A huge amount of discussion seems to have taken place about the Severn Valley Railway's gala this year. Right back when the weekend was originally announced, there was a spirited exchange about the railway's supposedly anti-diesel sentiments, reflected in the way that some staff behaved or a bloody-minded refusal to hold connections. I couldn't personally say I'd experienced this on my brief visit back in 2004, which seemed to focus on the range of locos in attendance and the excellent beer on offer. However, the events of the past week or two have provoked further debate, with the unfortunate derailment and subsequent emergency repair at Highley loop fuelling more than one conspiracy theory. Bottom line was though, that the gala would be smaller than planned and the service less intensive. Cursing my usual October luck, I decided to stick it out and visit as planned. I've really enjoyed my trips to the Severn Valley - despite a harrowing introduction as a youngster - and this would make for an interesting and relaxing weekend before a solid few weeks of intensive travelling.

I didn't reckon of course on the combined forces of our local rail operators, who also seemed to be conspiring. Having arrived at the station in time for the 05:50, I watched with dismay as it went from an on-time departure from it's first station to a 14 minute late arrival. Given my restricted ticket and a much reduced timetable, I was going to have a tricky time getting further north than Bristol this morning. However, I arrived to find platform 3 at Temple Meads still busy with passengers and a catering trolley waiting to load. By some strange quirk it seems that a rostering error had left the train driverless. It finally left, 15 minutes late with me safely on board with breakfast and coffee to boot! Running out of path on a diversion via South Wales was never going to be easy however, and we finally reached Kidderminster via a hastily amended route to Birmingham New Street, a cross-town dash to Moor Street and a unit from there onwards. Finally arrived about twenty minutes after we'd have made it via the planned route, already feeling exhausted by the reorganising and some tense moments around connections!

On the journey up I'd predicted we'd probably end up with D821 on a train, and sure enough there it was, quietly chugging at the front of a rather smartly turned out rake of LMS stock. Got a picture, and walked back to look at 50026 which was stabled beside the train. This was the one time that I noted staff being anything less than friendly, when one of them shouted after me that I wasn't allowed to take a picture where I was standing. It seems that someone had left a barrow full of second hand books and magazines nearby and he thought I had some sort of devious plan to steal them as I photographed the loco! Soon on board D821 and heading for Bewdley. It has to be said, the timetable was a mixed bag. Lots of shuttles to Bewdley and Highley which meant the ability to fairly safely switch trains. However, the steam diagram which the SVR insists on running on the Saturday of diesel events was unavoidable. If you did a trip to Bridgnorth, you just had to do the steam train back. This became more frustrating as the day went on, and we found ourselves steaming down to Kidderminster on a couple of occasions as very rateable traction passed in the opposite direction. It was certainly not going to be one of those "get everything" galas this time!

In the end, settled for impressive runs with the pair of Class 20s, D1062 and 37906. The 37 in particular was noisy and made light work of the demanding line. Settled back and enjoyed far more Batham's Bitter than was probably advisable whilst the misty morning became a very warm and bright afternoon and the engines echoed down the valley.

After a final arrival at Kidderminster and with no sensible move which would get us back before the train to Birmingham, stuck around to photograph 50135 arriving in the sinking sunshine while a pair of shunters prepared to haul another shuttle train. Soon onboard the unit for a slow and sleepy trip back to Moor Street. Some further silliness around the arrival and departure of the 18:12 to Bristol at New Street too, but finally sorted and away a few minutes down. Watched an amazing red sunset over the Malverns, recalling my many years old tradition of watching these Autumn skies on my trips homeward. Chatted to an interesting new acquaintance too, who worked in similar fields to me and reminded me that times were busy and tense for everyone in public service - a valuable lesson delivered with great tact and grace in fact. As we covered the last leg of the trip, reflected that today had been an entertaining day despite the problems and complications, all of which were outside the control of the organisers. It's always a shame to see fine engines passing by - but that's always going to be the difficult part on a line of a fair length like the Severn Valley. Next time though, perhaps a weekday visit and some local accommodation might be in order?

There was a strangely menacing quality to Manchester this morning. Set out early to cross the city, having booked near Victoria in anticipation of the tour which didn't run. The walk to Piccadilly was cold, dark and surprisingly busy given the early hour. Noted a few rough sleepers - a sight which has been absent from city centre streets in recent times, but possibly due to the privatisation of these spaces rather than any great shift in housing policy I suspect. These denizens of the doorways were joined in their slumbers by a good few casualties from the previous evening, slumped where they landed after their revels. Felt old, conservative and disapproving, but then convinced myself there was probably nothing wrong with that at all. Turned the corner towards Piccadilly meeting a ferocious wind. One coffee shop open and doing a brisk trade, but I've never liked their brew so headed up to platform 14 to wait for my train. These 'lost weekend' trips are always interesting by virtue of their unexpected quality, but standing in the cold and black northern morning I was beginning to doubt my wisdom. Relieved when a brace of warm, comfortable Class 185s rounded the corner. Found my seat and settled in for a sleepy trip north, at least until the sun came up.

Daylight began to break around Preston, here a catering trolley joined the train and a pleasant attendant served us our complimentary breakfast - these seemed to consist of one of everything on the trolley, heaped onto the table efficiently and quickly. Most importantly, it contained coffee of a sort. So, refreshed and with the promise of a bright morning somewhere behind the cloudy Pennines, I settled in to enjoy one of my favourite journeys.

As we passed Carstairs and began the final leg of the journey towards Glasgow, the question of what to do with my day began to trouble me. I've passed through the city several times this year, and having only limited time have not even tried to do it justice. There is always a strange tension - to revist old haunts and reacquaint myself with the city, or to strike out in new directions. Whilst the former is easy and comfortable, it doesn't really fit the plan of understanding the place 'warts and all' so to speak. However, the latter takes planning - and I'd done nothing of the sort. The question wasn't really answered until around an hour after arrival. Having finally got a decent coffee I made a strange progress through the shopping streets, dodging into shops to avoid the rain. Whilst browsing the 'local books' section in one of these, I found a small volume about the Southern Necroplis. Over my shoulder, a local voice said "Aye, ye should have a look at that place pal". A pleasant conversation followed with the gent who'd been looking over my shoulder in which he claimed that the tourist should be encouraged to visit the southside more, and that the Southern Necroplis, though not nearly as dramatic as it's city centre cousin, was full of interest and history. He said, almost throwing down a gauntlet that he didn't think I'd go as one mention of Gorbals was enough to "send people aff screamin' in the direction of the Willow Tearooms and a nice bit of shortbread". I assured him I'd not be doing that, and headed for the bus stop. Soon heading south along Saltmarket, with a sudden splash of sunshine on the tower blocks.

Alighted on a long, deserted stretch of Caledonia Road on the no mans land between Gorbals and Hutchensontown. The gatehouse of the vast cemetary loomed above the otherwise empty southern side of the street - and ignoring the 'Danger Keep Out' signs which I assumed applied to the fairly rickety looking structure itself as opposed to the Necropolis, I strode in. The sensation of immediate silence is one I'll remember for a long while. A lone dog walker turned the corner behind a hedge ahead of me, and left me alone in the overgrown and tree-lined central section of the burial yard. Pressed on into the centre, noting the great age of even the newest graves. Many of the stones had collapsed and lay where they fell, while others had been taken down for safety's sake and stacked against the neighbouring tomb. Without the guidebook I'd not even thought to purchase, I could recall only one particular statue I wanted very much to seek out - that of the White Lady. I'm intrigued by these local oral traditions, and especially when they make it into print. In some ways this is standard fayre - the lady is said to turn her head to follow the unwary traveller. No doubt this is related to the unquiet spirit of the lady and her housekeeper killed in 1933 by a tramcar which they didn't see from behind their umbrella. I surveyed the monument for a while, weathered and overgrown - but made from a strangely luminous stone which no doubt adds to it's spooky reputation at night. As if to mock the superstitious thoughts which creep into even a rational mind at such lonely times, the weather took a sudden and vicious turn - the wind curled leaves into a tunnel around me, and sticks flicked against my face. I hurried on my way, the trees bending ominously towards me. As I reached the exit the wind died away as suddenly as it had risen up. Had the same sudden squalls not continued for much of the day, I confess I'd have been a little spooked by my odd visit to the Southern Necropolis.

Back on the bus to Saltmarket, and then a sudden thought provoked me to disembark near the 13th Note in King Street. I'd remembered at last to find the location of Monorail music - a record shop of impeccable reputation which was squirrelled away at the back of a range of shops in the arches under the City Union Line. I'd gazed out at these shops for a decade without much thought, but now I strolled into a fantastic place - the cafe, wooden floored, pleasantly dark and aromatic with lunchtime food - was in itself a surprise. The record shop, tucked away at the back of the store was though, a revelation. I was taken back to the old days in Bristol - Revolver records - a small square room, lots of vinyl, nothing which you could easily pick up at the local Our Price of HMV. Found a signed copy of the Pastels/Tenniscoats CD and left feeling like I'd invaded the lair of people much younger than I! A calm, pleasant place though.

With the rain beginning to spatter down again, I ventured north into Merchant City, making it as far as Blackfriars before giving in and settling for a pint of a good, local brew in Kelburn's 'Red Smiddy'. This place is always great - pleasant, friendly staff and good beer despite being early. Spent a while over my drink before taking advantage of another burst of sunshine to catch another bus. I wanted to travel back to Saracen Cross. This might seem like a strange, perhaps voyeuristic pilgrimage - after all I have no personal connection with this strange outpost of Glasgow. But there was something of it's frontier town feel creeping into Highbridge somehow, and I wondered if I could isolate it and understand it. As the bus crawled through the tangle of motorway slip-roads and turned north I felt strangely nervous. My last visit was on a quiet winter morning, while few folks were about - today however was turning into a bright afternoon. There were a fair few people lingering around the isolated blocks of housing as we approached the valley between the tenement blocks which symbolise this street. Looking up the hill - on Stoneyhurst or Allander Street all was empty - perfectly straight roads, slowly climbing towards Springburn and oddly devoid of any property beyond Saracen Street. Disembarked and took a short walk down the rows of shops. I'll not describe this - it's a place where people live and struggle - not a theme park. Suffice to say I felt humbled enough by the experience, and not least by the sight of the fortified Post Office, standing alone and defiant amid land earmarked for development.

Back in the city, time to reflect on my travels before preparing for the journey back to Manchester. Once again, a good run on the 185 despite a few more stops. The customer host was also, rather like the first one of the day, excessively generous with complimentary items. On arriving at Piccadilly, walked through the busy and rather congested streets to Victoria with the thought of perhaps doing one of the last trains around the Oldham Loop. A strange and heady mix at Victoria of the usual revellers, the ever-present Emo crowd and a lot of cranks who'd been on the Spitfire steam tour. Watched for a while before deciding that there was something odd and rather morbid about the event. Back to my hotel room, high above the city, watching the trains leave Victoria. At the due hour, I listened for the departure - another bit of line closed, and me feet away but not taking part this time. Once again, a short stay in Glasgow has upset all the usual priorities.

Despite an early start in the darkness, I'd been looking forward to this trip for a while. Something about the simple 'there and back again' nature of it appealed after some complicated tours lately with plenty of drama and excitement. I was also very keen to visit the Swanage Railway - and what better way than to cover the entire branch from the connection at Worgret Junction? The advantage of the Crewe Arms Hotel is needing to get up only a short time before the train. Arrived at the station to find the Up Sleeper still in the platform and not a sign of coffee. Lingered on the overbridge until the sleeper departed, and soon afterwards our train could be heard approaching - unusually for a charter using platform 6. Descended to see 37706 leading 37516 - an old stalwart and a winning engine for me respectively. Indeed, I'd wanted a ride behind 37516 since seeing it gleaming in the sunshine at Eastleigh in may. Soon seated and away on time, with a tiny glint of light beginning to appear in a cloudy sky. Given the amazingly good weather over the past few days, I had to admit that this didn't look promising for our day at the seaside...

The route was pretty simple today - along the WCML, then Wolverhampton, a diversion through Bescot and into Birmingham New Street picking up along the way. From here, the train snaked over the tracks to use the curve to St Andrew's Junction, then took the connection at Bordesley Junction to access the former Great Western lines to Tyseley. Nothing much close enough to see at Tyseley depot, disappointingly - despite a number of preserved locos clearly being on the shed. At Banbury, our coach filled up and I found myself chatting to a veteran of the Cumbrian trips over the last month. I'd also been spotted at Shackerstone last week it seems - a small world indeed this railway business. Along with the party from Sheffield and Cheshire across the bay, there was quite a lively atmosphere as we sped around the avoiding curve at Didcot, then took the rarely used Reading West curve past the depot and onto the Basingstoke line. With a clear run, and having missed some of our passing stops on the way down, we were running consistently early, with both locos performing superbly. Blasted through Eastleigh - a good number of photographers out on Campbell Road bridge - and unusally passed non-stop through Southampton.

After setting down briefly at Bournemouth, we headed west through Poole - I calculated I haven't done this bit of line for about 13 years. Somewhere along the way, the sun had broken through and the south coast was apparently enjoying a pretty blistering indian summer. Slowed to a stop at Worgret Junction before curving away from the mainline. A very slow trundle down the branch after our speedy trip so far, passing the site of the Furzebrook Oil Depot and pausing at Motala Ground Frame to access the Swanage Railway. Soon underway again, passing the striking ruins of Corfe Castle and the nearby village, which looks equally ancient and ramshackle. Amazed at the feel of remoteness on the Isle of Purbeck, as I always think of the south coast as being one long strip of populous resorts. After passing a huge amount of stored stock and engines, finally slowed for Swanage station - our destination. Alighted at the wonderfully preserved Southern Region terminus to find crowds enjoying the late summer sunshine. Fought my way to the front of the train for a picture, but couldn't quite get a decent angle as the platforms end right on the pavement of the main street! Resorted to the picnic area beside the tracks for a few shots before wandering in to the town to explore.

Swanage was busy - perhaps a little frustratingly so, because it proved quite difficult to get around. What surprised me, having lived in some of the less successful seaside resorts in the country, was how mixed the demographic was - sizeable groups of retired people mingling with young families and a few hen and stag type revellers in a fair approximation of harmony. It also struck me that the economic downturn has yet to bite hard here, and there were few closed shops in the busy main streets. Got a bite to eat, and found a shady spot near the floral clock - did all seaside towns once have these? Watched boats on the sea and families on the beach. Wandered back to the station with the sense that Swanage was something of a lost gem. The presence of a good preserved railway right at the heart of the town just added to this. Wandered up onto the picnic area again to watch the resident 08 shunting stock out of the bay platform to free this up for a DMU service and thus allow our train back into the station. Realised that the entire bank on this side of the station was alive with thousands of rather docile wasps! Beat a hasty retreat to a safe distance to watch operations. Next, our stock was hauled back into the station by 33103. It would have been good to have had this on a service - but it wasn't to be this time. Soon back on board with the crowds drifting back from town, the beach or the pubs. Departure was a few minutes down, and we started our lazy progress back to the mainline.

The return journey was very entertaining - aside from a check at Southcote Junction due to signal failure and a further snarl up near Didcot, we made steady progress. However these delays set us back, and catching up on a tight timescale was tricky. Much merriment in the coach as people speculated on the identity of various prominent members of the WNXX forum to varying degrees of accuracy. With 37516 at the front, the noise from outside was pretty impressive at times. No need to guess at our lateness either, as for some obscure reason we were showing on National Rail Enquiries as a service train!

Finally rolled into platform 12 at Crewe around 30 minutes late, after a very good day out. There are, it seems, some very ambitious plans afoot for next years trips. I can only hope there are a few simple ones like this too - a chance to just enjoy the trip and end up somewhere interesting, with a few laughs along the way.

I've become used to people describing the Battlefield Railway, and particularly the Shackerstone Diesel group in hushed tones. A preservation group with a home fleet of well-maintained, beautifully kept locomotives - but in an almost impossible to get to location. Everywhere I went at railway events I'd spot the ubiquitous 'SN' depot insignia on bags, mugs and notebooks - people were impressed with this bunch, and didn't mind who knew it. So when this gala was advertised with a bus link to Nuneaton station, I wasted no time in booking. It was a tough call between this and Pathfinder's jaunt up to North Wales with D1015, but curiosity to see this line in operation got the better of me - along with a busy month ahead and a need to keep the purse strings in check. I travelled up to the Midlands yesterday, and had a pleasant evening out in Birmingham with relatives before setting off early this morning. However, a second consecutive night out on the town (which also included a trip to the legendary Wellington pub with its many real ales on offer) had left me feeling a little out of sorts - and I dozed through the journey to New Street, sleepily changed trains and only really began to surface on the unit to Nuneaton where the sun began to shine through the windows very strongly. We were in for a hot day it seemed. The last leg of the journey was conducted in a coach, winding through the Warwickshire and Leicestershire countryside before finally arriving at Shenton station, with the resident DMU chugging away at the platform. I'd finally reached the Battlefield Railway!

The DMU started things with a complete run of the line to Shackerstone, and this was useful in getting my bearings - while staff puzzled over my 'ticketweb' purchased rover. The line is around four and a half miles long, and is part of the former Nuneaton to Ashby route. Population around the line is sparse, the only town of note being Market Bosworth. However the station there is in disrepair following vandalism and trains don't currently stop. Once at Shackerstone, the intensive operation started in earnest, with the next loco hauled departure at 09:00. I could see a yard full of interesting locos behind the station, but soon realised that one of the rather tricky bits of this gala would be that you were either on the train or elsewhere photographing things and exploring. The layovers between trains were too short to combine the two. Consulted the timetable and decided that the 73/25 combination, whilst very tempting, was eclipsed by the bigger engines on offer today, so decided that would be my break between trips. Soon off Shackerstone with the resident 33 on the front and 47640 'University of Strathclyde' on the rear to haul us back. Briefly hopped off at Shenton and noted that with the long train blocking the foot-crossing, and the other loco way off the platform there were few photo opportunities. Settled in for the run back, with the alternating aromas of diesel and the excellent griddle car!

The highlight of this gala was the 'gridlocked' theme - the plan to have three working Class 56s, and at some point for all of them to work a train together. As 56098 had been detained at Barrow Hill for further fibreglass work this wasn't to be - but still left the prospect of 56040 and 56086 - the latter in a very fresh coat of large-logo BR blue which had been finished just a day or so before the gala! 56040 provided the first taste of grid haulage for the day, and it was easy to see why it had triumphed in the gala's "Carry on Clagging Cup" the previous evening - literally a competition to make as much smoke and noise as possible. Had an hour or so break after flagging the 73 - which allowed me to explore Shackerstone station a little more and to wander down to the yard. It struck me that this was a really tiny operation - and what an amazing job the Diesel group here do. Watched a pair of immaculate Class 31s leave the yard and wait in the station for their next working - which was also my next train. Settled into a pleasant pattern of shuttling back and forth in the warm afternoon sunshine, but beginning to notice that the timetable was slipping. As there had been quite a long wait for the timetable, I'd taken a flyer on a 17:10 train from Nuneaton. This already meant waiting over an hour after the arrival of the bus from Shenton. Calculated I could still do the triple-headed lash up of 56086, 56040 and 73114 to Shenton, which turned out to be fantastic fun. With my eyes stinging with diesel fumes, I stumbled off at Shenton to watch the complicated run around.

As it happened, the bus driver had taken a trip on 47640 too and I could have comfortably done the last circuit. However, a little relaxing in the sun at Shenton allowed time to get a decent picture of 47640 arriving too. Soon back on board the bus in sauna-like heat, heading back to Nuneaton. A quick trip to the supermarket for drinks and provisions, then a little time spent on the end of the platform which I almost never get the chance to do now. A quiet afternoon, but good to be out and about. On to my slightly delayed train back to New Street, and a fairly swift change onto the homeward bound Voyager where thankfully, the air-conditioning was working at its ice-cold best! Really pleased to have finally got to the Battlefield Line, and despite the somewhat frustrating limitations of the short stretch of line, I was really impressed by the line-up of engines and would visit again. There have been some interesting galas this year, and strangely enough it's often been the smaller railways who've managed to turn in the better events.