First class huh?

The British railways (not to be mistaken for the former nationalized service known as British Rail) have an odd idea of first class. A white linen napkin with two words and a number written draped on the back of the seat to catch dandruff is about the sum of it. No more space, no empty seats and no preferred service. Oh sorry, we did get our tickets checked first and I have a power point under my seat. This will come in handy if the train stops bumping and rattling enough for my fingers to hit the right keys.

Alighting at Leeds is reflective of the crowded, post industrialized, god knows what they all do for a living now kind of atmosphere of the city. The impression is of miles of red bricks, smoke blackened stone and masses of people.

The next few days are spent cut off from most of this on the Leeds University Campus. The ivory towers always stand apart from the run off the mill. A the end of it, there are no cabs to get back to the station – too busy – no option but to queue for the free city bus – squeeze into standing room only on the second one that comes along and stand through two dozen sets of traffic lights for a twenty minute tour of the town. Ask with genuine curiosity if it would be usual for young able bodied women to give up seats to elderly ladies with walking sticks. Excuses follow and one shuffles wide eyed from her seat. Disgorge at the busy and slightly chaotic train station to figure out where platform 9d might be – not 93/4 for the Hogwarts Express – and slightly easier to find.

I fully expect the crowds to thin out before this class conscious chariot crosses the border – it typically happens that way. Less people, more air, space to breathe and no in seat service north of Newcastle. Such a release of tension once the land of the Angles and Saxons is departed. The signs are good for a dry arrival in the city of historic Scottish kings and queens, now home to the upcoming nationalist parliament. There is even a hint of sunshine on the formerly gloomy horizon.

Looking back though, there were splashes of color against the grubby red and smoke black walls of Leeds. Popular art in the park and on the closed door of an award winning restaurant.

The University's business school demonstrates the industrial north's perception of god. All part of the unique local character.

The library building has also been repurposed.

A parting shot as the batteries of this wonderful portable tool run down is that maybe first class is worn on the inside. No privileges necessary, the knowledge of sitting a class removed is all the British psyche needs. My own excuse - the rail pass is cheap overseas, this is the only way to guarantee a space without reservation in the hope that some work might be completed en route.

This thought is dispelled on the return journey from Edinburgh to Newcastle on a beautiful and otherwise peaceful Sunday morning. Passengers are treated to a comedy act consisting of intimate conversation and occasional bursts of song from two getting steadily drunker, scantily clad and extremely loud Glasgow 'ladies.' I guess they are heading off on a package holiday. No need to guess their judgment of first class travel. Though their routine is amusing and culturally stamped, its a relief when they get off after two hours without a break. By the time we have changed at Leeds before the next train gets to Doncaster, the carriage has been declassified due to overcrowding in the standard class cabin. Chaos reigns as usual in this densely populated nation of queues.

PS: Wellington's boots.