Rattle and roll to the beach

Today we had a surprise excursion to the seaside town of Minehead. This was a fabulous treat by our hosts. They ( the organisation, not specifically our hosts) have an extremely well run tourist railway which has a vast array of engines, rolling stock, permanent employees, volunteers and various paraphernalia. It took just over an hour rolling through green hills and valleys, dotted with brightly coloured pheasants, black faced sheep, Shetland ponies and the occasional cow.

Harking back to yesteryear we chugged, blew, snorted and whistled our way enjoying the serene countryside and local characters as they played out their passion of toying with trains. Being the off season we four were pretty much the youngest people on board - which provides an insight into the demographics involved. No one was complaining of a sore throat so the advertising must be true.

Minehead is a tourist destination for locals who can't afford passports. As such its beach is on the Bristol channel and over the far side in the mist we could see Wales ( tick that off!). The seaside accommodation area with its fair ground, water slides, entertainment stages etc. was all pretty much empty as were the resulting game arcades and other places. All pinging and singing and flashing in vain attempts to entice kids to insert coins. No kids. No coins.

The beach was deserted apart from one insistent baby, the cold Westerly blowing off the Atlantic ocean was pushing sand towards the exposed mud flats as the tide was a long way out. As we were leaving, the pristine brown waters had begun to creep back over the sodden flats, it easily would be a very picturesque sight for the totally colour blind. We walked into town and stopped in a pub for coffee and carrot cake and further admired the architecture being nicely highlighted by the autumn leaves in the main Street. The plethora of cheap one pound shops had all their wares out on display on the footpath stalls and it was sort of surreal not having the hordes milling past consuming it all.

The sun was attempting to break through the clouds so once again the weather is not adhering to it's reputation. The trip back was the reverse of the trip there. Literally. The same pheasants were in the same fields etc. etc. One wonders what the horse was thinking whilst he was watching us so intently. You'd reckon that as these trains go by at least 10 times a day he'd be totally over it by now. Maybe he's keeping an eye out for passengers making subtle rude gestures to camera wielding Trainspotters ( which is apparently a sport the locals play ).

We had an insightful update on the happenings in nearby Porlock from Phillip the Guard as Polly and Paul know him quite well. The conversation and indeed the script could've been straight from the same writing hand as those who created the Vicar of Dibly. Dawn would've been delighted in hearing the local cafe owners menu had improved enormously since she had shacked up with a 19 year old. After catching our breath for a couple of hours at home including another session of pointless TV (will Brexit fix this? Highly unlikely...) we headed out for dinner at a local pizza (chain ) place. It was surprisingly really good. Reminiscent of those created in the big apple. Home for couple of quiet ale's before hitting the sack.