After weeks of wondering if this ambitious trip would make it off the block, I finally found myself on Wolverhampton station with the monitor listing the 07:29 to Inverness. Notwithstanding all the problems with Network Rail's train planning, froth over changes of traction, and my own work tribulations, I was reliably informed that the train was on it's way. With commuters stunned out of their everyday complacency by a platform change, there were just a few of us - clearly tour participants - lingering on platform 1 as 37608 and 37610 thundered around the corner on a rake of eight coaches. Swiftly boarded, found my home for the next four days and settled in for the long ride north. There was a real sense of excitement onboard - something which was really great to feel involved in, given the rather muted and cynical reactions which seemed to have seeped from real life into this most unreal of hobbies lately. No-one seemed to mind the lack of a Class 20 given a winning pair of noisy and capable Type 3's on the front, and once the excellent food started arriving from the Kitchen Car, all other gripes and groans seemed forgotten as our seating bays entered into a discussion of the route ahead.

An early arrival at Warrington allowed the first real chance to get a look at - and a picture of - the locos. By now, news had reached us that the plan was to run the leading loco around at Carlisle, as double-heading wasn't permitted over the Tay Bridge. Whether both locos would be returned to the front at Aberdeen remained to be seen. The day was really warming up now, and it was good to just relax and let the buzz of rumours and wonderings wash over me. I skimmed a few work emails and noted that the world was running smoothly without me - both a blessing and a curse in these times of self-justification in the public sector. In any case, it was wildly different from the days when I seemed to be at the beck and call of any emergency which flashed through the department. Counted my blessings, drank coffee and ate far too much as we sped through the familiar and much loved Cumbria scenery towards Carlisle and our next break.

With the locos reconfigured we set off, again heading into the wonderful scenery which blesses the northern reaches of the West Coast Mainline. Felt a pang of regret when we passed Carstairs that I wasn't turning west and heading for Glasgow - but the thought of the coming days of travel soon dispelled this. Instead, mulled over my plans for an Ayrshire tour with AC Electrics which I decided I must share with Spitfire people soon! Through the busy yards at Mossend and Coatbridge which kept the spotters very busy for a while, before heading back into more rural scenery around Stirling. With the sun still high, the journey took on a new character here as we made slow, lazy progress along the Alloa branch towards Dunfermline. We lost a lot of time here, and slotting into the busy service north of Edinburgh saw us get back onto the mainline an hour late. This meant the break at Aberdeen was lost, but we were on time and in our booked path - which on this line with long sections and few slots was a blessing. Instead, we managed a few minutes on the freezing platform at Dyce, watching planes take off from nearby Aberdeen airport. One enterprising passenger also made a dash to the local fish and chip shop in the short time available!

The last leg of the journey ran smoothly, and I enjoyed the chance to take in a line I see very rarely. The approach to Inverness along the coast was, as ever stunning - though this way into the City lacks some of the drama of arriving via the Highland Mainline. The evening sun was still in the sky as we drew into the station, and wearily but happily trudged off to the various hotels and guest houses which must have seen an excellent trade from the tour. Made the familiar and quick walk over to the river, and to the Columba Hotel, home for the next few days and still as comfortable and calm as ever. Almost embarassed to present my dishevelled and travel-weary self to the perfectly turned out receptionist. Settled into my cool, quiet room and prepared for a lazy start tomorrow. An epic journey today, but a great start to the trip.

Today started with a long wait in the sunshine at the station. The First Great Western Class 57 diagram has performed poorly this week, with cancellations and replacement with units on several occasions. This morning it was once again cancelled, but the gen was that with 57304 out of service a GBRf 66 would substitute. Finally, later in the day 66721 produced, in Metronet livery, and worked the remainder of the diagram.

I plotted furiously, but already leaving early to travel north for tomorrow's tour meant no hope of getting anywhere near the diagram. Sent the gen to others in the hope it would be useful, and settled for a hasty and poor quality snap before I caught my Voyager.

These trains will soon be things of history, and lets hope this isn't the last time they produce something interesting.

Week 5 of my accidental summer tour, and so far things seemed to be going pretty well despite the much publicised issues with timings from Network Rail. The major difficulty has been getting away from work as planned, since my job has changed so much since some of these trips were mooted - and this will only get more complex in the coming weeks. Spent much of yesterday's journey up to Manchester in some form of work based activity - and if not 'doing' I spent plenty of time 'brooding' - which culminated in an emailed explosion of frustration as soon as I got near to a proper keyboard. Not a good start to the trip, but sadly a necessary one. This meant most of yesterday written off, and a strangely poor night of sleep. At 05:30 as I slithered towards Victoria on pavements littered with discarded take-aways and birdlime, this felt like it was going to take it's toll today. Naturally, no facilities were open at this early stage so the urgent supply of caffeine which might just have helped was delayed. The timings didn't really allow much time for off-train purchases on route either - although I noted one brave soul manage the dash to the cafe at Huddersfield!. However all thoughts of this were banished as the gleaming nose of 55022 appeared on the approach to the station. Towards Miles Platting bank the sun was picking out the rails ahead in a glorious blaze. This was going to be a fun trip indeed.

Found my coach - an opulent Pullman affair with little room for storage but very plush decoration. Also met my travelling companions for the day - a quiet family with a rather miserable, northern friend who managed to find a reason to complain about almost everything, to the point I was suppressing laughter almost immediately as I turfed him out of my facing seat into his own. Moments later, with a lurch of power, the Deltic set off towards the Pennines. This was a really thought-provoking moment - all these years after chasing this loco gave me some of my first tastes of the hobby, it was back on the mainline and heading for it's former stomping grounds on the east coast. Celebrated with breakfast and coffee, before snoozing a bit as a result of my poor sleep. This seems to have dogged the last few tours - and I'd almost put it down to a sort of 'tour fatigue' - however, I think it's a combination of heat, sleeplessness and not having to be sociable as they've been solo efforts. In any case, it was pleasant to doze quietly and then wake to hear the rumbling of a Deltic at speed on the front of the train.

After picking up at Wakefield and Doncaster, we headed south towards London at speed. The timings were a little slacker than I'd hoped, but we still managed some very quick runs indeed. I was entertained at this point by my neighbours planning their day out. Each plan of action - involving the Trooping of the Colour, tour buses or whatever - would be proposed and generally approved, before the miserable one would intone "how much?" or "that's a long walk though" and scupper it. They were still pretty uncertain as we thundered through Peterborough, and hadn't really agreed anything by Alexandra Palace! Soon, we were creeping out of Gasworks Tunnel to be greeted by hundreds of photographers on the platform ends. Here, lots of the daytrippers like my neighbours left, and a fair number of cranks boarded. No time for a photograph given the scrum, before we left again with 57601 on the rear dragging us out as far as Hornsey Down EMU Reversing Siding, where 55022 took over again and we rounded the tight curve to Harringay Park. The North London Line is always fun for me - with it's intricate links to other routes and viaduct running over the rooftops. Enjoyed the journey immensely as we curved towards the Great Western Main Line at Acton Wells. Not strictly Deltic territory of course, but good to have some further speedy running out to Reading and Oxford.

Finally managed a few photographs on arrival at Oxford, though even here things were a bit of a crush before the stock left for the sidings. Headed into town in search of coffee and air-conditioning found both in a cool, quiet place in a little square not far from the station. Relaxed and contemplated the day so far, before buying some provisions and heading back to the station. Grabbed a further coffee here, and stood on the platform chatting and soaking up both the bright sunshine and the atmosphere of occasion present. Soon, having run around the stock, 55022 appeared once again to retrace our steps back to Hornsey. Following another reversal, we took the flyover at Ferme Park before using the Up Goods line. It was on this that we stopped - and waited. Waited some time in fact, watching both our arrival and departure times slip by. It seemed that a broken down Adelante was occupying Platform 1, and with the new Platform 0 barred for diesels and refurbishments blocking two others, there was a pressure to keep timetabled trains running. Eventually got underway, passing the offending unit looking a little healthier as we headed into the station to pick-up the trippers. Several cranks left pledging to be on the next Deltic trip north on 11th September!

One side effect of the late running was a need to make up time, and this produced some very fast running indeed. As the evening cooled a little, it was really fine to be speeding north with the Deltic singing away on the front of the train. My miserable neighbour also initiated a long discussion of the catering arrangements, and was upset because he'd already had a "ham and cheese" before he became aware that hot pies were available! Despite the best efforts of all concerned, we didn't make up quite as much time as was hoped. At Doncaster we came to a complete halt, as did another Class 47 hauled charter on the adjacent platform - producing what someone referred to as "an 80's timewarp!". We sat for some time here, and it became clear there was a problem. Finally we were informed that due to our late running and a signalling issue at Wakefield Kirkgate, we'd be diverted via Westgate and Leeds. This meant missing the Shaftholme to Knottingley section of the route, but was quicker. My neighbour of course misunderstood geography entirely and thought this would add a further hour onto the journey. Settled in for the final spin of 55022 up to Leeds, where we arrived to find the station full of casualties from the celebrations of England's lacklustre World Cup performance. A long wait for a reversal here, with 55022 shut down and 57601 fired up to take us back to Manchester. Noticed that the "Deltic has failed" posts took almost no time at all to reach the internet though, however these were soon corrected!

There was still a little light in the sky as I wound my way through the crowds for the last trains from Victoria back to my hotel. It had been a long day, but a fine one. To be out in the summer sunshine with 'Royal Scots Grey' leading the train had been a real treat. Thinking about the next few days of work is daunting - but if all goes well I'll be heading for the Highlands soon. It can't be hard to understand why I do this, can it?

Its probably around twenty years since I tried to write about music in any sensible way. Scary numbers indeed, and even scarier to think how simple it all seemed then. I had a belief and a passion in what I was listening to which in some ways I find terribly embarrassing now - however, I miss it terribly too. So, finding myself so strangely energised about new music now, all this time later is both wonderfully exciting but also just a little bit frightening. I can't keep laughing it off as a mid-life crisis though - I need to tackle it head on and start to express some of these ideas before I go truly insane with the effort of suppressing the urge to yell at someone "you have to hear this!".

The cause of my excitement, and the reason I find myself writing again, is very much the Glasgow PodcART. My visits to Glasgow over the past decade or so have provided opportunities to see live music, and to find little nuggets of information on band's which I just don't find locally. This isn't meant to sound disparaging - it's just how things have worked out. Perhaps the distinction is best summed up by Halina Rifai's intentional use of the term 'network' rather than 'scene' to describe the situation north of the border. There is a genuine collaborative spirit in Scotland that is missing here just now. Back home it's still about old rivalries and genre dynamics, which stifles new musical enterprise in it's most formative stages. There are notable exceptions, but they struggle to thrive in a culture without the support, the venues, the outlets for their work. As at best a non-musician I've tried to offer my support in other ways to fill this gap, but in a difficult situation it's generally the messenger who gets shot. In my case, I often pulled the trigger myself - so a quiet life as a public servant beckoned, and music remained only as a guilty pleasure.

Of course the other thing which has always genuinely excited me about Scottish music is the use of the native accent and vernacular - that access to a tradition which isn't shameful or cliched like my own, and the blurring of boundaries which make the inevitable 'sounds like' review redundant. My fundamental attachment to place also comes into play here of course - I firmly believe that creative endeavours arise in some cities which just simply couldn't exist elsewhere. Musicians flourish when they find the right place to create, and that's a story which is repeated throughout the canon which I'd love to try to explain someday. The title of this confused little ramble is, like many of my attempts to express myself, also entirely stolen. This time though, from a HM Treasury strategic document. I was, of course, always going to click with an initiative called 'Total Place'.

So how am I going to grapple with this need to write, from a distance, about something which is becoming very precious to me and therefore on which I'm losing all objectivity? I think I'll take a band each week, and I'll write about them from my unique perspective. I'll try to avoid genre-terrorism, pigeonholing and lazy comparison. Ultimately, anyone who troubles to read my ramblings on a regular basis will know exactly what will come of this more intricate and evasive twaddle about me! In the sense that music is an intense and personal thing for many of us, that seems like a good place to start.