You've Been (Window) Framed

Last weekend was the Doncaster Model Railway Exhibition, or the Festival of Model Railways as the organisers grandly entitle it. For the previous couple of years the show was held at Harrogate while the venue at Doncaster Racecourse, modelled on 1940’s style POW camps, was refurbished. And boy, did it need refurbishing. It was dark, gloomy, freezing cold and access was a nightmare. Conditions were far worse than prison, made worse by the fact that whereas prisoners are allowed out whenever Gordon Brown needs to reduce inmate statistics, at the show you were obliged to stay put for your entire sentence.

Thankfully, during the last two years, Doncaster Racecourse has been rebuilt from the foundations up, and the end result is a spacious, well-lit and welcoming environment (obviously I’m only regarding the venue as welcoming; Doncaster itself is as welcoming as a dose of the clap).

Once again I was demonstrating on the Ten Commandments stand, and building on the success of our debut at Peterborough. I had prepared many new interesting models and techniques to work on, plus tools and products from other manufacturers that could easily be demonstrated to visitors. This time round I introduced an interactive element, so that the public could really get hands-on and involved. This might sound elementary, but I consider that demonstrating at a show should be demonstrating, and not an opportunity to blag your way into a show for free, then sit round chatting to your mates all weekend. Given that the public pay around a tenner to get in, I believe that they should get something in return. If I want to watch people sitting around doing nothing but chat to each other, I’d watch Big Brother. And then I’d disembowel myself with a Stanley knife and some clothes pegs.

Mainstay of the demonstration was the extensive, and growing, range of Ten Commandments factory buildings and various modular extensions. The window glazing sessions attracted big crowds (covered in my previous post here) and to make the job of glazing even easier, I was pleased to find that Dave had got his hands on some fantastic gel pens that allow the modeller to simply ‘draw’ the frames in. Here’s an example:

The outhouse building to the left had all the window frames drawn in by customers at the show – it really is as easy as picking up a pen and writing with it (rules out the under 16’s, then. Somebody will have to invent a mobile phone application to paint window frames innit).

I soon found several other useful applications for the pen that will be extremely useful for anyone modelling almost any era. The pen will write on any surface – wood, plastic, metal, clothes (that was an accident) and on gloss or matt finishes. An obvious use for rolling stock is shown below:

As well as ‘condemned’ – a common sight in the BR blue era – the pen also proved suitable for chalked notices and destinations on parcels vans – remember those? Then of course, we come to:

Graffiti. Up until now, the simple white slogan style graffiti has been next to impossible to reproduce. With this pen, you can vandalise as many walls, items of rolling stock and public toilets as you wish. For an inner city layout set in the 70’s to present day, this is an essential, if unwelcome, scenic finishing touch.

Other uses include pub blackboards and temporary signs often seen while travelling – Pick Your Own Strawberries; Overflow Carpark; Model Railway Exhibition Here Today; Truculent Teenager Daughter For Sale and numerous others. If you model the present day, then you could model some of the apostrophe catastrophe signs that are the visible proof of the Government's successful (?) Education, Education, Education mantra. Let your imagination run wild!

Don't it just!

As well as being available in white, the pen also comes in gold, which is actually a shade of yellow that is ideal for road markings. Other colours are available, but are opaque in finish and don’t work too well on dark surfaces. The white one, however, is unbeatable. Everybody who used one at the show immediately handed over the £2.50 to take one home, and we hope to have some new stock shortly. It will be available as a Show Special, and is also presumably retailed through good office supply stationers.

I was also demonstrating the Modelmates weathering dyes that I mentioned here. They use a spray on / wipe off technique that takes a bit of practise, but I got some quite pleasing results when weathering this JCB:

Overall the demonstrations were received very well by both the public and exhibition organisers – the latter commented that they had received favourable comments from the public about the stand and being able to get involved. For my part, demonstrating something that people are actually interested in made the time pass more pleasantly and quickly, so the only downside was that I didn’t get to see the show!

Peterborough Exhibition

What with my work and weekends at The Nene Valley Railway, if there’s one place that I visit frequently, it’s Peterborough. This weekend was no exception, as for the first time since starting this blog, I was finally attending a model railway exhibition. My role was that of demonstrator attached to the Ten Commandments trade stand, so naturally I was primarily utilising products from the range and showing visitors how to get the best out of them. I had prepared a good selection of varied models to build / paint / detail in order to keep myself as well as the public interested. I’m pleased to say that there was a pleasing amount of ‘sensible’ interest and very few nutters about pointing out that the Ford Transit had the incorrect type of hubcaps for that year (Shipley 2007 for that particular gem).

The factory buildings that I have mentioned previously were the stars of this show, and my demo on painting in the windows was particularly well received – just shows how an accidentally found technique can be a winner. The Scenic Rust was popular, along with basic landscaping, road building and detailing road vehicles. There was a lot of interaction on the stand, which made the time pass by more pleasurably and quickly.

Peterborough is a new show that debuted last year, although I wasn’t able to attend as I was sorting out my sock drawer and cross-indexing my Y-fronts. As I couldn’t get out of going; I mean, having volunteered to demonstrate this year, I was looking forward to try out this recent addition to the circuit. Held in the new purpose built exhibition centre at The Showground, the venue is an out-of-town, easy to reach location and the exhibition hall is superb, with plenty of large doors opening onto flat ground making loading and unloading a doddle. A welcome change from the venues chosen by some exhibition managers, who clearly think that operators and traders alike are auditioning for a part in Rapunzel.

"Rapunzel, Rapunzel, throw down thy Deltic and a Stanier 8F!"

The show is organised by Warners Publications, a professional exhibition and events company who also publish a variety of magazines, including British Railway Modelling. I don’t read this august journal, not even in the reading room at my local library called WH Smiths, so in the interests of fairness I won’t review it here. Obviously if I liked it, found it well written and presented with relevant articles and news that was topical sometime between Noah’s Ark and The Crimean War then I might read it – but make your own minds up. I don’t want to come across as biased.

As professional events organisers, organisation by Warners is generally good. They turn up when they say they will and even let you in, so if they’d like to take over Ashford Show, then that’s fine by me. On the other hand, they don’t know the difference between Evening Star and Evening Primrose Oil, so the show plays it safe and only books layouts that have appeared in the magazine, rather than going out onto the circuit to look for something new and exciting. Can you imagine the Clothes Show Live taking this approach? “Tell that Vivienne Westwood if her stuff hasn’t been in The Littlewoods catalogue, we’re not interested.” Quite.

Something that you might not unreasonably expect from a publishing company is a show guide in English. The A4 glossy full colour guide was included in the £10 entry fee, but each submission had clearly been written by the layout owner / club /trader – some of whom could write in English, and them others what like cuddent even spel simple wurds and who seemed to think that their grammer was the old lady in the lounge watching Corrie innit. Warners proofreaders had presumably been having an off day, and by rights should now be down at the jobsentaPLUS, and let an amazing number of howlers through. I had highlighted several to share with you here, but thanks to Dave giving away my exhibition guide on the Sunday (without telling me) I now have no reference material. Thanks.

The choice of layouts is entirely subjective, but I felt that the quality of this year’s exhibits was probably the best I’ve seen from Warners for a long time, and it was pleasing to view some layouts that I haven’t seen before – the benefit of taking a break from the circuit, I imagine. I was expecting to view Stoke Summit as it attends almost every Warners event with the inevitability of a participant in Strictly Come Dancing being ‘on a journey’, but it wasn’t there – I believe that it is finally undergoing a long overdue overhaul, and will reappear after refurbishment in a post-privatisation guise featuring overhead catenary with GNER class 91’s and EWS class 66’s taking centrestage as it strives to attract a fresh audience. Bring it on.

I was hoping to give a rundown of my favourite layouts, but as I mentioned earlier, Dave gave my exhibition guide away on Sunday afternoon and it had all my notes in, so that isn’t happening. Probably for the best ...

I will therefore throw in my gallery of some favourite bits at the show. These are all from memory, so if there are any factual errors I apologise and will correct them if notified. I must apologise for the rather poor quality of the pictures – it was a busy show and I was kept on the go over on the demo stand, so the photos were something of a rush job on Sunday morning before opening time. I didn’t get round to see every layout due to time constraints, and just snapped a few models that really caught my eye.

The beach scene on Westcliffe, I particularly like the 'shortcut' path running down to the beach - delightfully modelled on this well observed model.

My favourite scene on Runswick Leamside is the realistically modelled roadworks and contraflow on the dual carriageway. Well, I say realistic - more progress has been made with these roadworks than their real life counterparts on the A1 at Blyth. Maybe the Highways Agency should employ Presier workmen? Just a thought.

My personal favourite layout - Harbourne. I always like to see small, beautifully detailed layouts that ooze character and operate impeccably such as this. It's the sort of layout where very little happens and life is at a slower relaxed pace. In between trains, you have time to take in the scenery and savour the craftmanship that went into building it. Charming.


If you like big layouts, they don't come much bigger or grander than Gresley Beat, based on Kings Cross. Wish I'd had more time to watch it, there was so much going on. The buildings are superb, for a more detailed look at them I'd recommend reading this article on Iain Robinson's modelling blog, which also has some much better pictures that do the model justice.



Staying with the 'make it large' theme, this model of Barmouth Viaduct immediately caught the eye. The 'O' gauge layout was themed around the famous viaduct at Barmouth, and running almost at eye level meant that it looked as imposing as the real thing. The backscene was amazing, all handpainted. Operation was staged so that sequences would begin with the GWR and gradually work up to Regional Railways DMU's - a nice idea that added much variety to the scene. A good photo album of this layout may be seen here.

There was much more, but I was just to busy to see it all!

When a Man is Tired of London ...

... he's come to his senses.

Generally speaking, I am not a fan of London exhibitions. For some reason, shows in and around the capital attend a higher than normal quota of know-all numpties who are incredibly annoying. On top of this, throw in all the other disadvantages of London – ridiculous roads, impossible parking, astronomically priced overnight accommodation, congestion, bus lanes, bus lane cameras, suicidal cyclists in unbecoming skin-tight lycra plus some of the rudest people in the country and you can see why I prefer to stay away.

The joys of London before you even get to the exhibition venue - where you will
no doubt be greeted by, 'You can't park there!' . Picture from FreeFoto.

There's only one thing worse than a cyclist in body hugging lycra ...

But there is one exhibition that breaks the London mould quite successfully, and remains the only show that I have traded, exhibited and demonstrated at. It is the Enfield Whitewebbs model railway show, held in the transport museum close to Enfield. Being only a couple miles off the M25, access is reasonably easy if you time it right and there is a McDonalds close by. Parking for exhibitors is free, but a logistical nightmare, until you understand the system and play it to work for you, rather than against you – although it took a few years to figure this out.

The only way to get parked during the exhibition is to get to
the show well in advance. These wily traders arrived in 1947.

Bernie, the (former) Exhibition Manager, hails from Darlington, so he approached organising the show in a no-nonsense manner that is refreshing and effective. His missus, Jan, takes care of the catering side of things, and they both believe in looking after the traders and exhibitors equally, which is as welcome as it is unusual. Traders are often seen as second-class citizens, who are invited to a show purely to bring revenue in for the hosting club. The fact that their presence also brings in visitors is a point entirely missed by the committees. Before the Show opens to the public, Jan has the coffee, tea and bacon butties going for everyone, which is a great boost before a long day of trading, especially after the slog of the A1 and M25. Lunch is also provided – and you have a choice of sitting down in the restaurant, which is a converted railway carriage – or if you are alone and can’t leave your stand, then lunch is brought to your stand.

A tranquil spot for lunch; nice to see that some effort has gone into this area.

It is a simple but extremely welcome gesture, so why can’t more clubs take this approach? Bernie pops round during the day to see how you’re doing; it makes a difference when organisers show an interest – far too many only emerge when it’s time to get your stand money. At Bernie’s show, you are greeted like an old friend, rather than a wallet on legs.

When I first began trading, it was Bernie who gave me my big break, so to speak. I had previously run a business selling railway clocks, but I wound this up (did you see what I did there?), as it didn’t pay. I was launching a new range of modern image 4mm signs and accessories as an experiment, but didn’t intend to undertake exhibitions (apart from the modern image orientated DEMU Showcase) due to the costs and viability of a new range like this. I mentioned this, and Bernie offered me a free stand, on the assumption that if I made nothing then I paid nothing, but if I were successful then a donation to the club would be welcome. This was a great opportunity to try the fledgling products out, so I knocked up a couple of dioramas, produced some stock and off I went – and had a blinding day. The product range was well received, and I was able to build up on this and build up the business accordingly. Consequently I returned every year until I shut down the business; then the following year I returned as an exhibitor with Valkova Road. My final appearance was in 2008 with a scenic demonstration stand, a new project I am developing in conjunction with Ten Commandments to demonstrate scenic and lineside detailing.

So the only thing I haven’t done at Whitewebbs is to visit the show as a punter! So perhaps in 2009, you might see Grumpy once more down in London - don’t expect to see me hanging round the layouts, though - I’ll be the first one in the queue for a bacon butty. The Enfield Whitewebbs exhibition is held on 26 September 2009.

Hockey Sticks and Wheels of Steel

Ronald Searle* has a lot to answer for. Had it not been for him, I wouldn’t have had the most boring weekend of my life in the middle of nowhere – or rather, on the edge of nowhere, as I was right on the east coast of Suffolk, next stop Holland. I could only be talking about the Southwold model railway exhibition.

For several years, the exhibition’s friendly but persistent Chief Exhibitions Promotions and Public Relations Guru & Advertising Manager (or another grandiose title that clubs love so much) had been trying to persuade me to take my modern image lineside accessories range to the show to trade. And for several years, commonsense had told me that an isolated seaside town still living in 1959 wasn’t going to make enough profit for the Ferrari F40, holiday home in the Bahamas and the nubile beach bunnies who’d bring me my drinks to the beach hut that I aspired to. In fact, I estimated that I’d be lucky to get a McDonalds on the way home.

But, Jerry is tenacious and didn’t give in, and he waxed lyrically about footfall, the large number of visitors, average spend and the interest of modern image at the show, etc, etc. Still, my answer was ‘no’. Then he said that the show was held at a posh private girl’s school, and exhibitors stayed overnight in the bedrooms. Ah ha! Now you’re talking my language. At this point, all rational thought and business acumen went out of the window, and flooding in came visions of sixth form St Trinians pupils at a wild after-show party – the sort of party where pianos get thrown out of windows, flutes end up in weird places and Stoke Summit gets set on fire. In short, my kind of event. I’m in.

Feel the fear, we're maniacs!

In the event, I wasn’t quite in, because a couple of days before the show I had an accident at work involving a fork lift truck, sacks of potato flakes and a broken pallet. Guess what happened next?

So it wasn’t until the following year that I ended up on the A1095, which is the one and only road into Southwold. The town is located about 70 miles from Norwich and around 50 years from present day Britain. The journey took forever, going down endless twisting and turning roads – tracks, really – the sort populated by tractors, caravans, Rovers, horseboxes and sheep. Owing to the early hour, I didn’t encounter too many of these obstructions and made good time to the school which was located out of town in it’s own huge rolling grounds, known locally simply as ‘Suffolk’. Money really does talk.

Education, education, education - but only if you can afford it

Finding the exhibition hall was easy enough, so I drove up to the main doors to begin the long job of unloading and carting all my stuff in. I was greeted in the customary way, “You can’t park there.” I poked my head out of the tailgate, to see an apparition before me – a 1950’s British Railways Guard, in full uniform, topped off with the predictable peaked cap.
Oh great, it’s the ghost of exhibitions past. I have no real issues with fancy dress, in the right time and place of course. A Rocky Horror party, vicars n’ tarts or maybe an 80’s theme night – then bring it on. But dressing up to play trains – that sends a shiver down my spine.
“I’m not parked, I’m unloading.”
He pondered this, and then said, “Well, when you’re finished, you have to move your car to the exhibitors car park.”

“Yes, I know that.”
“So you’ll move it then?”
“When I’ve unloaded, yes. Where is it?”
“Over there.”
“Where’s there?”
“What?”
“Eh?”
“What did you say?”
“Eh”
“Eh?”
“Yes, that’s right.”

That sorted that problem out, then. Thanks ever so much for your help in pinpointing the location to somewhere in the west. I’m sure I’ll find it. Die soon. So I lugged my stand in, and then went to move the car. Not, I hasten to add, because a British Railways Guard had told me to, but simply as a courtesy to other exhibitors who needed access to the doors. The exhibitor’s carpark was some distance away; in fact it was in Hertfordshire, owing to most of the available space being taken up with disabled parking. I needed a car just to drive to my car, which was ludicrous, so I simply made alternative arrangements that were rather more convenient and wouldn’t require a taxi.

Before opening time I took a quick tour of the exhibition to seek out any relevant layouts that were using my products – always a good selling point at shows. However, given that the most up-to-date layout was set in 1961, and some layouts pre-dated the invention of the wheel, this wasn’t likely. I began to have some bad feelings about the show.

The doors opened to the public at around 10, and the Mrs Slocombe Appreciation Society rushed in. Well, no, they didn’t exactly rush – they hobbled, wobbled, creaked, groaned, wheeled or drove those annoying dodgem things into the show – it was as if all the old folks homes in Suffolk had kicked everyone out while they did a spring clean. Nobody was interested in what I was selling; these were just pensioners on a day to the seaside filling in an hour or two. I began to feel that some of Jerry’s claims were just a tad overblown. He was bang on about the numbers – boy, do they get some people coming through the door – but I would have done better business by opening a bacon butty snack-bar in a mosque.

Consequently the long, hot day wore on without sales, and I got more and more bored. Had it not been for the St Trinians aspect, then I’d have sneaked out of the doors and gone home, after picking my car up from Luton on the way. Once the trading day finally ended, I made my way to the man who was sorting out the overnight accommodation. Who was terribly sorry, but due to unforeseen circumstances, couldn’t put me up in the girl’s block, and exhibitors were staying in the boy’s block instead. Whoa, rewind a bit – no one said anything about a boy’s block when I was booking the show. If I wanted to sleep in a schoolboy’s bed I’d have become a fucking vicar. In every sense. What, exactly, were the unforeseen circumstances? Well, it transpired that the main obstacle was the fact that even though it was school summer holidays – which seem to begin in April and end around Christmas these days – some of the girls were staying at the school as they were on one of those Outward Bound adventure courses. "Yes – and your problem with that is …..?" That stumped him.

It got worse. The girl’s block had recently undergone a refurbishment programme, and the photos proudly displayed in the lobby looked as though the bedrooms resembled those in The Dorchester. Whereas the boy’s block had last seen a paintbrush shortly after the war, and looked like a council flat in Manchester. I was not impressed. The room was the size of cupboard, and featured a cot instead of a bed. There was a sink with limescale covered taps, out of which dribbled a pathetic trickle of cold water. As I’d been stuck in the blast furnace of the hall all day, breathing in the stale air and medical ointments of 1500 wrinklies, I was badly in need of a shower. These were located down the corridor, but didn’t work – because it was the holiday, and the school was shut, they had been isolated. I was seriously unimpressed.

Equality rules, OK!

But, in a rare flash of inspiration, I had a brainwave. Presumably the girl’s block had working showers, so I made my way over there and found, without too much difficulty, the P.E. shower block. Thus I was able to have a long and invigorating shower, and emerge suitably refreshed in order to face the horrors of the night ahead. I should point out that the block was, sadly, deserted – everybody was participating in rock climbing or white water rafting or white-knuckle texting somewhere in the county, I presume.

The school was located some distance from town, so I’d signed up for the in-house catering. This turned out to be a fish n’ chips supper, which sounded great, except that no one had thought through the potential logistics of turning up at the local chippy and ordering 75 cod and chips to go. So when it finally arrived, it was cold and soggy and looked like the sort of meals that get served in the Guantanamo Bay Rest Home for Retired Terrorists. However, I was starving, and food is food. I sat with the club members of the layout positioned adjacent to my stand in the show, who thoughtfully invited me to join them. I soon wished I hadn’t. The conversation for the first 20 minutes consisted of why every train had derailed at a particular place on their layout whilst heading eastbound throughout the day. The discussion got highly technical and involved, and I think I was the only one who figured it out – it’s because your track laying is shit. Pass the ketchup, please.

After that, the conversation moved away from trains, and onto a higher plane – the relative merits of throwaway plastic cutlery. I swear that I am not making this up. Apparently, the plastic cutlery provided by KFC isn’t a patch on that included with Marks & Spencer salads, but even that pales into insignificance compared to the hand crafted knives and forks issued by dusky maidens on long haul Air Singapore flights. I had to leave. I won’t name the club, as they tried hard to be pleasant and hospitable; they just need to get out more. A lot more.

My cell had no obvious entertainment other than curtain swishing or cleaning the limescale off the taps – and I’d left my Cillit Bang at home. Bugger. So, I decided to find a pub and have a drink. I sought out the BH Boys to join me, but they were driving down to Felixstowe to go trainspotting. Great. So it’s just me then.

The walk into town took an hour, and I have to say that whilst it was all very genteel and attractive, it just wasn’t what I wanted at the time. I didn’t pass a pub, but eventually arrived at the seafront. It was as if I’d been transported back in time, to my dim and distant childhood. It was exactly as an English seaside town should look, and indeed, as they used to look before everyone discovered Benidorm and the British seaside resorts entered their terminal decline.

When I were a nipper ...

The beach was long, clean and sandy, with wooden breakwaters (I have fond memories of playing on just such beaches during family summer holidays). A row of brightly coloured beach huts lined the promenade, and to top it all off, there was the quintessential British seaside resort accessory – a pier, complete with wooden buildings, all finished in gleaming white paint.

Oh, I do like to be beside the seaside,
as long as I can get a bloody coffee.

Naturally, that was where I headed, as I was bound to be able to find something likely – maybe a café, bar, an amusement arcade or a pole-dancing club. Well, it did have a café, and it looked lovely – I could have spent all night there over a drink, watching the sun slowly settle over the millpond sea and reading my book. Except that it had shut at 6pm, because it was August and therefore the middle of the season, and if it stayed open then people might stroll down for a drink and watch the sun slowly settle over the millpond sea while reading a book. And they don’t want that kind of rowdy troublemaker in Southwold, thank you very much.

Wearily, I trudged into the town centre. The buildings, I have to say, were magnificent, with some really beautiful architecture, thankfully lacking the almost obligatory tacky neon signs or hairdressers called ‘Upper Kutz’ that dominate every English town. The streets were spotless, and I just couldn’t believe that I was in England, at around 8pm, on a Saturday night. It was as dead as Gordon Brown’s career, with no sign of life anywhere. There were some interesting looking shops, and quaint family owned cafes – none of your plastic Starbucks rubbish here - all of which I would happily have patronised, had they been open. Southwold goes to bed very early it would seem. Certainly, the accoutrements that accompany all other English towns on a Saturday night – gangs of drunk teenagers shagging each other, yobs urinating in shop doorways, tramps begging a for a holiday home in Tenerife, fast-food packaging discarded in every gutter, pools of blood and / or vomit, car alarms wailing, car horns blaring, drug dealers doing business to a background orchestration of police sirens – was missing. It was deathly quiet. It was serene, calm and pleasant. I felt homesick.

This isn't a photo, it's a video. Such is the pace of life in Southwold.

At length, I happened upon a pub. Well, not a pub, but a hotel with a lounge bar, which is as close as Southwold likes to get to the unwashed masses. At last, I could get a drink – until I entered and found myself in a Colonel Blimp theme night. The sea of white and grey hair that turned to face me was probably the same crowd that had been at the exhibition, but now they were all attired in cream or beige lounge suits and flowery summer dresses. I walked in attired in jeans and polo shirt, and immediately felt like a turd in a swimming pool. No one said anything, but I could feel them thinking, ‘By George, that’s one of those working class oiks, isn’t it? Thought we’d had ‘em all shot, you know. Bad egg, what?!’ Naturally I wasn’t inclined to hang around, so I beat a hasty retreat back into the deserted streets.
I looked in vain for a decent pub, but every hotel lounge bar was full of Hyacinth Buckets (“It’s Bouquet”) and before long I was heading out of town and returning towards the school. Oh well, back to St Trinians, and lets see if the rave has started yet. But sadly, the girls were out all night – they had some sense – doing an orienteering exercise and learning how to read maps or operate Sat-Navs so that they could escape from Southwold forever. I returned to my small cell, wrote up some notes in case one day in the future I could find an outlet for all my exhibition memoirs, and then finished my Clive Cussler novel. That ended the longest day of my life, bar none.

Sunday beckoned, and I was up early, very early so that I could nip over to the girls’ block for a shower. Then to the school dining room for a very presentable cooked breakfast, served buffet style so that you could eat as much as you could possibly consume, unless you’re from Essex. As my next meal would be around 9pm at McDonalds on the way home, I fuelled up accordingly. Breakfast over, I heaved myself out of the dining room and proceeded to the exhibition hall. There followed another boring day of sitting behind my stall doing absolutely nothing, except listen to old dears blathering on about the bloody weather, and discussing their ailments.

If I see one more colostomy bag, I'll wet myself.

Towards the end of the day I did the accounts, and discovered that I had made a net profit of £17.17 for two days work. The Ferrari F40 would have to wait a bit longer, the beach hut in Barbados would become a buffet in Barmouth, whilst the beach bunnies in bikinis were clearly going to be the blue rinse brigade at a coffee morning. So, not entirely a worthwhile experience, then. When the club treasurer arrived, with palms outstretched and grinning from ear to ear I mentioned this, plus the grotty accommodation problem, and he did at least reduce my bill for the cell by £10. So now I was in profit to the tune of £27.17, so I performed a little jig around my stand, which was more physical activity than the entire show had seen in two days. You can imagine my response to his, “… and would you like to come back next year?”

I couldn’t wait to leave, so approaching closing time I retrieved my car from its hiding place and parked it outside the doors in order to speed up loading and departure. The minute the show shut, I was out, tailgate open and chucking the stuff in. Loading took longer than normal, given that I hadn’t sold any stock, but even so, I was on that only road out of Southwold and heading for England 2006 in double quick time. Going down the long gravel drive of the school, a large group of St Trinians sixth formers were returning from their adventure weekend. You know, maybe I could give Southwold just one more night …

* Ronald Searle is, of course, the original creator of St Trinians.
But you knew that already.

All Aboard for Perth

This coming weekend is the Perth Model Railway Show – that’s Scotland, not Australia, in case you were wondering. I’ve traded and demonstrated at this excellent show for the past three years, and can thoroughly recommend attending. It is held at the Dewars Ice Rink close to the centre and railway station in a spacious exhibition hall.

Unfortunately, I cannot attend this year due to other commitments, but it is well worth travelling to, as the club members make you welcome, the venue is spacious and light (although does get rather hot, which I find ironic for an ice rink) and you get to see layouts which rarely venture south of the border – and it’s always a nice change to see something new and interesting.

It’s worth taking some time out from the show (I can feel the anoraks twitching at the mere possibility) to walk into Perth itself and down to the river for some fantastic views. If you stay overnight, the club social at the Carvery is well worth attending before hitting local hostelries to try out everything in a bottle. I recommend the entire top shelf of single malts, and see you in A&E, Jimmy!

Cup of Tea, Love?

In contrast to my experiences at the hands of Ashford Model Railway Club (who received some mild criticism yesterday), I am happy to redress the balance with some extremely welcoming, helpful and all-round pleasant exhibitions that I attended over the years. Some clubs have got it and some clubs just haven’t. A good case in point is the excellent show held by Stowmarket Model Railway Club in Suffolk. This is one of those shows that you look forward to attending, simply because the organisers treat you as a human, rather than just a bankroll.

Stowmarket Show is also held in a Leisure Centre, just like Ashford (see previous post). But that is where any similarities end, I’m glad to say. When you arrive, the doors are open to allow access – and it’s amazing how much difference this makes to your day and general demeanour. Stowmarket don’t stop at just opening doors, however. After being shown to your allotted area, helpful club members assist you with unloading and bringing your stand into the hall, rather than the favoured method of certain clubs who just watch you struggle. But the thing that really sets this show apart is that whilst you are assembling your stand – around a two-hour job – club members bring round a good old-fashioned tea trolley.
Bearing in mind that you’ve been up since pre-dawn, driven anything up to 200 miles to a show and then have to spend a couple of hours assembling a stand, this is a most thoughtful and welcome gesture, and might I say, very much appreciated. Once your stand is complete, the leisure centre has an excellent restaurant, so you can also get breakfast. This is how Shows should be. During the day, the exhibition manager and various club members check to see how you are doing, and provide cover so you can nip to the thoughtfully provided tea urn for a drink, and half an hour later cover your inevitable trip to the toilets. It creates a really good atmosphere and puts you in a good mood; which of course is reflected in customer service when you’re stuck on a stand selling stuff all day. Or to be more accurate, stuck on a stand with lots of stuff to sell that people look at but don’t buy. It just goes to show how a little bit of thought can go a long way, and that there really is no need for the peaked cap, hi-viz jacket clad brigade to interfere.

You're Not Coming In Here

By far the most surreal experience I ever had at an exhibition was at Ashford in Kent. Well, I say ‘at an exhibition’; in fact I never made it beyond the doors to the venue. Yes, it transpired that the show would commence with a lockout, presumably as a result of a lock-in the previous night at a local hostelry.

It all began with the usual invitation to trade at the show – and believe me, it is not cheap to trade at a show, it often costs hundreds of pounds by the time you factor in the fact that clubs actually charge you for attending, then of course there’s petrol and a night in a B&B or Travelodge for a 2-day show; plus you have to eat and so on. However, I didn’t have any shows in South East England, and being a prosperous area I thought I’d give it a punt to try it out.

So it came to pass that I loaded up the car and drove the 165 miles to Ashford in the wee small hours in order to arrive shortly before the appointed time of 07:30. I was met by a wet (as in raining) club member sporting the inevitable Hi-Viz vest (look at me, I’m important) who directed me down to the Leisure Centre’s basement carpark where I could unload and access the building. Like all basement car parks, this was damp, dank, musty and smelt inevitably of faeces. I didn’t look, but I know it was there. Maybe Chanel could bottle this fragrance and sell it as ‘Essence of Ashford.’ I certainly know that everytime I smell stale urine I remember my visit.

Welcome to Ashford Exhibition

Anyway, I waited, and waited and waited some more. Nothing happened, the doors remained firmly locked; more and more cars and vans arrived, all eager to get in and set up. Well, maybe not eager, but these things have to be done. It was also noticeable that the Hi-Viz clad Club Stasi, who are usually so prevalent ordering people around at such events, had quietly melted away, rather like an MP facing questions from constituents about his claim for moat cleaning.

Time ticked by with agonising slowness, and after 90 minutes the thrills and spills of the basement carpark were beginning to wane. I’d tried all the entertainment on offer: Burger-King wrapper spotting; counting the number of non-working fluorescent tubes; cleaned the car with baby wipes and written a list of things I’d like to do to the exhibition manager. There was also the practical considerations as well – the show opened at 10:00 to the public, it was now 09:00 and it took two hours to set my stand up from scratch. Ergo, I wouldn’t be ready on time. Add to this that now everybody but everybody would be trying to force their way into the doors simultaneously, all with large and heavy boxes, boards, control panels and McDonalds breakfasts – well, it was a recipe for disaster.

Shortly after 09:05, however, the doorman arrived. He wasn’t the doorman of course – he had a peaked cap so was probably a Security & Surveillance Surgical Truss Tsar or some other made up title.

"You can't park it there!!!"

Whoever he was, he had finally dragged his carcass out of bed, ambled a couple of miles into work a couple of hours late and decided to make the most of his new found power. He unlocked the doors and proceeded inside. The assembled crowd thrust forward as one, anxious to make a belated start on their stands. But it was not to be. Blakey wanted to savour his moment. “You can’t come in yet. It’s not convenient. I’m not ready for you.” Well, the model railway crowd are generally a tolerant and genial lot, and there is no problem that can’t be solved by a nice cup of tea. But not me. I am neither tolerant nor genial when faced with an idiot in a peaked cap with a made up job title and an attitude problem who sorely regrets having been born too late to have served in the Pogroms. I’d been up since 04:00 and hadn’t had a cup of coffee. I was livid. “Then in that case, you can shove your fucking show up your fucking arse you wanker!” I announced grandly to anyone and everyone in the vicinity. I stormed back to the car, gunned it as if auditioning for Trader in a Reasonably Priced Estate Car and roared off to McDonalds in search of some much needed sustenance. After fortification by way of a couple of McMuffins and a good dose of coffee, I hit the motorway and returned to Grantham, where I had a far more entertaining weekend scouring my oven.

This incident highlighted a common problem – if you are the exhibition manager, then the weekend is not about playing with trains, it is about managing and organising an exhibition. If I’m paying a couple of hundred quid and making a 330 mile round trip to attend your exhibition, in order to make your club money, then I expect at the very least to be allowed into the building. There should be a system in place, as with all businesses, so that if the keyholder fails to show up, then there is a means of communicating with them (called a telephone) and preferably someone more reliable who can stand in. Hiding away and hoping that the problem will go away is not a good enough answer. Imagine if the manager at Asda thought one Saturday morning, ‘Ah bollocks to it. I’ll have another couple of hours kip; they can do their shopping later on.’ And then when he finally did turn up and open the store, tells the assembled hordes, “You can’t come in, it’s not convenient.” I wonder how long he’d remain in his job? A period a lot shorter than Old Blakey in Ashford, that’s for sure. But whereas at Asda there’d be an investigation followed by a sacking, in model railway world the mantra is ‘Oh, we really don’t want to make a fuss, it was nothing, really.”

The Council (who own the Leisure Centre) send the organisers a standard letter of non-apology and promise to review their procedures (i.e. do sod all), and to ensure that the club book the venue for the following year, offer a 10% discount ‘for the inconvenience’ – after putting their prices up by 10%, of course. Which is why I have never been back to Ashford, although in fairness, for some reason, they didn’t invite me back again. Strange, that.

"I 'ate you traders!"

Engage brain, then open mouth...

I built a layout for exhibition purposes in 2005, naming it Valkova Road. The layout was designed to be a microism of contemporary Britain and was not set anywhere in particular – the aim was that the exhibition visitors could identify it with wherever they happened to live. The trains were almost incidental to the overall city scene. The model incorporated everything that can be seen in present day British cities – throngs of people in the streets, traffic jams, well known shops and companies, a theatre with constantly changing shows; a hotel, vibrant billboards etc, etc. It also served as a mobile advertisement for the product range I was making and selling at the time.

When writing exhibition guides, I surmised the layout as ‘a generic model representative of a typical British city.’ Generally the layout received very favourable comments from the general public (i.e., non-rivet counting fascists) whenever it appeared, but my favourite exchange took place at Renhold. An old man and his wife studied the model for some considerable time and seemed genuinely interested. I approached him, and he asked, ”Where’s this supposed to be set, then?”
“It’s generic.”
“Generic? I've been there, it looks nothing bloody like it.”
Keep on taking the tablets, Granddad.

When the layout appeared at Ilkeston, two visitors were overheard to say,
“Hey, this one looks pretty good.”
“Yeah, it’s ok, but there’s too much emphasis on the scenery and not enough on the trains.”

That’s the problems with cities these days – they just haven’t got their priorities right.