After a long day chasing over the hills of Northumberland, it was time for us to head north again by train from Carlisle. The taxi that we booked to take us to the station arrived late so it was an anxious journey along the A69. The views of late summer snow on the hills, and in some places even at the side of the road, provided some distraction.

It was twenty past the hour when we reached the M6. Our train was at half past. It looked like we would make it, but then we hit a traffic jam. The driver pulled into the fast lane, overtook a few cars, then bumped his way back into the sliproad signposted “Carlisle”. As we approached the railway bridge, we came across another line of stationary cars in front of us. I asked the driver to drop us off there and then so that we could make a run for it. He flung our suitcase on to the pavement, TPR gave him £36, and we scarpered.

I’d forgotten about the complexity of Carlisle railway station with its various Victorian staircases. There was one for each service. It took a while for us to find the staircase for trains heading north, but as soon as we did, we hared up the steps, praying that we had not missed our train.