Manchester - a Train Ride Away

The Britannia is a Grade II listed building and its lobby is particularly grand with a magnificent chandelier that would not be misplaced in the grandest of theatre auditorium. On checking in, with a decent Internet deal, I was given a card to cash in for a complimentary bottle of house wine. At the time of writing this journal I haven’t tried the wine, but I’m guessing it’s going to be a fairly average bottle of house "plonk". Still, perhaps with one of my "special lasagnes" the Italian red will drip down a treat.

I had great difficulty understanding the hotel receptionist and he volunteered little, so I had to ask for a receipt and the time and place of breakfast. That achieved I climbed the grand balconied staircase to the first floor and strolled down the broad corridors to my bedroom, which was at the furthest point from the reception. The corridor walls were covered with pictures and period furniture dotted the length of the hall set amongst the original ornate pillars of this Victorian (1858) cotton Cash-and-Carry warehouse.

This clearly is a grand building although it soon became clear that it had seen much better days – the paintwork is scuffed, the carpets threadbare in places and the bedroom (to be kind) is shabby chic. I have to say none of it was "offensive" and it wasn’t too hard to look through the shabbiness and just appreciate the decadent splendour of that impressive reception.

The hotel is well-placed closed to the tram terminus, bus station, Piccadilly station , China Town and Manchester’s Arndale Shopping Centre and although this makes it "handy" it also makes it very noisy. Indeed the "paper thin" bedroom walls and inadequate secondary double glazing ensured that I had one of my worst night’s sleep in a British hotel. I reckon the next room were holding a rave and when the clock reached 1am I did ring reception to ask them to intervene. They responded quickly and effectively and soon a silence descended on the room – other than the noise from outside. This place will be hell when the students return to this University town and start their partying.

However, after my poor night’s sleep on a fairly lumpy single bed (with a posh "Art Noveau" headboard) I made my way down to the basement restaurant. Although the tables offered limited space (a bit too close to fellow diners for my comfort) the breakfast itself was superb. There was a great selection of fresh fruits, cold meats, salads, and cereals (including a pot of porridge) for starters followed by an appetizing range of hot food. Making up my cooked breakfast was a challenge as I didn’t want to over-indulge (how wrong can I be) with fried bread, eggs, bacon, sausage, mushrooms, tomato, and fried sliced potatoes. But I still left room for croissants (rather than toast) with lashings of marmalade.

Do I forgive them my sleepless night? No! But it WAS a great breakfast.

Now I’m not going to pretend that this is a top quality restaurant and I don’t suppose that the Weatherspoons group would begin to make that claim. But it provided a reasonable quality meal for an extraordinary price. For under £12.50 I had a main course, dessert, and a pint of reasonable ale. Indeed if there’s two of you there’s the chance of two main course meals for around £8.50 and on "specials" night you can get a cheap curry or steak.

The pub / restaurant is an old building and has been named after the famous local architect Alfred Waterhouse. Waterhouse designed the impressive Town Hall that can be seen from the windows of the tall ceilinged restaurant and during the lunch break this place is frequented (well the prices are cheap) by the council employees based at City Hall.

At night, things are different you’ll be guaranteed a seat in this quiet bar. There’s a good choice of decent beers – all at less than a couple of pounds – and the barman allowed me to sample two or three of them before I settled on an old favourite (Abbots Ale). In this chain of restaurants you need to secure a table first, note the number and then place your order at the bar. I opted for surf and turf followed by a good old fashioned treacle sponge and custard and sat myself down at table 34. I was told it would take around 15 minutes before the meal was ready and that was fine by me (I’m now getting used to eating alone when away on business) as I settled down to read my daily paper and enjoy my pint.

The meal was cheerily brought to my table and the scampi and chips were piping hot, unfortunately the steak was not. Indeed although it was medium rare, as requested, it was actually cold. I made a speedy trip to the bar to complain and within seconds a waiter was escorting me back to the table and shortly afterwards my plate was being whisked back to the kitchen. I don’t know how they did it, but my meal arrived back at the table with everything real hot, although the steak was still medium rare.

They certainly didn’t fail with the treacle sponge that was far too hot to contemplate eating straight away and I suspect that the cook must have thought "we’ll get that guy on table 34 with his pudding!"

Overall the quality of the service was excellent with all staff being real polite and helpful. It’s spoilt a bit by having to collect your sauces from central place, but overall the place has a certain charm that I don’t normally associate with a chain restaurant. There are a number of small side rooms with limited tables and chairs giving a real impression of a cosy country eatery.

It’s cheap and offers great value for money.

This pub, just off the centre of town, is based in one of the town’s old libraries – an important historical building which has retained many of its original features.

It was back in the early 1800s that a group of local businessmen decided that the City needed a library and they, after further debate, agreed that it should incorporate a newsroom. The money for this initiative was raised by subscription and those contributing would be deemed to be shareholders in the venture. However, this was not to be "any old reading room" it needed to reflect the intellectual importance of acquiring knowledge and, as importantly, the social standing of its investors. So they chose their prime site in, according to John Dalton (a benefactor), "the most elegant and retire street in town."

Of course this proposed grand building needed a leading architecture and Thomas Harrison (a classical revivalist) was chosen to conceive a worthy edifice. The group had wasted no time and three years after the initial discussion the impressive Portico Library was opened. The shareholders lapped it up and not only were they here to study, learn and impress their townsfolk but whilst doing it they could purchase refreshments.

Now, a decade later, people are gathering in this fascinating building to socialise, eat and, "yes" they do still read. Indeed "the Bank" has its entrance set out as a reading room, memories of that bygone age. But why is an old library call "the Bank"? Well that’s easy to answer, because in the 1920s the ground floor of this building was taken over by the Bank of Athens (most appropriate as there are distinct Athenian qualities to the building). The brewery took it over in the 1980s and I guess felt "The Bank" was a better name for their new pub than "The Library"!

I was introduced to this great building by a work colleague and we both went for a decent pint and a quick meal before visiting a couple of the real ale pubs in the town. Just imagine as you're sitting at the pub table how the library’s patrons would have pored over books and discussed weighty affairs. The like of Sir Robert Peel (the man who introduced the modern day police force to England); John Dalton (Quaker and important chemist and physicist); Peter Roget (of thesaurus fame); Elizabeth Gaskell (novelist); Richard Cobden (a manufacturer, but more important an eminent politician involved in the Corn law legislation) all frequented here.

At the end of the day the food is fairly average. It's good honest pub grub served in a now nonsense manner. You order and pay at the bar and you're then given a numbered flag to take to your table. We didn't have to wait too long and I was soon tucking into an ample and well-prepared meal of rump steak (medium rare), chunky chip and peas. It was nothing extraordinary, until you re-focus on the stunning setting. It positively exudes history!

Usually I’m not one to wander into a pub for a quiet drink, but spending the night alone in a large city I was able to rationalise my visit as part of my devotion to contributing to IgoUgo. In fairness the Vine is a pub well worth writing about as it seems so incongruously placed close to the centre of Manchester. It almost feels like a country pub and although I understand it’s really busy on a lunchtime, there’s a pleasant friendly local feel to it at night (probably weekends and term time are a little different) and I had no difficulty in finding a place to sit and relax.

A small selection of real ales could be found at the small bar and the petite bar tender could hardly be seen behind the impressive array of highly polished pumps. She gave a great smile (showing off her facial piercings to perfection) as she pulled me a pint of Hobgoblin (a strong Wychwood pint from Oxfordshire). It was well kept and I had to remind myself of the strength as I greedily supped the contents of my glass.

The Vine is deceptively large with three very defined bars set across different levels. I’d gone straight in at street level (the one and only entrance) and upstairs a group of young lads were enjoying the night over a few "classic pints". This upper level has its own bar, but on quiet times only the street level bar is operating, and downstairs is a cellar bar offering "function facilities" for conferences and private parties. Not unsurprisingly the cellar bar was not open on this quiet Monday night.

I don’t think this place ‘does food’ but they had a fine array of bar snacks including "pork scratchings" (the heavily salted fried rind off pork), numerous types of peanuts, and too many crisps to contemplate. All are "unhealthy options", but if you’re enjoying a good strong pint with the lads they are the perfect accompaniment.

Although I generally liked the feel of the place, it was somewhat spoilt with a couple of TVs in the corners and a garish, indiscreet and positively flamboyant slot machine. The modern equivalent (with flashing lights) of the juke box started to play some great rock music and although this would clearly "kill conversation" I was more than content with this added entertainment.

In contrast the pub "returned me to the country theme" with a variety of pub memorabilia, a range of blue willow plates and dishes (some I’d have been happy to add to my collection) and some fairly hideous (although amazingly collectible in "their day") models of shire horses pulling brewery carts. These oversized pieces of horses had pride of place on the broad window ledge behind the tightly stuffed button back seating,

If you’re considering a "pub crawl" of Manchester pubs I suggest that you write this one into your itinerary and try the Hobgoblin -a nicely- rounded traditional ale.

The novelty of travelling by train was not to be lost to me. Other than the infrequent trip to London or the short local journey into Nottingham I hadn’t spent much time on a train since I was a child. No longer was I to experience the smell of the steam train or hear the clickety-click of the wheels on the track. Instead the smooth hum or drone of the engine percolated through the carriages. So, some of the mystery had disappeared, but I was soon to realise that despite the apparent efficiency of the modern railway journeys were never predictable.

Admittedly I’d started travelling by train in some of the worst weather conditions that the UK had experienced for several decades (6 to be precise) and I was prepared to accept that this was bound to have an impact on my journey. However, I would never be prepared for long, seemingly pointless waits outside stations or the number of times that a broken down train was the cause of disruption to my journey time. If they break down this regularly, I mused, perhaps they should invest in new stock or at least ensure that the trains are more regularly serviced. Still the train enabled me to catch up with work, add additional entries for my IgoUgo journals, enjoy the wealth of music that lay hidden on my i-pod and enjoy some weighty tomes.

But best of all, it allowed me to enjoy the passing countryside in all its glory. After the floods the water levels were incredibly high and there were tracts of water that I would as likely as not see ever again. Banks of previously lazy streams threatened country cottages; waterfalls gushed with a new found energy: horses and cattle were seemingly marooned by the rising waters. After a few weeks had passed the countryside returned to normal (whilst the devastation still remained in flood torn villages) and lakes and broad rivers returned to low-lying meadows and gently flowing brooks.

Having time to check out the countryside from the comfort of the train is not to be described as a luxury, but it is a pleasure. The train cuts through tracts of the countryside that I couldn’t possibly see by car – routes that have been around since the early tracks were laid down. "Let the train take the strain" was the catch phrase of a national advertising campaign of a few years ago and I would certainly support all the sentiments that are embodied in the expression. I can reach my destination relaxed and feeling fairly fresh and would commend a rail route around the UK.

Railway embankments have become more interesting over the years as they have been allowed to "return to the wild". They are a mass of lush green vegetation with splashes of bright colours: the white periwinkle, purple Hebe (the butterfly’s friend) rosy purple of the Willow Herb, bright yellow of the Ragwort and the off white or cream of the Hog-weed and Beaked Parsley. Wild honeysuckles run rampantly through the embankments softly complimenting the harsh and prickly wild brambles and the colourful, but nonetheless abrasive Thistle.

Of course there are downsides. Like when the train service was disrupted because power lines had collapsed further down the line, or when my train had a delayed start due to a broken down train on the rout, or when it was detoured on an alternative track because the line was blocked. Some of these inconveniences were minor irritations but on some occasions they were amazingly annoying and presented me with frustrating business problems. But I guess it would have been so much worse if I’d have been sat in a traffic jam for several miles with no way of stretching my legs or relaxing with a good book.

In addition to the journey itself, there are interesting elements linked to the activity of catching the train. By that I mean checking out the railway station. Nottingham only has one station and other than the building itself, it is a pretty mundane place. It’s home to a small branch of WH Smiths and a coffee shop, with a cluster of tables and chairs around it in an attempt to appear continental and welcoming. In truth Nottingham station is unwelcoming and appears almost rural when compared to Manchester’s Piccadilly. Here there are numerous shops (comparable with London’s King’s Cross) and if you have time to kill whilst waiting for your train you can grab a snack or just generally browse.

I like to be at the station in good time (there’s nothing worse than rushing to catch a train!) and in people-watching I’m beginning to recognise the different "animals that frequent the station." There’s "Homo impetus" – the traveller who loathes being early and resents waiting for even a second – I’ve seen one guy just catch the train on three occasions and stamp the platform with absolute anger when he arrived just a second too late. "Homo relaxus" is so laid back that you just know he won’t be stressed if the train is delayed, he saunters around the shops and then casually wanders to the platform arriving with time enough to chill out before alighting the carriage. In contrast "Homo agitatus" is on time but never relaxed enough to enjoy the experience – pacing the platform, checking on screen announcements, anxiously glancing at his watch. Surely this one will have a heart attack even before the train departs!

The interesting travellers are the family group of "homo infrequentus" who struggle with their luggage down escalators before checking where they need to be – they’ve just followed the crowd. These groups will often "accommodate" an uneasy mix of the main traveller types, which will invariably provide sport, for the avid people watcher, as traits conflict and tensions soar. You can’t beat a good bit of observation to wile away those otherwise wasted moments as you wait for the train to arrive.

I guess, if I’m honest, I’m a bit of a combination. I do like to arrive "in good time", but can become quite impatient if my train is delayed for any significant amount of time