Dunkirk Spirit

USL Dunkerque v Marseille Consolat 

Olympique Marseille v Dijon

A chance conversation with a colleague back at Great Western informed he was off to France to take in the last knocking of some of the classic traction out there.  This worked well with the start of the French football season so it was a mid-afternoon finish at work, home to grab passport and pants, and down to St Pancras for the Eurostar.

Being the last E* of the day, it is the one that stops at Calais Frethum for the commuters who line in France but work in London.  This might seem extreme but it is only an hours journey so is the same as commuting from Swindon (except without the lure of three town centre Wetherspoons).  We alighted at Calais...

...where it was across to the very conveniently located SNCF platforms...

...where a ten minute wait saw the arrival of a well timed connection...

..that was taken for the short hop to Calais Ville.

For a night in Calais with the famous Hôtel de Ville lit up but still being obscured by buildings from whichever angle viewed from.

Next morning and it was a run on a bus so small that it would be more practical to use a car.

My travelling companion for the trip was 'there's no London in it, it's just fucking Derry' Irish Ciaran, who's main love is buses (closely followed followed by some of the roughest women in existence, plucked from late night northern taxi queues for all sorts of horrendous sounding prosecco fuelled copulation) got excited about finding a London bus.  I was less excited about the twenty minute lecture about this not being a routemaster, but instead being an AEC Regent III RT.

Anyway, on to the more familiar subject of trains and to start was a positioning move on a bi-mode.

This took us across to Bolougne. 

With the TGV waiting in the platform to whisk customers off to Paris in 90 minutes...

...instead, our chosen option was just bursting to life in the sidings.  These form the classic services on the old route via Amiens to Paris.  They owe their existence to previously being the fastest way of getting to Paris via Cross Channel ferries, and were the premier trains and packed out, but the opening of the channel tunnel saw the passenger ferry option stop.  Instead, the trains operate a slow meander to Paris, which despite their being TGVs using the short connection to the high speed line and racing into Paris, these services still continue as on French railways, trying to economise on any trains usually ends up in a port blockade, burning of sheep and a twenty mile lorry jam on the M20 in Kent.

The line between Boulogne and Amiens is unelectrified and with these still being intercity services, are hauled by class 67/4 locomotives.  These were introduced in the late 1960s as a derivative of the freight only 67000 class.  They used to haul stock all over France, but most of this working has gone over to multiple units, so just the odd pockets here and there.  This service will soon go over to intercity diesel units, which are just being introduced on the Belfort route (of which more later) so this was a final fling with them.

Ciaran gave his seal of approval to the traction.

After a run down skirting the Côte d'Opale and a few glimpses of Blighty, it was into Amiens, where there was a change to electric traction as our diesel loco on the left...

 ...is swapped for a class 22, a later development of the classic raked front Alsthom French electric locomotive.

A seventeen minute connection was available in Paris, the only problem was that it was at two different stations, and a mad dash from Nord, took us down onto the RER one stop to Saint-Lazare, where a Le Havre services was made through the guards door with the train already on the move.  This was taken up the Seine valley for an hour or so up to Rouen, with the traction being a class 15, the earlier and slightly less powerful version of the class 22 we'd just had.

More thumbs up from Ciaran.

At Rouen, there is a huge yard at Sotteville, which stores all the withdrawn locos, so we got to have a look at the old class 17, awaiting their fate.

Also of interest was the EuroCargo depot as this was full of stored class 66s, which were English freight locos bought on privatisation by EWS, but the decline in British coal traffic means they are no longer required and were leased out for European operation, but seem to be unwanted here as well.  Not to worry as they are Canadian built junk anyway.

Although also some class 58s, the predecessors of the class 66s, and built in the early 1980s in Doncaster, they have eeked out their careers on construction trains for new TGV lines.

After a wander around the town, it was a run back into Paris, again with a class 15 but this time on one of the suburban double decker rakes that do a spin out between peaks, but must be a right treat for those that had done the three hour run from Le Havre.

Back into Gare Saint-Lazare...

...and a right beast on the blocks in the shape of a class 17, these fifty year old locos still doing a few suburban hops.

However, it was a diesel mission for us so over to Est where there are four possible services that locos are sometimes used on in the evening peak.  The presence of hauled stock in the suburban platforms signified we had got lucky with the very first of these, the 1705 to La Ferte-Milon.

And indeed 67511 was bumbling away at the other end.  With no sign of anything else producing, this was taken.

Signs of a slightly homespun form of numbering on the loco.

However, leaving Est and passing Pantin depot, being dragged into Est was a decent rate of Corail stock, complete with not one but two class 67s on top, which meant one of the Belford line turns was going to drop.  So it was off at the first shack, Meaux, with Ciaran photo bombing.

For a dash across to a unit heading back into the capital.  This gave us a -1 onto the Culmont-Chalindrey service at Est, but the lateness of the hauled stock going in, suggested it might be a late start, so a decent chance of a make.

Alas, it was not to be as we passed the loco hauled departing, just as we were arriving.   But what goes out must come back in and these would form an early morning commuter service the next day so we headed off on the next service behind, for a positioning move.  This was a first run on one of the new intercity diesel units which are being introduced to replace the loco hauled.

These units go some, and we were racing along, until we came to an abrupt halt at Gretz-Armainvilliers.  It was announced there were problems with the train ahead and that we were being held whilst attempts were being made to fix it.  In other words, the loco hauled had burst.  Eventually we did get moving but only as far as Longueville, where Ciaran harangued the passing driver, who looked more like one of Rizzle Kicks tour crew than someone responsible for the safety of 400 people at speeds up to 200 km/h.  The driver explained that the '50 year old loc' in front was knackered, but they had managed to get it moving, but only at 40 km/h.  Showing interest in which loco it was that had blown up, the driver went on to tell us how he had brought one of the withdrawn class 72s, and scurried off to fetch an iPad to give us a picture and video show of his loco.  

Halfway through this and we noticed the signal had cleared to green, to which the driver was very dismissive as he continued unabated with his show and tell, then went and made a coffee, before finally heading off 15 minutes after first getting the road.

Arriving into Trois and the cause of the woes was present.  The errant loco, 72158 had been cut off and was creeping towards the stabling point at the rear of the station.

This left the second loco, which apparently had been DIT to get it back to its home depot of Chalindrey, to take the empty stock forward.  This was a real win as this loco was 72084 which has recently been repainted back into its original 1960s livery.

Despite Ciaran's enthusiasm for the loco, the infrastructure on the line ahead now had problems, which meant single line working was in place.  With the service now in melt down, we decided to retire here for the night, leaving the empty stock, and the next DMU that was two hours behind hours, to fight it out for a path onwards.  Remember, trains abroad always run on time.

The next morning and at daybreak it was back to the station.

With an impromptu plan for the day formulated vice an evening tour around the historic city.

Last nights failed loco was still on the naughty step around the back of the station, and Ciaran was worried about the number of new DMUs lurking around.

However, the distant rumbling was definitely above solebar action, and sure enough, in rolled 72130.

Compartment stock as well made Ciaran a happy man.

And so into Est behind a 72 for the last time, afternoon many, many similar moves over the years.

I now parted with Ciaran for the day as he went off to the west to do pairs of 67s on the Nantes-Bordeaux, whilst I headed north for football and to clear a few lines.  First off was across to Nord and an RER unit off the well hidden platform 21, which is less accessible than 9¾ at Kings Cross.

A fill in move took me up to Persan Beaumont.

Where it was onto one of the new Class Z 50000.

These have a rather psychedelic interior, including ceiling panels who change colour when a station is approaching or if the doors are opening/closing.  Like a train journey version of Mario Cart Rainbow Road.

This was taken across to Creil which was meant to be an hours fester before an all shacks to Compiegne, except alltrainsabroadrunontime were in melt down, with main line services 2.5 hours late and my unit being shown as +15 late and with a +18 connection, I decided not to risk that as one of the late running Paris semi-fasts rolled in so it was onto that and back to Nord.  This was where my intended service was starting from.  It was an intercity running to Mauberge.  This was the main line between Paris and Brussels until the high speed line was built in the 1990s, and services now only run to the border.  It is an IC service but I thought it might have gone over to units so I was very happy to see it formed of a class 22 with unrefurbed corail stock in tow.

We headed off on time, and taking a different route than I thought, going back through Creil, which meant we followed the late running stopper that I decided not to take earlier.  This was of concern for me as I had a two minute connection onto my next move, which despite being at one in the afternoon, was also the last train of the day on the line.  Fortunately we arrived at Aulnoye-Aymeries bang on time.  

I didn't want to risk it so sprinted through the subway and with 45 seconds to go, got a phot of the unit, and leapt on board.  A few others were sauntering over for the connection, one bloke saw me running and decided to do the same.  The guard of the branch train, having seen us arrive, decided that either we were the only ones connecting off the main line, or was just leaving on time, and promptly shut the doors and off we went.  This meant ad we rolled along the platform a dozen very concerned looking people were emerging from the subway stairs.  Never mind, there is another train tomorrow!

The train was taken all the way through to Lille, where it was a unit swap for a return visit to Calais.

A stagger across the flatlands of Northern France, which these days is a forest of electricity pylons, taking power to the coast, to then head across the channel, for their nationalised electricity supplier to flog to us at exorbitant prices that subsidises the French domestic electricity prices.  The alternative of course would be for the U.K. to have a single nationalised energy supplier offering cheap electricity, but much better to have many different private providers of very expensive electricity.

  
In to Ville, with the tower in the background...

...this also adorning the local units.

My unit inward had been joined by many local agricultural workers, and we were welcomed into Calais by an army of armed police.  The stringent filtering of potential terror suspects was circumnavigated by me a) being white, and b) saying "er, British" in Estuary English and being waved past by pump-action Pierre.  I therefore jumped straight onto my next unit, as the racial profiling was in full swing on the adjacent platform.

This headed across the scruffy coastline on the diesel branch to Dunkerque.

Dunkerque is an absolute shithole.  It was reclaimed from the sea in the 10th century and was a fishing village.  Over the next thousand years there were many battles over its ownership I can only think they were to try and force other nations to take it off the occupiers hands.  The only people who actually wanted it were the English, who gained control in the 1600s and built a port that could house a significant naval fleet.  However, various treaties were put in place to prevent any of the French, British, Dutch or Flemish occupiers from fortifying the town and it remained largely untouched until 1940.  This was when Allied troops, decided that instead of staying in the barren crack pit for one moment longer, they would rather take their chances of crossing the channel on a Kennet and Avon narrow boat whilst being bombed by the Luftwaffe, rather.  Incidentally, there have been more Hollywood films made about the evacuation than there were troops rescued.  Anyway, the Germans captured the town, made it into a massive fortress, which the Allies then flattened when they recaptured it in 1944.  

I was last here in the 1990s when there were large areas that had still not been rebuilt.  Well the good news is that in the intervening 25 years they have put up a few hoardings.  

Either that or Dunkerque has got a new F1 Street circuit.

The bits of the town that have rebuilt were done in the 1950s.  However, think of the housing development in your area in the 1950s and you will undoubtedly be thinking of a shitty council estate with a concrete shopping precinct who's local greengrocer and butcher have long since gone and who's sole occupants are now a William Hill and an off licence where you buy 9% Orangeboom from someone behind iron railings.

Well Dunkerque is a town of 97500 people all living in such architectural splendour.

After dropping my stuff off at the hotel, it was a wander a few minutes out of town where over the river lies this.

Minimum fuss at the billetterie and 10 Euro saw me good for a ticket.

USL Dunkerque 3 v Marseille Consolat 2, Championnat de France National

Dunkerque were formed in 1909.  Since then they have not really been doing a lot on the pitch, a few peaks at the second tier of French football and reaching the cup semis in the 1920s.  They are most famous for being the club that Jean Marc Bosman was trying to join when he took the then transfer system to the European Court.  Bosman meanwhile, did the footballers thing of spending his winnings on becoming an alcoholic wife beater and losing the rest in a failed investment in a t-shirt business.  Who'd have thought there weren't millions to be made in clothes with a picture of Bosman and the phrase 'who's the Bos' adorned on them?  He now spends his time complaining how refugees (have zero money, desperately want to work) can claim benefits, whilst he (squandered large amounts of money, not interested in a normal job) has had his benefits cut. 

Group Sportif Consolat were formed in 1964 in the Bouches-du-Rhonda suburb of Marseille.  The beginnings were very much in the local leagues, but the arrival of a new president in the 1980s saw the club rise up the amateur system, and steady progress meant that by 2014, they were in Championnat National, the third level of French football.  The past couple of seasons has seen them finish one place off promotion on both occasions.

Stade Marcel-Tribut was first used in the 1930s by Union Racing Dunkirk Malo.  However, it was flattened in the war and its current guise comes from rebuilding in the 1950s.

The main stand was built first and comprises bench seating, though plastic bases have been added for the 'executive' section in the middle.

Opposite is the standing terrace, which was added in 1959 and is a bit different from the norm with its stepped roof.

The exterior is also of the age, with the roof supports reminiscent of the later build Park des Princes in Paris.

Behind the near goal is an open terrace, known as 'the hill', but is now out of bounds to spectators and it exists just for housing the scoreboard now.

At the opposite end is the back wall of an indoor tennis centre.

The floodlights add to the Art Deco feel, being of tubular concrete.

And to top it all off, this wonderful retro stadium signage.  Marcel Tribut was a 1950s politician architect who was heavily involved in the rebuilding of war damaged France.

Alas this could be the last opportunity to see the ground in this form as a rebuild is imminent, with various hoardings giving a vision of its future.



It was still exceedingly hot and humid and therefore there wasn't just an @keepers_towel in the warm up, but instead the whole team having them piled up.

The teams emerged.

You may think this is the lowest grade of the sport that has the pretentious wank of the ref collecting the match ball from a stand.

But no, this was sent to me by a South West towel correspondent, which shows it is practice at step 11 in West Devon.

Behind the teams was some sort of Jarrow Crusade for infants and mange ridden aquatic mascots.

The teams lined up in front of a surprisingly active set of home ultras.

The away terrace was significantly less voiceferous.  Who'd have thought a team that averages 400 home crowds can't muster a following 1079 kms away on a Friday night?

And so we were off, and what an exciting opening it was.

After 30 seconds a bloke banged his head and got stretchered off.

After a minute Dunkerque scored.

And a minute later Marseille equalised.

Being in France but only a couple of miles from Belgium gave influences of both on the supporters, which is captured here as a family consume huge cartons of chips with built in mayonnaise holders, whilst in front of them, a bloke chain smokes ultra strength Peter Stuyvesant, which appear to be made from neat tar.

After ten minutes of the game gone, and with nothing having really happened in the previous eight, I went exploring.  The fiercest action was the token presence off riot police having a very competitive game of headers and volleys with a group of eight year olds.

I relented and got some spunky chips for myself.

Marseille then took the lead.

Only for Dunkerque to equalise just before half time.

Into the second half and an early Dunkerque attack saw the forward brought down and a penalty as well as the defender sent off.  The penalty taker then used precision to put the kick exactly where he appeared to be aiming.

Unfortunately, this was a good 15 foot wide of the post.

So the scores remained level and the ten men retreated but without Dunkerque ever looking too threatening.  This was until the 94th minute, when the home side got a penalty.  For what I do not know as the mascots were right in front of me and I suddenly had a period of confusion as I was trying to work out if they were dolphins or sharks.  If anyone was wondering what was the difference between the two mascots seen earlier, one has human hands, and one has, er, dolphin hands.

Anyway, this time a different penalty taker was used, who either had a better choice of where he was aiming, or else the same choice of where to aim as the previous kicker but less accuracy, but either way, a goal was scored.

And so an exciting end to give a 3-2 win in the first game of the season.

In the morning it was back across town, with the previous evenings discarded rubbish being less pizza boxes and puke, more the components for something off robot wars, including the last remaining overhead projector on the planet.

 Back to the station.

There were no less than four TGV sets sat in the station.  This is the equivalent of having four Eurostars sat in Cleethorpes on a Saturday morning.

Mine was the 0756 departure and being the prime morning peak service, was obviously dumped in some far flung excursion platform halfway back to Calais.

Back across the dull flatlands/battlegrounds to Paris.

Into Nord and I'd got a couple of hours before my onward train off Austerlitz.  I was going to do a few fill in moves but as the weather was good and the terrorists had scared off a lot of the thickest tourists, I decided on a walk across the city.

Down to the Champs-Élysées

Then over to the Pont de la Concorde, with the house boats on the river and Alexandra Palace TV transmitter in the background.

And a wander along the Seine.

Passing either some election remnant or else a fan of the maker of shitty lower league kits.

Eventually reaching Gare d'Austerlitz.  This used to be the main station for Bordeaux and south west France, but the opening of the High Speed Atlantique line concentrated all the TGV services on Montparnasse, so it is now a bit of a backwater.

However, the summer dated additional services operate from here, with my train of choice sat on the blocks.

Tracction being a rather unspectacular class 26 'sybic'.

This rattled us out through L'Orleans, with Ciaran being picked up at at Vierzon.  

However a trio of engineers class 67s turned up as our train arrived, and he prioritised getting a photo of them over making sure he got on ours, but he managed it.

  
At Bourges the train splits, with the front end staying with the rather with the Sybic.

Whilst on the other portion dropped another class 67.

Unfortunately not this rather battered looking class 67/3, one of only two of these mixed traction locos still used for passenger work.



Rattling through came the engineers locos that Ciaran had almost missed this train for, with a much better shot now available, which he missed.

We carried on down the unelectrified secondary line down to Montluçon.

We had a quick check to see if this rather batter specimen was taking the train back to Paris, as the other one had disappeared to the stabling point behind.  

But the original train loco dropped back on so we flagged it.

Instead it was into the historic town for the biggest croque-monsieur I've ever seen.

There were banners all around the centre proclaiming the electrification of the line that will see the end of this firstly haulage.

And so back to the station.

Where it was a pair of rail cars on a positioning move.

Ciaran always protests about how much he hates units, but nearly all the trips he plans 'accidentally' end up on them.  So it was the usual fun of taking pictures of him on a unit to then try and get published in the staff magazine.   Here he try's to avoid getting in the shot of an entendre station name.

Here he lunges full length out the way.

Eventually he relented and took in the scenery from the excellent viewing position these splendid trains provide,

The driver also left the door to the cab open and didn't seem to mind anyone wandering in to have a look at the line ahead.

And the unit silhouetted on the spindly girder bridges crossing the valley.

After climbing through the Bourbonnais mountains, we dropped down to the foothills of the Chaîne des Puys...

 ...with the sun setting.

And into Clermont-Ferrand for the overnight.

Next morning and it was back to the station.

This time down the incredibly scenic line through the Allier valley down to Nimes.

This is a summer only loco hauled service and has its own 'Le Cevenol' branding.

It was more diesel hauled class 67 action.

This one was still in its original 1960s blue livery, though had gained a cab door off a repainted sister loco.

The line is truly spectacular as it winds its way through the Allier gorge.

The central part of the line follows the river, hugging the valley sides.  

Being a hauled set, it was possible to get the view of of the rear of the back carriage.

We were meant to cross over the northbound working at La Bastide St-Laurent les Bains, but it never appeared.  This meant Ciaran leapt out at every station in hope of getting a photo of the other loco, only to find it at Chamborigaud, running about 90 minutes late, and with a unit as the loco had obviously burst at Nimes.

Spanning the valley were various hybrid stone and concrete viaducts.

And crossing the river a number of times on various tall bridges, as it widened out on its way into the Loire.

After six hours, we rolled into Nimes.

A quick platform change took us over to the Main lines for a class 72 on a Bordeaux-Marseille service.

This runs across the plains of the Camargue Natural Park.

Then the huge Étang de Berre lagoon.

Before rolling into Marseille St Charles.

After dumping stuff in at the station hotel, it was a quick opportunity to take in the evening sun over the city.

Then down to the Metro, with some retro TGV murals.

This was taken a few stops down, until we joined the throngs...

...heading for here.

It was a bit of a last minute choice of games as the original plan was a bit of Andorran third division action, but Ciaran seemed keener on this.  I'd bought tickets the night before with limited availability, it was then a case of working out where they were as the stadium plan had been helpfully stickered by the ultra groups.  For once though, there wasn't a Chester sticker in the shape of an Adidas tri-foil, as every lamp post in the north west seems to be adorned by one.

There was a huge cordon around the ground doing ticket checks, bag searches and frisking.  After that, access was very easy, except our seats were up some stairs.  And some more stairs.  And some more stairs.  And some more stairs, until eventually we were at our seats in row 139 of the 140 in the stand.

Olympique Marseille 3 v Dijon 0, Ligue 1 Conforama


Olympique de Marseille were formed in the 1890s as a general sporting club.  Initially, rugby was the prime focus but they soon realised how shit it is so played football instead.  Their name is in homage to the Greeks who had founded the city in 600bc.  National success started in the 1920s with Coupe de France wins, and then in the 1930s with the formation of the league.  A relative slump in the second division in the 1960s was followed by huge success in the 1970s.  However, it was the emergence from another slump in the 1980s that gained most notoriety as they won four successive league titles and the European Cup.  However, it emerged that club president and owner of Adidas, Bernard Tapie, seemed to be very generously giving away money to most of the opposition players, which the courts decided was bribery.  For their respective punishments, Tapie was sent to prison and the club were forced to play Trevor Steven and Tony Cascorino.  They recovered from the crisis to regain their high profile, though the only honours have been a league title in 2010, oh, and a couple of Intertoto wins.

Dijon Football Côte d'Or were founded in 1998 with the merger of the rather interestingly sounding Dijon Secular Club and Dijon fc.  The former were the longstanding and biggest team in the city, but refused to turn professional.  Therefore, the latter were formed as a professional side, who rose up the leagues, but without the backing or following of their neighbours.  They therefore merged, but kept professional and amateur sides.  The new professional set up rose to ligue 2, and then by 2010, the top division.  Relegation did follow but last season saw them rise back to the top.  And yes, their nickname is 'the mustards'.

Stade Vélodrome was built as a municipal facility in the 1930s with the main feature being cycling.  Olympique carried on at their fan built Stade de l'Huveaune, but by the 1950s this was too small and decrepit, so the move was made to the velodrome.  The development of the ground was very piecemeal, roofs being added to one side, then the other, and the cycle track was gradually seated over.  This gave it quite a basic and bleak feel, only its large capacity giving it leading status.  For the 2016 Euros, it was decided a major rebuild was in order, and this saw capacity rise to 67,000, all covered, which has also meant it is on FIFAs elite stadium list.

The stands are all named after famous Marseille residents.  First up is cyclist Gustave Ganay who has the three tier main stand which includes the hospitality suites.  300 Euros gets a ticket in the centre and 'unlimited amounts of Heineken'.  The 2012 rebuild saw the top curved tier added.

Behind each goal are the main ultra areas.  These had a top tier added for the 1998 World Cup but have only just been coverd.  The Curva Sud is surprisingly named after a 17th century plague victim, Chevalier Roze, and is home to the socialist ultras.

The Nord curva is of similar construction and houses the African descent ultras, and is named after their leader Patrice De Peretti, who died suddenly in 2000.

We were in the tallest stand, named after 1920s runner Jean Bouin.  This seemed to go on for ever and we were sat on the next to last row.  Without doubt this is the furthes from the pitch I've viewed a game since Brighton moved out of the Withdean.  Ciaran is a long standing season ticket holder with Reading, so was extremely happy he was here and not at a dreary opening day defeat at QPR.  The bloke to his left looks cautious, he's probably mistaken Ciaran for mad Dai.

Somewhere down there the teams emerged and I was able to answer the question I've never asked myself of 'I wonder if Patrice Evra is still alive?'.

The Marseille ultras then took there tops off and lit smoke bombs.

However, they were poor in comparison to our offering as rather brilliantly, the three lads sat in front of us each got out massive spliffs from their man bags and lit them up in unison.  This produced a rug of smoke that put the ultras efforts to shame, and the unmistakable stench of neat grass filtered across the stand, but without anyone giving a toss.

Joy upon joy their was a Dijon @keepers_towel.

What do you mean you can't see it?  Oh go on, here's a zoomed shot of it.

The game started quite interestingly, but without any clear chances.  The closest was a deflected Dijon shot going just wide.

The players joined in the relaxed atmosphere, as on 30 minutes, there was a drinks break for everyone, despite the clock still running.

  
Marseille then had a free kick well saved.

Half time was spent watching the smokey brothers who looked absolutely caned.  The second half meant a second reefer was started.

It also signalled a Marseille goal with a Cross put into his own goal by a defender.

Closely followed by a second.  I can't remember what happened but here they are celebrating it.

And then a delicate chip resulted in a third.

Which pleased Ciaran even more than some of the classic traction from earlier.

The crowd were now buoyant, well, except for the cane heads who seemed to be experiencing head rushes from all the sudden standing up and were holding on to each other for dear life.

And the game ended.

We rushed back to a crushed metro, which seemed to be made entirely of orange plastic, and headed back to the centre and a quick look at Marseille by night.

And then back to the station hotel with our trains in the morning already showing on the departure screens.

The next morning and being at the station hotel, from my bedroom window I got to watch the motor-rail being loaded.

Ciaran was doing a run down the coast through Monaco and into Italy and then flying back from Milan, so had already gone.  I made my way over to the station for the 0906 Paris TGV.

Except the 0706 and 0840 Paris services still hadn't left.  Trainsabroadalwaysrunontime.

Approaching nine and the two late services departed in quick succession, and ours was announced as a duplex set but with original series power cars.

Duplex means double decker, and I find these a lot more tolerable than the single deck original sets.

These give a good view over the wine bushes of Auvergne-Rhône-Alpes.

And three hours later, the approach into Paris.

And the line up of TGVs at Gare de Lyon.

It was another two hour connection in Paris, so again a walk was favoured vice the bother of getting ticket gate passes for the RER.

It was back to Nord where the much promised huge queues for security were none existent, and it was a walk straight through and onto my London bound service.

This was the first time I'd done a new e320 set in Premier.  They are just a newer version of an ICE.  Food is still shit and the staff are still grumpy.

And back into Blighty.

Where a +7 was made from St Pancras across to Kings Cross and an East Coast up to Leeds for a connection back to Sowerby.  

Marseille to the Calder Valley by train in ten hours.