Border Terrier

Carlisle United U18s v Blackpool U18s, EFL Youth Alliance

Hawick Royal Albert v Civil Service Strollers, SFA Cup

An unnecessarily early start from t' bridge as I had managed to get my timings wrong and I was two hours ahead of myself. So I was off on the 0636 Blackpool service, one minute and one carriage down on schedule.

The main activity on the train was night shift warehouse workers in yellow hi-viz switch between reading the Daily Star and pretending to be sound asleep when the ticket collector came round. Despite it being clear in the Calder valley, by the time we hit the moorland at Copy Pitt, we were shrouded in mist.

I changed at Preston onto a Glasgow bound TransPennine service.

Carrying on from last week, I'm building quite a library of distant shots of Heysham Nuclear power station. Here is one down the Eyre valley at Lancaster.

As we passed Kendall, home of mint cake and K Shoes, the sun was shining down....

....however, the mist was still prevalent in the lower foothills.

Further on, this scarred field is at Grayrigg, where a Virgin Pendolino derailed in 2007 after a set of points had not been properly secured. Fortunately it was a late night service and wasn't very busy, but one old lady was killed. It is well known for Branson's quote about how the train driver somehow 'steered the train to safety'.

Back in the 1980s, TV series about railways had yet to be conquered by reformed Nazis in pastel knitwear making shows for the mass market. Instead, they were intended for middle aged sex offenders and retired vicars, and were usually voiced by Anton Rogers. The most well-known was the 'Train Now Departing' series, which was basically various pensioners in the arse end of nowhere, moaning in impenetrable regional accents, about the withdrawal of a local train service that they never used anyway. However, it had a very good title sequence , which showed a train on a viaduct fading away into the current view of the abandoned railway. It was shot on this viaduct that we passed at Low Gill, which is where the line from Hellified came in until it closed in 1964.

Through Penrith, and no Panthers, but instead the Northern Belle was looped for us. This calls itself a 'land cruise', whereby pensioners who can afford £2,500 for a weeks luxury train journey, yet still get free bus passes and heating allowances, are taken round Britain in newly converted Pullman carriages, which gives wonderful opportunities such as having a full cooked breakfast whilst stabled in Penrith down side engineers yard. Who wouldn't want a great view of some thermit welding gear and a rail grinder, whilst tucking into your eggs and bacon?

Football grounds visible from the railway; Gifford Park, now home of Carlisle City but built up by barmpot outfit Celtic Nation.

Into the back platform at Carlisle. In the siding alongside, are the water jetting wagons in the Railhead Treatment Train. During leaf fall season, the mulch from the squashed leaves compacts onto the rail, causing adhesion problems for trains braking or getting moving. These trains go out overnight and spray the rail with high pressure water to remove the leaf debris, then lay down a sandy glue mix. In rail terms, Autumn starts in October and goes on to mid-December.

By now the Northern Belle had caught up with us.

Carlisle is still a big centre for trainspotters so the social elite (including one in an AFC Wimbledon shell suit) chased off to get their photo.

So, arriving into Carlisle with two hours to kill. Previously this would have not been a problem, straight to the Whetherspoons to clear everything in whatever they have in this weeks faux beer festival. However, after hitting the 1000 pint mark in August, I had waltzed through Dry September, so will stay off it at least until I go on holiday later this month. A rethink was therefore in order, and I hit the tourist leaflets at the station.

Whilst the Specialist Shops guide to Penrith, and Jamie Theakston at the Carlisle Book Festival were tempting, instead I decided to follow a leaflet on 'a walking tour of the monuments and museums of Carlisle'.

First off was the Guildhall museum. Except on arrival, I found it shuts at the end of September and doesn't re-open until April. 'You should have come yesterday' said the helpful man in Franco’s. Yeah, thanks for that.

So next stop was the Tullie House Museum and Art Gallery. I enquired at the reception what it was a museum of as neither the leaflet nor any of the signage disclosed that. 'Um, er, like, artefacts' was the hesitant response I got from the girl on the desk. What about the art gallery? She appeared relieved at this and confidently told me 'Oh, its paintings by local people', yes, but what of? Clearly sensing some follow up questions, see added that I could ask the lady in the cafeteria as she might know more. I got the feeling that a museum where the catering staff have more expertise over the curators, might not be much to shout about, and with lots of other attractions to visit, I decided to give it a miss.

I headed for the very elaborate cathedral. Except it didn't open until 1100.

So on to Carlisle Castle. At least this was open. I'd say it was less a castle and more a big house with castellated walls, with a dual carriageway going right through its grounds.

Never mind, what about the next attraction, a stroll around the city walls. We'll see if you can spot in this picture, where the walls have been sympathetically breached for a ring road, and a foot bridge built. Pretty much indistinguishable from the historic walls, I'm sure you will agree.

By now I'd given up the tourist trail. The final attraction should have been the Carlisle Museum of military history, but this was probably just a pea-shooter and a selection of Paul Dodd anecdotes, so I gave up, as long as I don't relapse to a Wetherspoons. I’d even missed this music festival, which seemed an attempt to re-create the first day afternoon line up of the third stage at the 2003 V festival. Just need the Kooks.

The Cumberland news is a One Touch Football favourite for bizarre stories so I was disappointed that today’s headlines were quite mundane. Good to see the nice balanced diet for the giveaway.

So 5 minutes later and I'm in the Whetherspoons. If you ever want to kill some time, hours, days, even years, then just try and get served at a Wetherspoons during breakfast. Firstly, there will be one, or at best two members of staff on a bar designed for five, they will be staff who are even too thick to work at the Tullie House museum, and they will be serving uber cunts ordering multiple breakfasts, in all sorts of 'no tomatoes but extra toast' connotations, but the killer is, all sorts of wanky hot drinks. If you are a person who orders hot drinks in pubs, you need to take a long, hard look at yourself . Why don't you go to a cafe or coffee shop for them, rather than to a place which isn't set up to make them in any sort of efficient or palatable way. I'm not convinced that Lord Lucan is missing, I think he just popped out for a Morning pint and is still trying to get served at the Belgravia 'spoons, as a group of pensioners individually order the smallest breakfast and Lattes without any froth.

After an hour or so I eventually got served, the outlandish request for a pint of Diet Coke becoming 'we don't sell soft drinks in pints, just large, and it's actually Pepsi Max, is that OK?'. However, it was projector screen Ryder Cup, so I headed off. However, what I didn’t realise is that there is another Weatherspoon’s next door. Stay classy Carlisle.

My first game was Carlisle's youth team. They play at Creighton rugby club in the south of the city. I checked the game was on as they have a habit of being changed at the last minute, and it was so I set off for the walk. A short way from the centre, I passed over the railway that heads out to Newcastle and the renowned Settle and Carlisle, the latter currently closed because of a land slip.

After 45 minutes or so, I was surprised to see a half full coach, with a Preston address on it, heading away from the ground.

Arriving at the ground and all seemed suspiciously quiet. Checking Twitter and sure enough, the game had been moved, with 25 minutes notice. Contemplating a fruitless stomp back to the station, a car turned up with a couple of groundhoppers from Bolton, who were doing this game before heading off to Pirelli Sports. They were keen to still do the game so we negotiated terms of a lift from them in return for directions.

After managing to direct them through every set of roadworks in Cumbria, we arrived at Brunton Park and the Hugh McIlmoyle statue.

We were directed 'through the flood prevention barriers' to the training pitch.

I bid farewell to my new friends, and as we had discussed my new found Sowerby residence, I was given a stern warning of 'don't ever become a Yorkshireman'.

Carlisle United U18s 1 v Blackpool U18s 4, EFL Youth Alliance

 V 

The ground itself sits out the back of the main stadium.

The last minute change meant it appeared the players had got changed pitchside.

The whole ground stank due to an enormous pile of horse shit on one touchline.

The ground is surrounded on three sides by a massive earth bank.

It was a fucker to climb….

….but the reward was a tremendous vantage point.

The Under 18s games seem to be officiated by under 18 officials as well.

The Blackpool keeper was being warmed up on crosses. He was catching them well, but was given an almighty bollocking by the coach because he wasn't shouting 'keepers'.

The shouting he did prolifically from then on, but at the expense of dropping the ball. A partial success with that then coach.

Carlisle U18s have had a strong start to their season, unbeaten in the last seven games, so it was a surprise to see them lose 1-4 to Blackpool, who had brought along a camera on a telescoptic pole and had someone doing the opta stats.

Youth team travel update. Carlisle = 2013 Ford Transit long wheelbase.

I'd headed off some time before the end, as I needed to catch a bus to my next game. Another chance to explore Carlisle's arterial road network on foot, took me back to the centre.

I needed to grab some food for the journey, and there was a local food market in the centre. Unfortunately, there was no sign of any cheese, instead it seems Cumbrians feast on rotting organic vegetables, and whilst it was apparent these had not seen any pesticides, it did look like some of the stall holders bathed in it.

So instead it was off to the Wilkinsons of the north, B&M bargains. This place has the look of having just bought Woolworths bankrupt stock and is still knocking it out. It is the only place I have seen KP Choc-Dips for sale since 1985.

Instead of my anticipated twenty odd quids worth of artisan cheese and fruit cordial, I ended up with the B&M version, for £1.38.

Despite my reservations about Carlisle (this was the first time in umpteen visits that I hadn't witnessed paralytic locals fighting each other), they have the most ornate bus stop parades in the land. This is the interchange outside the station.

In rolled my bird to freedom, the X95 bus to Edinburgh.

This is a route only for the criminally insane as it takes four hours to get to Edinburgh. I was on it only for 90 minutes to Hawick. The route heads north out of Carlisle, firstly passing through Longtown, which has moved on from its previous ‘me love you’ promotion.

Then a start of a continual shadowing of the river Esk, looking a lot larger than it does later on the journey.

The bus also shadows the former railway from Carlisle to Edinburgh. This 'Waverley' route was a controversial closure in 1969 as it had survived the Beeching cuts, and it served remote areas that the line was allegedly a lifeline for. This bus service and the road upgrade were implemented as a direct replacement. The railway has actually re-opened north from Tweedbank to Edinburgh, but there is little chance of this part re-opening as it isn't in Scotland and Carlisle isn't the major centre that Edinburgh is. There are frequent relics to see, such as this goods shed standing isolated in an adjacent field.

The 12 passengers on my bus didn’t really demonstrate an urgent need for the re-opening of the railway.

Soon we crossed into Scotland.

Initially, the route is quite flat. However, the valley then narrows into a gorge shared with the Esk.

I'd done a bus trip into the borders at the back end of last season, but that time in from Berwick and the east. I'd been very underwhelmed at the mundane scenery and was expecting much of the same. However, this route was immeasurably better because as well as the twisting gorge, we had now stared to climb into the Southern Uplands.

This was the oddest thing I have seen for a very long time. Completely in the middle of nowhere, we passed a field, which contained some miniature goals and a load of blokes in see through inflatable spheres, playing football. Buckieholics v methadone addicts me thinks.

As we left the hills behind us, the valley opened out….

….but as we neared Hawick, it narrowed down again.

Into Hawick…..

….obviously some Highways Agency v Town Council rivalry with place name signs. It would be more helpful if one of them told you it is pronounced ‘Hoik’

We were on the outskirts of the town and on seeing a sports complex with a grandstand….

…..I jumped off the bus.

However, this was actually the towns athletic stadium, and the football ground was at the complete opposite end of Hawick.

This did give me the opportunity to have a walk through the town. The borders region claims it is a deprived area, but Hawick seemed very opulent. They seem to love a statue. This one represents the struggle of local landowners against Frankie Boyle’s twitter feed in the Scottish independence referendum.

This is the main high street which seemed to just consist of butchers and wool shops. I bought three haggis for £6 from one of them.

The one Pete Wylie missed.

Back out the opposite end of town and carrying on along the river.

The football ground is part of a conglomeration of sports venues, three being located end-on-end at the base of the valley.

The first of these is the rugby club. A bloke at work was telling me how Hawick has produced more Scotland rugby internationals than inner city Glasgow or Edinburgh, which just shows how Scottish rugby union mirrors the English set up in just being for privileged twats (Wales is much more a people's game).

Next was another rugby club, whoever Hawick YM might be, I can’t be arsed to google it.

Then the main event.

Hawick Royal Albert 6 v Civil Service Strollers 2, William Hill Scottish Cup, First Round Replay.

Hawick Royal Albert were formed in 1947. From what I can work out, they broke away from Hawick Railway, led by someone who was also involved in the Royal Albert team from south Glasgow. They played in the border league initially, before moving into the strong East of Scotland league, where they had a decent amount of success before it became the Lowland league, a feeder into the Scottish Division 3. Notably, they were runners up to Clydebank in seeking election to the Scottish league when it had an additional place in 1966.

Civil Service Strollers were formed in 1908 as the sports team of the Edinburgh Civil Service. They too were in the East of Scotland league before moving to the Lowland League this season. There isn't too much about them, other than they won the mysterious Kings Cup three times in the 1920s. I'd like to know more about their Strollers nomenclature.

The initial game had finished 1-1 and the second round drawer has already been undertaken, the winners heading east for an away tie against Berwick Rangers.

The ground is in an amazing setting, alongside the river in the valley.

The major structure is a substantial grandstand that was built in 1963 using the frame of an old wool factory, when they moved to the ground from their previous home at Wilton Dean.

On the far touchline, is very steep and narrow grass banking, that whoever mowed the grass seemed to lose interest in by the time he got to this end.

Behind both goals are vast flat grassed areas. The near one had some temporary barriers so you could stand at that end.

Behind the main stand, was some swish pad with a great view of the game

A couple of hardy souls hand ventured over to this side.

The game started after much back slapping and hand shakes between players. The reason for this is that the Hawick players and management are all from Edinburgh, and train up their, only coming down for home games. So they are very much muckers with their Lothian buddies.

Almost immediately into the game, Hawick scored.

And then got a second

A good quota of feral kids climbing on anything they weren’t meant to.

The majority of the crowd occupied the back rows of the main stand. Seeing as this was one of Hawick’s biggest games of the season, it seemed a low turnout.

The other two grounds stretched out behind the town end goal.

Next to the stand was a tiny shelter, which revealed itself to be the disabled accommodation.

However, the view from it was mostly of the away subs warming up.

Lowland League ground, but Premier league clutter. Propane canister, three lamp posts, plastic barriers on the roof of the disabled shelter, and best of all, a huge pile of old UPVC window frames.

Added to this was discarded corrugated sheeting at various points around the ground.

And a huge pile of grass cuttings in one corner.

Hawick scored some more...

…but the Strollers also got a couple, and the game ended 6-2.

After the game, it was back into town for the bus back to Carlisle. The bus stop was festooned with Celtic Ultra stickers. No doubt there is a fleet of buses heading Glasgow way each Saturday.

Promptly, my bus turned up.

My travelling companion was someone who’s name I never found out, but spent most of the early part of the journey swearing down the phone to someone called Kenny. However, he then wanted to show me the hill where Gregor Fisher lives.

This manifested into a minute by minute update of where he’d ever seen Rab C Nesbitt. On a bridge in Langholm with Billy Connolly, and in the Nisa one stop in the village.

After announcing to the driver not to leave back to Hawick without him, as he was just picking up some ‘smoke’ off a friend, my new friend headed off the bus. We carried on, back into Carlisle.

Straight to the station. The bus on the left are the replacement service for the Settle and Carlisle line.

I hadn’t noticed on the way through in the morning, but the reason for the plethora of trainspotters was because East Coast were diverting via Carlisle as the route north of Newcastle was closed for engineering work.

Whilst HSTs can operate normally, the electric 225s have to be hauled by a freight loco across through Haltwhistle. This sort of thing excites the spotters.

My move was a southbound TransPennine service, heading for Manchester Airport.

By now the day was drawing in over the fells.

Into Preston, and a fill-in move to Blackburn as there is a plug socket in the waiting room, and my phone was dying.

Getting on the York service, the vestibule was full of Stone Island clad lads. These turned out to be Sheffield United returning from Fleetwood. They jumped off at Burnley to go and find/assist/start/end some trouble. I carried on to Sowerby…..

…..where I cooked up one of my earlier procured Haggis.