Easter mini-Interrail, day four: Glasgow - Leominster

Today's early-morning start was made easier by the movements of some of the other inhabitants of hostel room 103 – a couple of whom came in in the wee hours of the morning (quite noisily) and a couple who had to get up early to go to work. Then there was the snoring, occasionally in chorus. I never determined from whom it emanated, but it was quite impressive, room-shaking stuff at some points, although unlike Zürich it mercifully didn't continue right through the night. As a result I was up and showered by about 8am and decided that I would take advantage of the extra time to stop in Carlisle to have a swift lunchtime jar with a friend, such is the joy of the Interrail ticket.

My original reservation was for the 11:56 from Glasgow Central to Crewe, planned to coincide with the 11am checkout time and leave time for grazing on free-stuff. However, after some vengefully loud and laborious packing I was ready to leave the hostel at around 9am and have a final slow walk through a sunny Glasgow morning to Central Station, where I let myself into the Avanti lounge for breakfast. The lounge is slightly underwhelming, but hot drinks and nibbly things were on offer and, very importantly, there was a prominent departures board.

I had coffee and porridge for breakfast, but couldn't find any salt for my porridge so left a suggestion with the lovely helpful lady who thought it an odd request but one which required consideration.

The Flying Scouseman, otherwise known as the 10:38 Avanti West Coast service to London Euston, was a busy service which was understaffed in first class ("there are forty of you, and one of me"), so I benevolently limited my breakfast order to a toasted teacake and a cup of coffee as I only had an hour between stations anyway and was already partly sated post-lounge. The coffee came quite quickly but the teacake took a little longer to arrive and therefore the only thing I could do was to sit and enjoy the scenery which dashed past the window.

The 102-mile journey to Carlisle takes around an hour, and I had about forty-minutes to enjoy the view before my teacake arrived. I smeared it hastily with butter and jam as we weren't far from pulling onto platform four in Carlisle, where my friend was waiting to whisk me to see the sight. Carlisle station is being modernised and the area around it is being pedestrianised, so it was difficult to get a decent look at it which is a shame, because it is a massive affair with a bell-tower and sandstone façade that matches the style of the citadel-not-castle, a former medieval fortress, opposite.

We had time for a swift beer, and take in some serendipitous street art. Street art and the discovery thereof via an app had not been the order of the day, but over a pint of black nectar I waxed lyrical about it to her and during a demonstration we discovered that there was a concentration of works just round the corner from where we were sitting which we duly dashed off to behold.

The 13:10 from Carlisle was the train on which I had reserved seat J11 from Glasgow at 11:56, but I got there to find someone already asleep in it. I found another place in coach K where the on-board team were waiting for new customers to service and before long, I had a big comfy four-seat to myself with a quiche and a bottle of wine whisked to me by a delightfully deadpan person of the Scots persuasion. I briefly considered the spinach and mushroom brioche from the lunch menu, but my earlier discussion with Friend over Guinness in Carlisle had concluded that we liked mushrooms and we liked spinach and we liked brioche, but that I wasn't ready for the magnitude of culinary discovery that their fusion in baking might entail. Anyway – the quiche was nice and I am due another Avanti experience on my way back to France at the end of the month, so I might venture it then.

The weather outside the train was lovely and the journey was a lot more peaceful than on the way up, because coach K was exclusively filled with grown-ups. And me. My phone now contains a large selection of near-identical photographs of blurry rail infrastructure and sheep, as well as rolling hills, dry stone walls, windmills, and trees. Along the route south from Carlisle there are stunning views of Lake District from both sides of the train so it became quite difficult to know which side to look out of. I was seated on the left side in the direction of travel but bounced back and forth to either side a couple of times in the vestibule before the nice lady from the pointy end asked me if I wanted more wine. I had that with some crisps – "here's two packets, there aren't enough in one" – which I munched as tiny cotton-ball sheep clung to the sides of hills as we blurred past.

We were a few minutes late into Crewe, and just as we were pulling in I was offered more wine, perhaps as consolation as this is where I was changing trains and although tempted to grab the bottle and run, I had to deal with what was supposed to be an easy ten-minute change – into platform five, out of platform five – but was in reality into a slightly unceremonious and hasty scramble up and down the stairs to platform six. The stately green Transport for Wales service was already waiting and I took up residence at a big window seat on the left, again, and within minutes – as if by magic – the shopkeeper appeared brandishing the new gourmet menu and politely wondering whether I'd like anything from it.

It's just over an hour to Leominster from Crewe, and once again I was gutted not to have time for anything luscious. This decision pained me tremendously as I gazed with avarice across the aisle to where a couple tucked into their second and third courses from the Michelin chef-produced menu, both brought to them with panache on proper plates with proper knives and forks by your man of the "as if by magic" manifestation skills.

Today, I first heard the evocative clatter of cutlery and crockery being laid out emanating from behind my not-pointing-the-right-way seat to Carlisle on the 10:38 from Glasgow, and there's the same glorious sound on the TfW service from the actual kitchen where a person stands up not using a microwave to provide food to passengers. I couldn't really let the opportunity go by without something yummy to eat so to help mitigate the wine ordered a cup of coffee and four rounds of toast which was delivered just as Puppet was having a small glamour-shoot against a background of leather. Nothing was said, of course, but I suspect that I am now on some kind of list. Outside the window, the familiar sight of the Shropshire Hills loomed large as the end of this leg of my Easter travels approached. Somehow, I need to arrange my life so that I have a long enough journey on this service to one day be able to sample something from the posh menu.

As a "thing to do" while I’m here, I was contemplating a run on the Heart of Wales line, but the Ranger ticket doesn’t allow for a weekend first upgrade, so it’s not possible to get to the food on the journey back up from Swansea. Another plan needs to be made. I have two travel days left on my Interrail pass, so I might try to fashion a glorious journey to London before I return to France. Originally, I wanted to go to Edinburgh on the return – because, why not? – but perhaps something else can be done.

At 16:21 not all of the train pulled into Leominster, and I poured myself onto the platform and told my mother she'd have to drive, as I'd been drinking.

I am a classy and seasoned traveller.

I am a classy and seasoned traveller.

I am a classy and seasoned traveller.