now the sun was in full force and as we crested the hill that separates the two towns, the Forth Estuary spread out ahead.
In Bo'ness I got off at the stop next to the the town guide pub, but it didn't open until midday so I headed along the estuary, just in time to see a steam train emerging from the woods on the right.
The greatest similarity between Scotland and Eastern Europe isn't its politics or the shared belief that any discernible taste or colour in food should be boiled or deep fried out of it completely. No, what really unites them is the strange idea that beautiful natural scenery can only be enhanced by depositing an aluminium smelter or such like, right in the middle of it. So here you have the breathtaking view across the forth to the Ochil hills, with Longannet power station conspicuous in its presence.
There is still commercial shipping on the river with MV India on a trip move from Rotterdam via Immingham with containers for Grangemouth.
With the steam train passing me……
……I carried on to my destination, the Scottish Railway Museum which is located in the town, and chooses to mark its entrance with a prominent dog shit bin.
Annoyingly, this rateable piece of thrash was idling away in the yard....
....yet instead, this pokey little austerity tank dropped back on the train.
The railway runs to the mainline junction at Manuel, on the way taking in breathtaking views of Grangemouth oil refinery, helped along by a bottle of the local Kincardine Sunset by Kinneil.
Back at the museum and the rather indecisive signage.....
.....gave me what I hoped to be my only sighting of the Flying Scotsman for the day, on an O gauge model railway housed in a couple of ex-Norwegian state railway coaches.
A quick scurry around the rest of the site unearthed some beasts of Locos.....
....and non-league challenging clutter.
However time was pressing on so it was back to the now opened Coombie Arms for a An Teallach - Kildonan.
By now I was heading for the football but when you see an establishment as intriguing as this, it has to be sampled.
Eventually I was at the main event.
Bo'ness United 0 v Broughton Athletic 1, McBookie.com East Superleague.
For the uninitiated, Junior Football is the Scottish version of non-league, but without such a rigid pyramid structure. A half-hearted attempt was made in 2002 when the six unconnected leagues were revised to a geographical structure, with north, east and west super leagues, with premier divisions below that. These two teams are in the East Super league, which covers from Aberdeen, south through Dundee and Fife, to Tayside and Edinburgh. To further complicate things, the Highland and Lowland leagues, which were outside the junior structure, have been made into the feeders for the Scottish league, so in effect they are old money conference leagues, with the super leagues feeding into them.
Broughty Ferry ambitiously declares itself as a seaside resort in Dundee, which I suppose is geographically correct if nothing else. The football team were formed in 1920, originally as ex-servicemen, hence their 'Feds' nickname. They became 'Athletic' in the 1950s. They have traditionally been in the lower reaches of junior football, but in recent seasons have been promoted from the East north division, through the Premier division, and this is their first season in the super league, where they are just above the relegation zone.
The ground itself has been around for a hundred or so years and is where Bo'ness played when they were a league side. It has the makings of an absolute classic.
There is a grass bank behind one goal with a couple of benches and crash barriers on it.
At the opposite end a large gravel terrace.
On one side is a fair sized covered terrace.
However, there was disappointment on the remaining side as the ancient main stand……
…..has now had the seating part removed after standing derelict for many years. The changing rooms and offices that were the lower part of the stand, have been re-roofed.
This side also hosted the more vocal support, giving unpenetrateable advice to the benches in front.
With the lack of any official seating, it seemed a free for all. These had chosen to construct a bench at the back of the terrace.....
.....whilst these had brought their own seating and plonked it on the flat area next to the old stand....
.....or you just perched on a big step at the back of the open terrace.
Disappointingly, it was only when looking at the photos afterwards, I realised there was a @keepers_towels. Especially as it looks like a fancy patterned effort.
One thing which I'd completely forgotten about from my childhood watching football, was people turning up wearing crash helmets and using them as seats. These two rekindled the image. Does it still happen?
Despite the league positions, Broughty were the better team and took the lead half way through the second half. They had some chances to add to the lead but the game finished 0-1 to the visitors.
So it was back on the bus....
....and back to Linlithgow station for a unit back to Edinburgh.
At Waverley, a happy coincidence found the latest locomotive to carry the Flying Scotsman name was powering my train pack south. However, whilst taking a picture of it, a euphoric train spotter told me in wild excitement that the steam loco had been cleared to come as far as Edinburgh, and was on its way up from York.
This was not good news for one reason; trespass. Kettle cranks love to run all over the tracks and put everything on stop, just so they can get another shot of something boiling water. Sure enough, as we closer to Newcastle, they started appearing in fields....
....crowding platforms....
....on level crossings.
Due to the extent of trespass, we were brought to a halt and eventually allowed forward at walking pace. Thankfully, we passed the Gresley junk as it took on water at Heaton.
The delay had blown my connections so it was a quick change at York...
...onto the evening drinkers service off Leeds...
....and back into Sowerby just in time to get in the three new sticks that were on at the station refreshment rooms.
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