It's a long time since I've made this trip...

As we skirt the edge of the Hamble Estuary in bright, spring sunshine I can almost ignore the weird doubling-over sensation in my gut. We've spent a few days in Brighton - a long promised destination, and one which has figured fairly often in my previous travels. That's because for a while, in the early part of the last decade, there were proper trains heading that way each Friday. I'd escape from work early, dash up to Bristol and hop about the four tired old carriages for a long afternoon's slog along the South Coast. Then, after some swift shopping in Brighton, I'd head right back. I even remember the time everything went badly wrong at Southwick and despite our driver's valiant attempts to coax the engine to Brighton, we blocked the busy route along the coast for some time. There were taxis, mad dashes to Mr Dong's takeaway in Cosham, and ultimately the satisfaction of getting out of a bind. Brighton is somewhere I've dashed into, around and out of swiftly. I'd never stayed in Brighton until this week.

Our hotel - really a some what glammed-up guest house on New Steine, just off the promenade, was comfortable and despite some oddities was entirely redeemed by serving a killer breakfast. We were a short walk through interesting, confusing Kemp Town from the Pavilion - and we took advantage of this to finally visit this bizarre example of Regency bling. The building was beautiful down to the surprisingly well-equipped kitchens which were light, airy and clad in clean white tile. The music room, victim of a mindless arson attack and storm damage over the years, was truly awe-inspiring. A high-vaulted, wonderfully colourful soaring place of wonderful decorations and surprisingly well thought out acoustics. Beyond the Pavilion were the Laines - numerous streets mixing genuinely innovative small businesses with the kind of 'alternative' shop which crops up in such spots. The wonderful Resident Records and several fine book and craft stores rubbed shoulders with junkshops rebranded as vintage emporia, vegan cafés and speculative tourist traps. The atmosphere though was rather special - like the Freemont Streetmarket in Seattle had landed on a warm spring afternoon in Sussex.

One of the goals on this trip was to experience The Salt Room, a recently opened restaurant on the sea front which garnered a wonderful review from Jay Rayner a month or so back. We weren't disappointed, and wandering along a breezy, dark prom after a fantastic meal which rather unusually felt like it had been worth every penny, we were both happy and pleasantly full of good things. Our other eating experiences here were less fantastic - with one local Spanish eatery which I won't name very likely giving me the dose of stomach cramp and nausea which seized me so inconveniently this morning before we headed back. Suffice to say, the owner and I are going to have words...

But after a long weekend in London, then heading for the coast to take early seaside walks, drink good coffee in the amazing Twin Pines, and to relax after some taxing times - well, it's been a good break which even some minor accommodation issues and a dodgy tummy can't ruin. Brighton was the unmistakable mixture which makes up the British Seaside - slightly down-at-heel and peeling, but surprisingly resilient to change. The city has embraced it's alternative reputation, and feels genuinely inclusive and welcoming despite being somewhere our grandparents would recognise readily.

There are a few more pictures from the visit here.

It must be difficult following a frankly stunning debut. I recall back in the 1990s when I still pored over the music press in the hope of hearing about new things, there was a running joke in the NME about the 'difficult second album'. It's hard to know whether it was meant to be difficult for the artist or the listener? Perhaps though it's both - with expectations raised by a sterling debut, bearing down weightily on artists who now have a reputation and a recognised niche to occupy. The best bands seem to shatter the box on the way out, taking our preconceptions with them. Others choose to make their chosen bit of the musical world their own little palace. Both routes are fine - but it's pretty hard to live in both worlds at the same time.

But You Already Know seem to be doing just that on this new album, a follow up to 2009's "Stop Whispering". That debut was uncommonly fine - a mixture of light and dark, punishing solid riffs alongside moments of near-epic grandeur. It was, for a little while in the post Christmas lull of early 2010, pretty much all I would listen to. Instrumental music has it's place - and anyone who tells you it's dull or boring is clearly more interested in the cult of personality around the singer than the song itself. However, there are some bits of this record - particularly early on - which are just a little dull and almost a bit YAK-by-numbers. The album starts with a clear statement of what to expect with the solid, thunderous "Let's Fuck". It thuds relentlessly along with a dangerously non-ironic 'metal' solo squealing away in the background. When this surfaced as a single back in late 2010 it was a fun cobweb-destroying romp, but in the context of an album with a fair bit of this kind of material up front, it's a little less convincing.

Happily, by the time we reach "Amber Lamps", YAK are back on form, and the album improves exponentially from here in. The bludgeoning, hard-edged rhythm section remains but is tempered by a more melodic, soaring element which takes these songs beyond the grime and grunt of the early part of the album and into a more interesting dimension. YAK seem to have settled on a sort of metallic take on post-rock which is eminently listenable and emotionally engaging - which is never easy for entirely instrumental music like this. The latter part of this record manages this by having an undercurrent of soaring melodies which temper the storm which the band are capable of creating.

"The Gush" represents a return to the thrash and burn of the first part of the record, but is followed by the initially menacing but ultimately gorgeous "Meatshield". Here YAK slow the pace and quell the urge to rush for the end of the song long enough to produce a contemplative, almost gentle post rock hymn which explodes with satisfying fury - and keeps exploding until it reaches a swooning anthemic conclusion. This inventive and more restrained technique is maintained through "Into and Over You" which stacks up around a martial drumbeat, building towards a searing ending. The album returns to it's roots for the closing "Business Class" which combines a filthy, funk-metal bassline with a roar of guitars. It's difficult not to love this closing riot of noise, just because it breaks all the rules and demonstrates the playful ambivalence to genre and stereotype which YAK have developed.

Despite my whines and gripes about the early part of this record I find myself coming back to this collection of songs in different ways - the first few songs perfect after frustrating days in the office, and the latter part of the album for brilliant cold morning commutes. I'm wondering perhaps if it's all in the sequencing of the tracks? This is something which is hard to get right - and in the post-CD age where people have the freedom to rearrange things easily, it's sometimes perhaps not given the attention it needs. In any case, this is a noisy beast of a record with a sense of humour alongside it's epic and serious moments.

You Already Know - Into And Over You

It's easy to look with justifiable anger at the recent removal of Burnham-on-Sea's boating pool from the beach. A gift from the Braithwaite family to give thanks for their sons' safe return from the First World War, generations of visitors to the town have played in it's murky depths. I have my own memories of digging miniature canals in the silted up pool, and of finding decaying eels floating in the water. Mostly though, its part of the landscape - it's origins largely unknown until the recent Sedgemoor District Council decision to remove the pool. And while it is dangerous to use an internet forum to take the temperature of a local debate - and especially one as given to dyfunctional babbling and pyrexic rages as burnham-on-sea.com, the reactions to these recent events have given me cause to consider how the 'heritage' game works around here.

The final straw for those who are claiming the demolition of the pool is 'desecration' appears to be the suggestion that a chunk of the concrete edifice will be retained to bear a plaque featuring words chosen by the Braithwaite's descendants. This appears from the reactions to be adding a gross insult to a grave injury - but why is it any worse than sending this last piece to the crusher along with all the others? I think it's all about the removal of context, and the simple fact that we lazily expect our heritage to come prepackaged for easy consumption these days. Consider the embarassment of riches from the Roman era available in Britain today. I've been dragged around many a windy hillside to see these - forlorn, but evocative. Suggestive of a flow of time, but not necessarily sparking an instant vision of our history. Until of course suitable context is provided in the form of a 'visitor center' or 'experience'. In this model of heritage, the consumer signs-up for a package deal of context-setting multimedia and the artefact or location is relegated to second place. The thing itself can never match the reconstructed environment - not even the thrill of touching two thousand-year old stone walls can compete with the carefully paced walk-through designed to deliver just the right number of visitors through the site.

The situation with the boating pool is a little different, but still relates to this disconnection between relic and context. Here, the context is absolutely gone - bulldozed already and crushed into dust finer than the sand which surrounded it. The relic, a rather odd looking and insignificant corner of the concrete pool, is useless in itself and has none of the qualities of the original memorial. It's no accident that religious terms like 'sacrilege' are employed - in the strictest sense this relic has indeed been robbed of it's truth and meaning. Of course, the replacement for this lost context - a suitable plaque linking then to now - will never quite deliver the reverent and solemn 'experience' required. In a new war nearly a hundred years later, and with a deepening gulf between the personal and political in society this act of destruction signals all that is bad at the core of politics. An administration has failed to listen and understand, and seems to have deeply misjudged the heritage gamble.

How does this relate to Highbridge? Well, our own heritage here is taking hit after hit and we are in danger of losing the context too. However, the context here is an authentic market town which can't offer an 'experience' to the visitor in any positive sense as things stand. What it can offer is a view of forsaken heritage - entering from the south, the charred skin of the Highbridge Hotel, shored by an exoskeleton of scaffolding, rears at the casual traveller. Descending towards town, and just feet away the town clock too is under threat of demolition due to a lack of repair. The historic shopping and industrial areas are slowly but inexorably transformed into residential developments of the most depressingly predictable kind. Our own war memorial crumbles and leans at a busy road junction. However, the same intemperate locals who rage against the demolition of the pool can barely raise an eyebrow at the widespread destruction in Highbridge. The best response seems to be a recognition at the fact that Highbridge stands as a embarrassing gateway to it's sister town of Burnham - and that fixing it is a similar window-dressing exercise to watering the flower beds on the distributor road. The worst though, is a cynical sneer at the town and it's inhabitants. It is worryingly commonplace to find the latter view nowadays among locals - and often, perplexingly, it is those who are shouting loudest about the boating pool or poor planning decisions in Burnham who are least concerned and most scornful of Highbridge. It is of course folly to believe that the events here will respect parish boundaries, and perhaps it's time for Burnham's champions to look long and hard at Highbridge and to recognise the trend.

So perhaps the heritage game really is a lottery, and no relic is worth more than the value placed on it's immediate surroundings? This certainly seemed to be the situation for Sutton House in Hackney until the National Trust finally intervened, and it seems true for Highbridge too. As for the boating pool, I'm truly sorry that a part of my own memory of Burnham has disappeared, but politics and history are never the most comfortable companions.

For the second week in succession I woke in London, contemplating an early start and a day of travel by unusual routes. Firstly, to Kings Cross - which this time around was definitely where we were starting out. 90028 had hauled the stock into the platform, and I made some half-hearted attempts at a picture which turned out very poorly. Interpreted this as a need for coffee. Wandered to the business end of the rake of Riviera Mk 1s to find 92022 positioned to haul the first leg of the tour to Doncaster Royal Mail Terminal. Prompt departure and some very reasonable running made for a good start, making pick-ups at a few rather damp and dreary looking suburban locations along the way. Interesting chat with the gent opposite too, who was a bus driver by trade and had operated both school services and rail replacement runs in this area and knew it very well. Always good to have a bit of an insight into the area. The real track-bashing soon began, and 'Quails' at the ready much of the carriage began to check our routes for the day and discuss the possible options. Despite the bashing which the BLS receives in some quarters, we have some knowledgeable and interesting members who aren't just a bunch of dribbling vestibule-huggers as some would paint us.

Some disappointment that 56303 turned up rather than 301 which has yet to work a railtour. Still good to have a 'Grid' on the train though, and we made steady progress. First new track of the day was the direct route bypassing York station via the yard. Nothing of much significance stored there now, aside from wagons and enormous amounts of on track plant. We pushed on northwards, finding a little more new track at Longlands Junction where we avoided Northallerton, before heading to Norton South where we turned north again, heading back towards the East Coast Mainline at Tursdale Junction. It's possible to cover this track on rare PSUL workings, but not the trains are all rather inconvenient for a visitor from down south, so this too was welcome track. What was meant to be a cruise through Newcastle became a rather protracted stop, and we set off for Morpeth a little late. Joining the Blyth and Tyne route at Hepscott Junction. This was, for me one of the highlights of the tour, and naturally I managed to become very sleepy just as we started our rather slow run along the line! Soon found ourselves passing through the crossing at the tour's namesake, Choppington - luckily a photographer has immortalised the moment here. We lost further minutes as we headed south, eventually coming alongside the Metro tracks and turning again towards Newcastle where we were due to break and change locomotive once again.

66423 had been spotted at York earlier, and at Newcastle when we passed through, and remained at the back of the station apparently heading north. We expected a brief break due to lateness, but there appeared to be some confusion about the loco change, and the actions of an overzealous platform attendant caused a fair bit of havoc at the front of the train. Eventually, 66423 moved off and headed for the front of our train. We'd been expecting a Freightliner locomotive, and it appeared that this DRS example was in fact on hire. No complaints from me, and we settled in for a mainline run down to York, unfortunately not going via the King Edward Bridge following the recent derailment and imposition of a weight limit.

Another loco change at York, and a much longer break meant time to wander a bit, grab something to eat and make a couple of phonecalls before heading to the front of the train to record the locomotive. There seemed to be some disappointment with 60048, but I've experienced a few on tours and they've been steady performers for me. With the light fading, we were soon back on board and heading for Doncaster RMT once again where we were due to change loco for the final time. Routed via Church Fenton and the mess of lines at Ferrybridge, there was a quite interesting discussion about possible lines and routes. Personally a little disappointed we didn't take the route via Milford as originally planned, but it was interesting to pass by Ferrybridge depot despite being able to see very little in the gloom. It was hoped that we'd have a different Class 92 for the return, but few thought it likely that another would be available. Passed by the station, noting 86101 stabled alongside. Also noted 92029 on a rake of flats. Quite a delay while we awaited the loco change, and then rather unexpectedly 92029 sped past to join the front of our train. I'd had a previous run with this loco in December, but it was still good to see a fresh engine as promised. Soon away, carrying a little delay, and achieving a steady 87 mph on the mainline.

Despite some slow running further south and a brake problem at Carlton-on-Trent, we arrived back at Kings Cross only eight minutes after time. A really enjoyable and sociable day: lots of locos, a fair bit of new track and high mileage. I wondered if ending up on two tours on consecutive weeks was a good idea, but I've ended up having two enjoyable trips which have taken my mind off the stranger things going on just now.