Creeting St Peter - "Eight time winner and still undefeated..."

It is, occasionally, easy to forget that I first became Chair of Creeting St Peter Parish Council in 2018 and, apart from a brief intermission in 2022, I've been in the role ever since. My colleagues, a mostly revolving cast of lovely people, keep telling me how good I am at it (which is nice), although I deeply suspect that this is by way of ensuring that they don't have to do it themselves.

And so, last night's Annual Parish and Annual Parish Council Meetings were, whilst theoretically an opportunity for someone to take over, I sensed that, despite my plea that someone else, someone who actually lives in the Parish perhaps, might be better doing it, I was likely to be re-elected as Chair. And so it came to pass.

I'll be honest. Whilst I'm incredibly proud to be Chair of the Council, and whilst it has given me much pleasure and satisfaction in making a contribution to the life of the community, it does feel slightly like an academic exercise in governance. I miss the day to day connection, the walks around the village and the outlying areas, the conversations with neighbours about things that interest or concern them. It is never likely to be the same without that. But I continue nonetheless.

We did have a crowd in though, which is usually a bad sign. There's an honourable argument that, if nobody cares enough to attend, you're probably trusted to get on with things. Large attendances are usually linked to a controversial planning application, which tends to lead to passionate debate and an occasion struggle to maintain order.

And there were two planning applications on the agenda, one from the local concrete products factory, the other from a local resident who is establishing an events venue in the grounds of his home.

The former was fairly easy to deal with, especially as the applicants have a history of challenging the planning regime. They want to put up a new gantry crane as a prelude to applying for a new building extending the production facility closer to the properties at Creeting Hall.

The expectation that production will increase, and thus lorry traffic on the already highly unsuitable road that links the site with the A14 in either direction, and the suggestion that approving this will make the later application a fait accompli, made it easy for us to detail our concerns for submission to the District Council.

The second set of planning applications, seeks a change of usage of an out building, and additional parking for sixty cars, to make Flint Hall a viable venue for weddings, corporate events and private parties.

It's a fairly isolated property, so the impacts are limited to a small number of properties none of which are immediate neighbours. Our concerns about traffic and access to the site had already been addressed by a previously granted planning application, and there were very few concerns, as long as the right of way that runs through the site is maintained. The applicant was present, which helped in terms of understanding, and Council agreed to positively support the application.

This would normally be the moment when the audience leaves, especially given that the rest of the meeting was reports from the County and District Councillors, and an awful lot of process. But they all (but one) stayed, and the meeting proceeded in a rather relaxed manner for the next hour or so until the end was reached.

I tend to allow public participation throughout the agenda, because whilst Council makes the decisions, I believe that we benefit from the collective wisdom of the community. And, when everyone is behaving, it does help towards gaining wider buy-in than we might otherwise get.

And so, another year begins on Creeting St Peter Parish Council...

#interrail2025: Day 7 - one last bask in the Italian sunshine…

I really ought to finish my blog about my Interrail trip, so here goes...

I’d slept well, and with a rather pleasant breakfast consumed, it was time for another walk along Rimini’s promenade.

Rimini is, effectively, cut in two by the railway, which parallels the coast, and so there is a clear delineation between the resort and the rest of the city. That means that all of the historic stuff, and most of the shopping streets, are kept apart from the resort. And, in early April, the resort is fairly quiet as a result.

It was nice to have the sun in my face, especially given that whatever lurgy I was suffering from was now causing a nasty chesty cough. By now, I’d been less than 100% for a fortnight, and was feeling more like a convalescent than a traveller.

But it was, inevitably time to go. There are four primary routes across the Alps into and out of Italy - Monday’s route via Villach and Treviso, Innsbruck to Verona via Bolzano, Milan to Zurich via Como and Lugano, and Milan to Berne via Domodossola. And, having done all but the last of them, it was time to head for Milan and the connection to EC64, destination Basel.

Another Frecciarossa from Rimini, with more free Prosecco, got me to Milan with time for a bit of an explore. And Milano Centrale is quite something to behold. It is a vast building, designed to impress upon visitors that you are in a serious country with ambition. I could spend a lot of time there.

There are also trams, and someone has clearly decided that antique trams are a desirable thing. I wholeheartedly agree with them…

EC64 takes just over four hours to convey passengers to Basle, gliding along the eastern shore of Lake Maggiore, through the Simplon Tunnel before weaving its way across Switzerland using the valleys and the odd tunnel. It’s a beautiful run, with views of lakeside villas, snow-capped peaks and the odd dairy cow once you’ve left Italy.

By the time I reached Basle, however, I was bone tired. It was time to catch a tram and get to the hotel…

Having settled in, I steeled myself to head to the bar and order a beer and a club sandwich. Remind me not to do that again, no matter how good they were…

#interrail2025: Day 6 - turning for home… but how?

After a good night’s sleep, and with my ability to speak somewhat restored, it was time to catch the Frecciarossa to my next destination, somewhere I had fleetingly visited twice a couple of years ago, Rimini. Previously, it had been the jumping off point for my journey to San Marino, but this time, I had a hotel room booked.

It’s six hours from Lecce, but the surroundings (and a couple of glasses of free Prosecco) were perfectly charming. This is the peak of Italian rail travel, with leather seats and bags of space. But, whilst I’m sure that there are people who prefer to spend more than eight hours to get to Milan, the mostly empty seats suggested that most Italian business travellers prefer to fly.

I did use the time wisely though, deciding what the next leg of the journey would be. Well, even I have to make a decision eventually…

I reached Rimini with plenty of the afternoon left, which allowed me to take a walk along the rather stylish promenade in the spring sunshine, as the resort prepared for the tourist season to come. One of the things that is slightly unusual about Rimini is the sheer depth of the beach. You can see the sea from the promenade, but it’s a fair stretch.

Indeed, it’s so far that the beach is divided into sections, or stabilimenti, privately owned, whose owners maintain that section of the beach and provide a variety of facilities. They ensure that the sand is kept clean and free of litter and, in return, you pay a fee to them. And, of course, they compete for your custom.

It was time for dinner though and, as it turns out, Rimini is like a lot of seaside resorts, in that the restaurants are a bit variable and not necessarily wholly inviting. But I did find somewhere eventually, and had some very nice pasta with sausage. There may have been wine involved.

I needed some sleep though, as I was crossing the Alps again the next day…

#interrail2025: Day 5 - to the beautiful south…

I made my connection in Rome easily enough, and had a little time to explore Roma Termini station - not exactly pretty on the outside but an excellent shopping mall inside.

But my next destination was Italy’s heel. Trenitalia’s crack trains only run as far as Lecce, which is also the limit for Interrailers (the local rail services are run by a regional affiliate which doesn’t accept Interrail passes). I arrived to find warm(ish) sunshine and a city centre which is full of small, narrow streets providing welcome shade for most of the day. And, once I’d found my hotel, it was time to explore.

I admit, I was somewhat distracted by gelato, and then, having had an explore, a glass of the local Primitivo. Having done so, it seemed churlish not to stay for dinner - lightly fried cod, followed by seared octopus with a celeriac cream. There may have been more wine, but I probably deserved it, given that I was still barely capable of speech…

Lecce is an interesting place, famous for its limestone which gives everything a slightly golden hue. And, given that the city is two thousand years old, it is blessed with the marvellous church architecture that Italy is so good at. I did pop in to light a candle for my grandmother (you never really escape Catholicism or, at least, the underlying sense of vague existential guilt).

It was nice to be in the sunshine for a bit, but I’d come about as far as I could go, to quote “Oklahoma”. It was time to turn for home. I didn’t actually have a plan beyond the next train ride, but something would turn up, right?…

#interrail2025: Day 4 (and a bit) - the time-saving short cut…

So, Trieste Centrale on a sunny evening in April, the world your oyster. But not the obvious option for a footloose bureaucrat. No, I had some serious miles to cover, and the overnight sleeper to Rome to catch.

Now, compared to the Nightjet, Austrian Railway’s rather elegant sleeper service to Rome from Vienna, Trenitalia’s Intercity Notte service is a mite basic. None of this “en suite bathroom and shower” nonsense but, given the price difference, I was willing to make the sacrifice.

I found my berth easily enough, despite Trenitalia’s attempts to bewilder (and why not number the carriages 1, 2, 3, 5, 4 and 6?), and found that my bed was already made up.

We were slightly late off, but with a scheduled eleven hours and forty-eight minutes to Roma Termini and a built in two hour rest at Bologna Centrale, I was confident that my ninety minutes connection would hold.

Back through Udine, and onwards across Friuli, it suddenly dawned on me that this train served Venice as well, which meant a crossing of the lagoon to Venezia Santa Lucia. I’ve never been to Venice - it feels like one of those tourist traps where you end up begrudging every last penny you spend - but there’s no doubt that it’s one of those places where you ought to go.

Having crossed and re-crossed the lagoon, it was time for some sleep…

I was awoken abruptly just before six, although the presentation of a cappuccino and a miscellany of breakfast items did make up for it a bit. We were, on the other hand, running half an hour late, for reasons that never did become clear.

But, having had breakfast and freshened up, I alighted for on the train on a sunny morning, with another train to catch, heading south…

#interrail2025: Day 4 - backwards and forwards in Friuli-Venezia…

I didn’t really have any plans for most of Tuesday and, if you don’t have plans, Udine is a splendid place not to have them. You can just wander around, soaking in the architecture, eating and drinking as you do. And so, that’s what I did, with the one proviso that I had a meeting of the National Assembly of the National Association of Local Councils to fit in.

Udine in the sunshine is glorious, so a walk was called for, and up to the castle I went. Built on a thirty-metre high mound, it’s pretty but not daunting, although the mound itself, apparently constructed during the Bronze Age between 1400 and 1300 BC, is rather more impressive.

Back to the hotel, where I’d arranged to use the hotel balcony for my meeting, and whilst I was still only partly capable of speech, I managed to get through without too much difficulty.

By now, I was getting hungry and, as dinner was going to be a bit tricky, I set off in search of a hearty lunch. What I found was pizza and a half-litre of friulano. It was extremely enjoyable but I had to leave - a train beckoned.

It’s only a short hop to Trieste, and my sole aims were to walk along the Adriatic and to provision for the next leg of my journey.

Trieste is, I’m sure, perfectly charming, but you’re only going to see so much in less than an hour and a half, and I really couldn’t miss the next train.

So, a brisk walk along the shore, and an unexpected encounter with James Joyce later, I was back at Trieste Centrale.

I was about to take another huge leap for bureaucratkind…

#interrail2025: Day 3 (part 2) - over the Alps via Stevenage?

So, Brno (and the Czech Republic) left behind, it was time for a change of scenery, as I was heading for Italy. The obvious route is to change trains at Vienna and catch the Venice-bound Railjet there. But I’ve been to Vienna, and I wanted to get some bonus steps in, and so, I picked Wiener Neustadt as my connection point.

The journey to Wiener Neustadt was a relatively uneventful one, and my first destination soon hove into view. Dropping off my luggage at a convenient located left luggage point, I set off to explore the charms of the town. That didn’t take long.

In fairness, it should have been obvious really. “Neustadt” is a bit of a clue. And yet, the town was founded in 1194, was the site of a royal residence (Empress Eleanor died here in 1467) and is the home of the Theresian Military Academy, where the Austrian Armed Forces train their officers. Unfortunately for all concerned, the town was bombed to smithereens during World War II, as a major strategic target.

In most of Central Europe, there was a concerted effort to rebuild and restore. Wiener Neustadt, on the other hand, decided to take a different route. I don’t know if the planners for the town were comparing notes with their opposite numbers in Stevenage, but there is a strange similarity between the two. This is not entirely meant to be a compliment.

But I did find somewhere to buy a few needed toiletries for the rest of my trip, and the cinnamon bun I bought at the station was very nice.

Back to another train, the “Gondoliere” to, believe it or not, Venice. I’d never been there, and it wasn’t going to be my destination this time either. But it’s a pretty route, up the Semmering Railway (a UNESCO World Heritage Site, no less), through the Alps, along the banks of the Wörthersee and, eventually, into Italy.

At Udine, it was time to get off. Ros had strongly recommended it as a place to see and, I must assure readers, she’s absolutely right. It is absolutely stunning, a small jewel somewhat off the beaten track and probably in the shadow of Venice to the south-west, and even Trieste to the south-east.

I was in need of refreshment, and a glass of the local Friulano was definitely called for. So, I found myself a bar in Piazza Matteotti and ordered one. And another…

As the sun set over Friuli-Venezia, it was time for a stroll back to my hotel. As I passed the Civici Musei, it cried out to be photographed.

But a proper explore would have to wait until the morning. For tomorrow was, kind of, a day off from trains…

#interrail2025: Day 3 (part 1) - a whistlestop tour of Brno

Brno, Monday morning. I’d taken a stroll around the town the previous evening before dinner, and rather liked it, and so I was up early to do it all again, but this time in daylight.

I started with an unexpectedly stiff uphill climb to the cathedral - stone steps, a right knee that wanted to grumble a little and signs of impending fragility made it more challenging than I had anticipated - which is described as a bit dumpy by one commentator but I rather liked it. You know that St Peter and St Paul’s is there, which to my mind is exactly how a cathedral should be.

The climb does give you a decent view of Špilberk Castle, which saved me having to do that too.

Apart from the steps, Brno is a very walkable city, with a relatively compact city core. I did remember to look both ways for trams.

It was, however, time to leave. I might by this time have pretty much lost the ability to speak, but a train was calling me, even if it wouldn’t hear my response…

#interrail2025: Day 2 - “We don’t talk about Brno?”*

Sunday morning dawned bright and early. Cool too, as the temperature had dropped sharply. But Nuremberg is perfectly charming on a Sunday morning without the crowds of a Saturday night, and I thought that a walk would clear the cobwebs before the next train.

As you might expect, Nuremberg has that comfortable sense of a city that does quite nicely for itself, with a high class array of retail opportunities and, despite the results of US and UK-inspired urban renewal, has retained some interesting architecture. The Weißer Turm, which actually has a U-Bahn entrance underneath it, marks the gateway to the shopping district, and I managed to get as far as the castle before turning back to pick my luggage and head for the station.

On reflection, I might have given myself an extra five minutes, as it was a slightly breathless bureaucrat who threw himself and his luggage onto the 10.38 to Schwandorf, where I had discovered a scenic route into the Czech Republic, rather than the obvious Railjet dash via Vienna.

Deutsche Bahn Regional Expresses can be a bit of a mixed bag, and things were made more complex by the unexpected splitting of the train at Neukirchen (bei Sulzbach-Rosenberg). Luckily, I’d got the right half…

I’d left myself just over an hour to connect in Schwandorf (there was an alternative with a six minute connect but I try not to do those anymore), which was intended as an opportunity to get in a few extra steps (yes, I’m still doing my 10,000 steps each day) and whilst I did have luggage to drag, I strode boldly down the mean streets of Schwandorf.

As a small Bavarian town, it does attempt to live up to the cliché. Pretty, white-washed church? Check. Beer garden by the river? Check. I didn’t see anyone in lederhosen, but it was probably only a matter of time.

Back at the station, my connection to Prague was pulling in. Described as a Regional Express from Munich to Prague, the Alex service runs via Plzen and has compartments in first class, which I approve of in an old school sort of way, especially when I get to be undisturbed for three hours, as we wandered across Bohemia. A quick connect to a rather swish Railjet, and I was in Brno in time for dinner. As was Political Animal and his family who, somewhat unnoticed, had picked the same route as I had. And no, I really wasn’t stalking them… or were they now stalking me?

There may have been beer and dumplings involved again, bread dumplings this time - my personal preference - before a relatively early night. A change of scenery beckoned…

* with thanks to Helen Belcher, whose knowledge of Disney hits is clearly superior to mine…

#interrail2025: Day 1 - a day of tight connects made…

I like trains. And no, not in a “isn’t that locomotive interesting” sort of way (although there’s something about a black-painted electric locomotive that calls to me). But I like travelling by train, albeit in comfort. And now that I’m officially aged, it costs rather less to do so.

And we older people get discounted Interrail tickets accordingly, of which I approve hugely.

It would, under such circumstances, be churlish not to take up such an opportunity, and so I bought myself a “ten days in two months” Senior first class Interrail ticket a while ago. I did rather dither about where I would go, but that sort of thing works itself out, right?

Saturday morning was bright and sunny, and an early start found me in London at a decent enough hotel. I skipped breakfast, as Eurostar feed you in Standard Premier (or Eurostar Plus, as I’m going to have to get used to), and headed for St Pancras International for the 9.01 to Bruxelles-Midi. I’d taken the advice of the Man in Seat 61 and reserved a seat near the front of the train so as to make my twenty minute connection that bit less stressful.

As starts go, Eurostar is a fairly easy way to ease yourself into the rhythm of the thing, with a carriage attendant with a wry sense of humour and a sense of speed that I might not see too often in the days to come.

Breakfast was… meh in terms of quantity, although the pain au chocolat was actually pretty good, and the tea drinkable. The yogurt with pecans and caramelised apple was better than I might have feared, but I was not entirely replete when we arrived in Belgium.

A brisk stroll across Gare du Midi, and ICE315 to Frankfurt was, how should I put it, a bit busy. Even a first class ticket didn’t guarantee a seat, and I was pleased that I had taken the precaution of making a seat reservation a couple of days earlier - the Interrail app tells you whether seat reservations are optional, recommended or mandatory, which is a useful thing to know.

What that meant was that “at table” service wasn’t available, so I had to make my way to the restaurant car to get a sandwich and a beer.

But, courtesy of BlueSky, I discovered that I wasn’t entirely alone. Political Animal, who works for the Local Government Association, was on the train with his family, and so we exchanged slightly stalkerish messages. It turned out that both of us were heading for the same place (eventually). Not stalkerish at all, right?

Arriving in Frankfurt on time (Deutsche Bahn, you’re spoiling us…), all that was left was to make a theoretically easy connection for the day’s final destination. Theoretically, because Deutsche Bahn usually have at least one surprise up their sleeve. We were, supposedly, departing from Platform 7, but that was indicating a train to Bamberg which was supposed to have left two hours earlier. And then, the Easter egg, a late platform switch which led to a slightly unseemly scurry to Platform 3.

I made ICE721 to Nuremberg though, a rather emptier, more genteel affair, and arrived in Franconia’s capital in time for a stroll and dinner. My goal… pork and beer.

What I found, apart from a quite buzzy city centre, was Bratwurst Röslein, which claims to be the largest bratwurst restaurant in the world. Yes, really. And, if Germans are claiming that, I’d wager that it’s probably true. There was pork, and a vast potato dumpling, and too much red cabbage for me to eat without exploding. And, of course, beer.

I strolled back to the hotel, rather more slowly this time. It was all going to be alright, even if my ability to speak was becoming increasingly limited…