The British Road Trip is a failed conceit - there's something about the maximum stretch of around 800 miles or perhaps the winding, hedge-bound roads which isn't given to epic journeys. While our edgelands have an intriguing character of their own, they're not littered with the Americana necessary to romanticise the road. Britain is best seen from a train window - framed and fleeting, glimpses of back gardens and sullen canal chasms. Brick and stone blurring at speed. I've tried the road trip before - an early nineties odyssey from the South West to Newcastle via North Wales, Liverpool and the lakes. It is a distant memory now, and not an easy one in some ways. But it set some important axioms: make the curve from West to East, break the journey on each leg and never ever consider Blackpool a stopping-off place. With these in mind, we contemplated our own winter journey - our first long-haul road trip and the first return to Scotland since 2013.

The first day was a long stretch, with a later than planned start due to some difficulties with the facilities at home. Once underway though, we made good progress and paused only briefly at the splendid, recently opened Gloucester Services. The cruise along the M5 was calm and surprisingly swift and we were soon entering the twisting viaduct section which winds around the suburbs of Birmingham and contemplating the switch to the M6 which stretches its legs into Staffordshire once free of the city. On an earlier trip this part had been a bottleneck, but not today - a New Year's day start had been an excellent choice it seems and we were soon cruising north into Cheshire. The scale of our challenge hit us at Knutsford Services - realising we still had some miles to cover to reach Cumbria, and trying to guess at how long the truncated winter light would last. We ploughed on, into dusk and then dark, navigating the gentle bulge of the Preston Bypass - the prototypical British motorway. The lights of tiny lakeland villages blurred in the rain spots on my window, and we flirted with the idea of a detour into Westmoreland Services, the senior sister venue to Gloucester and scene of a welcome breakfast on a previous visit. Instead we headed on, finally arriving in a wet but welcoming Penrith in time to check-in at our fantastic B&B before heading into town to eat at The George, reconnecting with my last stay here.

Day two saw us head out to Penrith Castle to walk in the damp misty morning, before setting off again for points north. The M6 became the A74(M) and we entered Scotland - a curiously emotional experience in some ways. Our last trip here had been challenging, fraught with adjustment challenges and difficult arrangements. This time, we were back and we were in charge of the itinerary. At Abington we branched off the motorway and enjoyed welcome coffee before taking the A702 along the floor of the Clyde Valley with the nascent river which had figured so largely in my past winding and carving through the soft ground. At Biggar, we left the river and headed into the rising ground and tiny villages of the Pentland Hills. It was a tortuous route, and surprisingly unreconstructed considering it's the logical choice for traffic from the south and west heading for the capital. Finally, around mid-afternoon after a testing drive, we started a descent towards Edinburgh. The dark stones of the city spread along the Firth of Forth, a distant cobalt streak with curious rock formations puncturing the horizon. Even I, sometimes dispassionate about this city, was forced to concede it's beauty as we snaked through the proud city buildings towards our hotel in the Grassmarket.

This proved to be a wonderful base - close to the old town and just a bridge away from the station and the grand squares and boulevards of the new town. Early on in the trip we realised that this might not be the optimum time to visit in some ways: Scotland takes it's double Bank Holiday at Hogmanay incredibly seriously! Once the rush of the holidays had abated, shops closed for an annual clean. The incredibly short days were swiftly drawn into darkness. This made for a strange and rather unreal feel. We'd wake on grey, misty mornings and sometimes barely see the sun. However in other ways the timing was perfect: the city shone in this pale winter sun - the grey stone of the buildings reflected the sheen of light, and the twinkling lights of the old town staggered crazily up the hill to the castle. It was beautiful if unnerving. I felt a little overwhelmed to be so oddly infatuated with Edinburgh after a taking such a definite position. This didn't lessen with the sudden, jarring impact of a trip to Glasgow after all these years. I felt like a support had been kicked away - but I was still standing, surprisingly finding solace in a late arrival back at Waverley.

Our time in Edinburgh was magical and too short - we ate a lot, and spent a lot of time inside pubs and restaurants given the weather and the short days. There was so much more to see - so much that would have benefited from a dry morning or one which didn't whip freezing winds along Leith Walk. We finally departed a little later than we'd planned via the old road - the A1, taking a sweep out east to the coast, then plotting a lonely course south through the barely inhabited border country. It was remarkably quiet out here - with few other cars troubling us, and occasional glimpses through the rocky scenery to the crashing waves of the North Sea around Oxwellmains. Again, darkness overtook us on Tyneside and we found ourselves in the carpark of a generic retail complex, resting and refreshing ourselves before we ploughed on towards York - and the beautiful old Great Northern Railway building which was our hotel for the evening. The holiday off-season had provided us with a remarkably good rate for accommodation we'd never normally afford, so we celebrated with excellent food - possibly the best I've ever eaten. It felt like a celebration of a tough year survived, of a long trip conquered. I felt properly relaxed, ready to face the new year but reluctant to return home.

The long run home through the East Midlands, curving across the southern edge of Birmingham and close to my home town seemed easy after the challenge of the A1 - and we seemed to be home sooner than expected. It was good to be back - but this felt like an important landmark - almost exactly 800 miles of travel on the routes I'd always wanted to cover when I thought of driving a car myself. Perhaps the great British road trip is possible after all?

Some records just don't sound like anything else, which makes the lazy art of comparison a redundant tool in the reviewers kit. This is just such a work, and despite the sometimes charmingly ramshackle and unplanned feel to Conquering Animal Sound's output, there is a precision at work in this set of songs. I confess was almost prepared not to like this band when I first stumbled across the beautifully packaged seven-inch single on Gerry Loves Records, on the basis that I have a strange and inexplicable aversion to 'animal' band names! However, I was sold from the start on the simplicity and purity of their sound. Kammerspiel has since become one of the most anticipated releases for some time in the Songs Heard on Fast Trains household.

The band translate the title of the album as "Machine Music", but interestingly it also translates roughly from German as "Chamber Piece" and there is perhaps something rather baroque about the sounds generated by the range of toy percussive and string instruments which are deployed throughout the record, which evoke the harp and the harpsichord. There is more than a hint of a European sensibility about this record too, not least in the strangely stark production which lets the songs echo around their own spaces, and in the sometimes curious phrasing and inflection of Anneke Kampman. Björk comparisons will be inevitable as this record acquires deserved critical acclaim, but I'd risk sacrilege in some quarters by suggesting I prefer Anneke's quieter, atmospheric delivery. In fact, Conquering Animal Sound are an Glasgow-based duo, the other half being the multi-instrumentalist James Scott who manages to combine found instruments and warm analogue electronics with newer technology and good old fashioned musical instruments to create tense, building landscapes. This stall is set out from the outset on opening track 'Maschine' which begins with an insistent clockwork chime, before looped handclaps and a droning undercurrent of low frequency organ lead into a pulse of drums. That this is capped by a vocal which ranges from whispered threats to joyous yelps makes this all the more uplifting a beginning.

Recent single 'Bear' slides in with an insistent heartbeat, and a strange repeated war cry which is echoed and amplified as the song grows into a menacing, glockenspiel flecked paean to being eaten alive. In the sense that there is such a thing a 'single' format anymore this is an obvious choice as it summarises Conquering Animal Sound's manifesto perfectly, with it's understated vocal and final descent into strange, but infectious electronic warbling. Anneke's voice is allowed a wider range on 'Tracer' which is driven by her sweet but oddly sinister singing, over bass and a click-track which hint at Young Marble Giants in their brief, brilliant prime.

I realise I've spent a lot of time describing the processes and the sounds which underlie Kammerspiel which surprises me - and it's possible of course that a record which relies on an unearthly vocal talent and lots of technology could come across as a cold and somewhat distant experience. It's testament to Conquering Animal Sound that they have produced a warm, human record with melodies which although sometimes as fractured and fragmented as the cover image, manage to worm themselves into the listener's mind. I defy anyone not to find Kammerspiel an engaging and uplifting piece of work.

Kammerspiel is released on 7th February, on Gizeh Records . Conquering Animal Sound are embarking on a UK tour during early February.

Conquering Animal Sound - Bear

Since the disappointment of the Glasgow trip, I've been sick and felt pretty dejected. Somewhere this past week I decided I'd check to see if there were any cheap tickets left which would get me out and about to blow away both my persistent cough and the attack of the drabs which seemed to have descended. The first journey I tried was one which popped up in my browser history having been attempted before, and gave some encouragingly low fares I suspect because of the high profile news stories about delays and overrunning engineering works. So once again I would attempt to cover the branch to Rose Hill Marple, for the sake of 1m 2ch of new track!

So today I found myself doing something I'd not done for awhile in struggling down to the station for an early train on a Saturday morning. Last year, with it's challenges, meant less frequent and more carefully thought out trips. It was good to get back to the 'book and go' culture of times gone by, and to just head for some curious destination. While I waited for the train I tested my voice - still weak and strained and my cough still barking furiously if a little less often now. Decided to explore a map of my destination via GPS. Not inspiring - a small suburban terminus at the end of a tiny branch. To me though, it was new track and therefore a goal worth seeking out. Also noted that the 07:00 from Weston was in a confused state - in one entry in the departure list it was cancelled to Leeds, and it then reappeared as running to Manchester Piccadilly. Decided to check at Weston and set off hopefully. On arriving, checked the boards to see the train (definitely Leeds bound now) delayed by around 50 minutes. A quick check of Crosscountry's website revealed this was due to lineside equipment failure delaying the ECS to Exeter. Hopped back on the unit which luckily waited a few minutes for a passing down service, with the intention of trying my luck at Bristol.

Arrived at a dark and cold Temple Meads to find it stuffed with locomotives - a pair of Class 31s top and tailing a test train in the through siding, 66726 lurking in the loco spur and a bunch of Freightliner 66s huddled on the edge of the station. No alternatives here in terms of getting northwards - remembered that all XC services were via Newport and Gloucester, and that the service seemed much reduced. Got coffee and waited at a near deserted platform 7 for 50 minutes or so whilst our train slogged along behind local units. Amazed at how few people appeared to be travelling today. On arrival, found myself a seat in the Quiet Carriage and dozed through the Severn Tunnel. A little after we reappeared from the darkness, a passenger a few seats back leapt from his seat and cursed loudly. It seemed he'd spotted the 'Croeso y Cymru' sign and thought he'd caught the wrong train. Sorted him out and all was again quiet for the pleasant ride alongside the estuary to Gloucester, where again many locos were evident - if not immediately identifiable.

Arrived at Birmingham having made up a fair bit of our lost time, but far too late for my connection to Manchester. Out to customer reception where my request to travel on the 10:48 Pendolino seemed to cause a fair bit of trouble. The Crosscountry representative didn't seem concerned at all, and the Virgin chap decided to grill me thoroughly about my journey. I tried to spell it out simply - 9S49 was delayed by 50 minutes, in fact most services from the South West were late, and I'd missed the 10:20 to Manchester. At this point the Crosscountry uniformed individual awoke and pointed out that these were XC services and the 10:48 was a Virgin service. Cue much slapstick silliness as they jostled to decide which stamp should be applied to validate my ticket, then to find the stamp pad. Throughout this, the Virgin person (who was now quite friendly as it was all XC's fault) was yelling "quick, or this gent will lose his train". It would have been pretty funny, had it not been so indicative of much which is wrong with the railway. Made the 10:48 by the skin of my teeth, and spent an interesting journey listening to a travelling soap opera being conducted by mobile phone a few seats back.

Arrived at Piccadilly with minutes to spare. I'd feared that I'd not make Rose Hill again due to the delays, and I'd almost resigned myself to a couple of hours in Manchester instead which is never unpleasant. However, managed to reach the unit in time and set off for a bumpy ride through the suburbs. Familiar track to Woodley from last year's Branchline Society tour which reversed at Bredbury waste terminal. Then, immediately after crossing the River Goyt on the impressive Marple Viaduct we took the branch to Rose Hill - and finally after several attempts, I scratched one of the few tiny bits of track I still need in this part of the world.

Had a wander around the immediate environs and made a quick 'phone call. Not much here, but there was a reasonable looking Robinsons' pub which I managed to avoid for fear of getting too comfortable in the warm. Tried to figure out instead, why this branch merited a double lead at the junction trailing into a single line? Suspected it was to avoid a crossover on the viaduct. Made mental notes to research where this branch went before it was cruelly curtailed in this rather quiet cul-de-sac. Soon time to board for the trip back to Piccadilly. Again very little time in Manchester, enough to buy provisions for the trip back and to find a comfortable seat. Decided to upgrade to First Class since I had a fairly long trip ahead of me. Some confusion, and my tickets were taken back to be discussed with the small group of train managers onboard. The TM returned to tell me that upgrades to Value tickets were no longer allowed but I could have an upgrade today because the changes were not known to all XC staff yet. I pointed out that they were also not made clear in the announcement that upgrades were available, which the TM conceded was the case. I asked if it was all about generating revenue, and he politely declined to disagree. I pointed out that with overcrowded trains, an empty First Class carriage was wasteful. Again he shrugged his frustrated agreement. Settled in for a quiet ride back to Bristol which reminded me of the old days of catching Manchester-Paignton Class 47 hauled services for the fun of the exotic route via Camp Hill and the 5mph creep around St Andrews Junction.

It was good to get out today, and to exorcise some of the ill-feeling from last week. As we passed Wolverhampton this morning, almost a week to the minute we learned the tour was cancelled I think I gave up feeling angry about it! The urge to get out and do these little trips is strong again, and provided the finances hold out and the cheap tickets stay available, I think I'll try a few more this year.

More obsessive work on Gmailq. Improved the preferences dialog with GnomeIconEntry, and made it catch some configuration errors. Otherwise trying to catch up on CVS evolution, but problems with anoncvs.gnome.org seem to be hampering efforts. Doubts are beginning to creep into the otherwise optimistic beginning of the year - hey, four and a half days is not bad going for me! Rude awakening time - tried to contact someone without an e-mail address today and found the number had gone out of use. Have I truly geeked out at last?