Round and Back Again

The simple way out of Blackpool would have been to get the BF to drive me home.  The slightly less simple way out would have been to take the train from Blackpool North.

Instead, I took a different route: to the south.

I know, I know.  "It's not on the Merseyrail map!  It's not a Merseyrail service!  You are totally ignoring your blog's entire brief, and I for one will not stand for it!  Consider your RSS feed deleted!"

You're right.  There was no reason for me to do it apart from: it was there.  The sheer enjoyment of knowing that I had visited every single station on that loop.  That gives me a sense of achievement, a bit of pride, a smidgeon of pleasure.  Sorry about that.

I started at Blackpool South, first thing in the morning.  The BF dropped me off in the car (once again, his devotion to me doesn't extend to four mile hikes through the countryside) and I wandered down to the platform.

It was a hell of a shock.  The mainline routes all go into Blackpool North now, so the only service that runs into South is the hourly train to Colne.  Still, it's a major destination, so I expected something a bit better than... that.

One platform.  One track.  One bus shelter.  That's your lot.

There used to be more services, of course, and more platforms: four in fact.  Even without the benefit of Wikipedia, it's easy to see the remains.  A car park next door takes up a strangely tapered piece of land, and the abandoned edge of the island platform can still be seen.

The train took only a couple of minutes to get us to Blackpool Pleasure Beach, which was a bit of an improvement.  It had a roof at least.  Surprisingly, the station's only been here since 1987; it's right in the shadow of the Big One.

Again, it was unstaffed, which seemed doubly unusual considering it must get a lot of traffic in summer.

I headed for the seafront.  I'd thought about getting a tram from the Pleasure Beach down to Squires Gate, but the improvement works mean that part of the line is closed at the moment.  It was a bit disappointing, but understandable.  Instead, I went up onto the sea wall, and followed it south.

It was 10 am on an October Wednesday, so unsurprisingly, I had the front more or less to myself.  A couple rollerbladed past me at one point, holding hands.  Ahead, an elderly couple battled against the wind to get their morning constitutional.

Dotted along the parade were artworks which screamed "European Union regeneration fund"; huge hulks of angular metal and concrete, some of them with benches inside to hide from the rain.  I wasn't impressed until I came across the giant glitterball, because, let's face it, that's just fabulous.

The weather Gods were watching me.  I was at the point where the commercial activity on the Golden Mile had stopped and turned into flats, where the cafes and bars had disappeared.  I was halfway between stations.  And lo! the heavens opened, and a rainstorm that even Noah would have thought was over the top started.

It was like stepping into a hurricane.  Icy points of water thrashed my face and body; the backs of my legs were soaked in seconds.  Thankfully the wind was blowing in my direction, catching me from behind and pushing me on.

I stopped for a minute to take a picture of the newly built tram depot, and the camera was nearly whisked out of my hand.

That photo is actually in colour; I know it looks black and white.

All of this would have been a bit depressing, if my iPod hadn't taken pity on me.  It randomly shuffled up Bad Romance.  It is a truth universally acknowledged that it is impossible to be unhappy when you hear Bad Romance; in fact, it almost put a spring in my step.  I used the tempest as a suitable cover so I could sing along, shouting "ra-ra-ra-ah-ah; roma, roma-ma, gaga-ooh-la-la" into the rainstorm.

There was one last piece of artwork before the promenade ended; as I rounded it, I found that the hand-holding rollerbladers were hidden inside, trying to hide from the squall.  I trudged through the wet sand down to the roadside, and spotted salvation: the Dunes cafe, a little greasy spoon in a parade of shops opposite Squires Gate station.  I practically ran inside to order a tea.

"Do you want that in a plastic cup so you can sit outside, love?" joked the mumsy woman behind the counter.

There were plastic seats bolted to the chipboard table.  The walls were covered in Blackpool FC memorabilia, including a signed shirt.  A board advertised the £2.50 fried breakfast, and the smell of eggs and fried bread filled the cafe.  It was homely, simple, unpretentious.  I hugged my mug of tea and let its warmth take me over.

The squall had finished by the time my mug was empty.  I crossed the road to Squires Gate station, buried under a road bridge.

Remember how tiny little Garston used to be the station for Liverpool (not John Lennon) Airport?  How international travellers were advised to disembark there and get a bus to the terminal?  Squires Gate is Blackpool's equivalent though, sadly, it's even more pathetic.

In between the garages for a housing estate and some industrial units, it's one platform, no ticket office. None the less, "alight here for Blackpool International Airport".

There's been mutterings about changing the station's name to simply Blackpool Airport; I hope not.  I like Squires Gate.  I'd like it even more if there was an apostrophe.

The train took us south through some dunes and, though I didn't realise it, through about fourteen social classes.  By the time I got off at St Anne's-By-The-Sea the cheap and cheerful world of Blackpool was firmly behind me.  St Anne's had a station building, a taxi concourse, trees.

This town was truly middle-class; it was the Margo Leadbetter of conurbations.  I walked down the high street and felt like I was lowering the tone with my still damp walking trousers and my backpack.  There were planters and metal street furniture along the avenue, with local department stores and boutiques.  I saw a Caffe Nero, a chain which for some reason hasn't bothered turning up in Blackpool, and there wasn't a hint of a fast food establishment; just small, local restaurants.

I decided not to risk the seafront, since I'd ended up half drowned last time I walked that way, and instead turned inland for the road south.  It was a wide main road, elegantly spaced and lined with hefty Victorian villas.  Most of them still seemed to be homes too, though there were the inevitable discreet bell pushes indicating a conversion to apartments, and a few nursing homes.  The driveways were peppered with the upper middle class marques; Audi, BMW, Lexus.  The odd Mini for a runaround.  A sign pointed to the Royal Lytham St Annes Golf Course and I realised we were in British Open territory; of course there was going to be cash splashed around.

The street names were obsequious in the extreme.  Obviously, there was a Victoria Road, because let's face it, there always is.  As I worked my way towards Ansdell though, I realised that the planners seemed to have gone through every possible Royalist permutation.  York.  Queens.  Sandringham.  Balmoral.  Even as the houses got a bit newer, King Edward Avenue and Queen Mary Drive turned up.  Apartment blocks were called "Queens Court" or "Windsor House".  God knows what it must have been like when William and Kate were married; you probably couldn't walk five yards without catching on bunting.

The road was dead straight, which meant my eye was caught by a distant feature.  I had no idea what it was: just a tower, backlit against the sun.  Its silhouette seemed completely out of place amongst the subtle grandeur of the houses.  As I got closer I began to think: is it a mosque?  The tower looked remarkably like a minaret, and there seemed to be the hint of a dome behind.  Somehow I couldn't see the residents of St Anne's taking well to the idea of a large Islamic centre in their midst, and this looked really big.

Finally I got up close, and saw a beautiful white church.  The rain had scrubbed it, making the tiles shine in the sun.  It was a fantastic building, completely unexpected amongst its slightly predictable neighbours.  The effect was only slightly spoiled by a large tarpaulin advertising Zumba classes on a Tuesday night hanging across the entrance.

I doubled back so that I could get to Ansdell & Fairhaven station.  At the foot of Woodlands Road was an example of early transport integration: a specially restored shelter, allowing interchange between the trains and the trams.  It had been restored by the local historical society, and inside was a little display on the history of trams in the area.

Hopefully one day Blackpool's new shiny tram network can be extended south, and the tram shelter can be useful again.

Ansdell & Fairhaven station was the same as the rest of the line.  One platform and one track.  The size of the bridge behind the platform showed how large it must have once been; three arches, two of which are now useless.

Still, I was halfway round the Blackpool loop.  None of the stations were exactly inspiring so far, but the important thing was that I'd collected them.  Four to go...

The End of the Pier Show

Blackpool and I have a history.  I went once when I was 20 and swore I'd never go again.

I was on the Executive Committee of my Student Union at Edge Hill, and four of us were sent up to Blackpool to attend the national conference.  Accommodation, food, transport, all paid for by the Union.  Delegate passes for the Winter Gardens.  Plenty of social events organised to keep us amused while we were there.

I hated it.  I found it tacky and ugly.  I hated the food and the bars.  I hated every single thing about it.  I have never been so glad to see a motorway as I was the day I saw the M55 again.  As I've subsequently said, if you can't enjoy it when you're 20 and it's free, you never will.

You can imagine how pleased I was when Merseytravel revamped the map and yup, suddenly Blackpool North was on it.  Now I had to go back.

The branch is probably the most inaccurate part of the whole map.  Firstly, it's impossible to get to Poulton-le-Fylde from Liverpool without changing trains.  You used to be able to, but then they changed the services and didn't bother updating the map.  Secondly, there are two stations on the branch between Preston and Poulton-le-Fylde, and between Poulton-le-Fylde and Blackpool North is another station, Layton.  None of them are to be seen.

Will that stand in my way?  Of course not!  I got the train from Liverpool Lime Street to Preston, and changed to a Pacer (grrr) for Poulton-le-Fylde.  The stations inbetween could wait.

Here's a bit of advice: don't listen to comedy audiobooks on a train.  I was listening to Alan Partridge's "autobiography" and it was very difficult not to laugh out loud.  I'm sure I must have terrified a fair few passengers, hissing and shaking with suppressed giggles, until I could finally get off at Poulton-le-Fylde.

It was a very pleasant surprise.  I've become used to country stations being a platform and not much else by now.  Instead, I got herringbone bricks, an old-fashioned canopy, and plenty of flowers and plants (supplied by the Plant Place Garden Centre, apparently).  Unused advertising boards were used to exhibit work by the Poulton-le-Fylde Photographic Society, or to show off old LMS posters of the line.  It was pretty and well-maintained.

The ticket office had been nicely buffed up too, with the wood varnished and clean.  And a member of staff to sell you passes to places.  It's not hard to make stations nice.  It should happen more often.

I'd like to apologise for my hair in all my appearances, by the way.  The strong winds, occasional rain showers and the hood of my coat made it assume all sorts of unusual shapes.

The town is also delightful.  It was a proper market town.  The buildings were quietly grand, the streets pedestrianised here and there, and you couldn't move for ambling pensioners.  Do pensioners actually go places, or do they just walk the streets?  Like zombies?

Poulton-le-Fylde is also home to a certain supervillain, who's decided to become even more evil and has retrained as an estate agent:

I was taking the Blackpool Old Road which, despite its name, didn't seem that old at all.  It was home to a lot of detached houses, set back from the street behind gates and long drives.  Not in a security compound type-way, more like a nice place to retire too.  Poulton-le-Fylde would seem to be a good place to retire to.  It's compact and pretty and flat.  The people seem pretty nice, too:

There weren't any apples to pick up, though.  Maybe someone took advantage of the honour system and turned up with a truck.

It was a great morning, the weak sun just warm enough on my face.  The rain that had striped across the train windows had stopped and so every surface had a gentle sheen to it.  Here and there it caught in droplets and fragmented.  This is the pleasure of Autumn; this is how I want mid-October to be.  Nature winding down and resting.

The houses thinned, but imperceptibly; from the road it still looked like town.  Sometimes you glimpsed fields in the gap between houses, but the only real sign that I had left suburbia behind came from the jarring presence of a farm beside the road, stinking of manure and scattering mud across the pavement.  They carried on the generosity of the area though:

My eye was soon grabbed by a vast, modern complex of buildings, complete with a crane and steelwork extension under construction.  It was Blackpool Sixth Form College.  I found it a fascinating building, but of course I didn't take a photo.  I've stood in oil refineries and by nuclear processing facilities and broken out the camera, but there's no way I'm going to take a picture that might, entirely accidentally, have a picture of a 16 year old in it.  Our society has become depressingly obsessed with the idea of paedophiles loitering on street corners snapping pics of school kids.  I didn't want to be arrested for being in charge of a camera in the vicinity of an educational establishment.

Layton was less charming.  It was a bit down at heel, a bit more grudging, but still pleasant enough.  The station was a big let-down though.  The ticket hall was boarded up and closed.  Leaving it off the Merseyrail map may have been a kindness.

I had five minutes before the train arrived, which left me with a quandry.  The proper station sign, with the BR logo on it, was on the Preston-bound side, up and over the bridge.  If I hurried, I might make it over and back in time for my train.  I might not though, and I could just take a picture with one of the platform signs behind me...

Of course I went over to the other side.  I'd have been riddled with anxiety otherwise.  OCD is a cruel mistress.

I had to jump down the steps two at a time to be there for the train, but it was totally worth it.

Soon we were in the acres of track that herald the entrance to Blackpool North.  At one point the station had sixteen platforms, and the massive spread of rails acts as a testament to it.  With the importance of Blackpool as a resort receding though, the station was cut back.

The original station was in two parts: a Victorian terminus, with long trainsheds, and the "excursion" ticket hall, opened in 1938 and only open during the summer.  When the station became too large for its purpose, they took the unusual decision to demolish the older building.

I have to be honest: I'm glad they did.  Blackpool North is stunning.  It's open and airy, and the white walls and glass roof make a refreshing change from the bricks and tiles of the usual British railway station.  It's been restored well, with new facilities like a travel centre and ticket gates inserted into the fabric without ruining it.

It's not so impressive from the outside though.  Part of this is due to the location: it's in a depression, so there's a high wall in front of you as soon as you step outside.  It doesn't help that it's been covered in a giant advert for Joe Longthorne and the Billy Pearce Comedy Show.  An out of place brick extension holds the Pumpkin cafe, and the glass frontage is a bit Arndale Centre.

I love the look on that girl's face.

So: now I was in Blackpool proper.  I headed straight for the front, because really, where else would you go?  The wind coming across the Irish Sea was astonishingly strong.  It almost blew me into the road at Talbot Square, so I fled to the North Pier for a drink and a sit down.  They'd run out of hot chocolate, so I took a latte and watched the windswept holidaymakers trying not to get pushed over the side.

From that angle, it looked pretty.  The wind-battered sea was impressive too, depositing foam on the newly-built flood defences.

I have to confess: when I visited previously, I didn't go up the tower.  I didn't go to the Pleasure Beach. I didn't go on a tram.  It was all so miserable, I didn't want to.  So maybe I didn't judge the town on its finest assets.  Perhaps it was like going to Liverpool and not seeing the Liver Building.  There was certainly a massive queue for the Tower, and for something called the "Blackpool Dungeons", a queue so large it quite put me off.  I also imagined that the wind would mean the top was roped off, so I didn't bother.  Sorry.

Blackpool's town centre could be anywhere.  It's got a Boots, an HMV, a Debenhams.  The WH Smiths where I bought a CD of the Licence to Kill soundtrack was still there (I only had it on tape at the time).  The only difference is that here and there are random rock shops or t-shirt stores.

By now I'd been joined by the BF, who decided to drive up rather than wander round the train stations. He's an old hand with Blackpool, back to his childhood (he is Northern, after all).  He insisted we visit Coral Island, and I'm glad he did.

I'll be honest: the town wasn't winning me over.  Blackpool should be England's Las Vegas.  It should be elaborate and over the top and stupid.  When I went to Vegas, we watched a volcano explode in the street, ate dinner underneath the Eiffel Tower then went home to a King Arthur themed-bedroom.  It was utterly ridiculous.  Blackpool flirts with that sort of insanity, but most of it's half-hearted and tawdry.  No-one's got their heart in it.  No-one wants to spend any money.

Coral Island was one of the few places where it did work.  It was a big, throbbing, glistening temple of lights and machines and rides.  There was a monorail carrying kids over our heads, and punters furiously shovelling two pences into the entertainments.  There was a "family bar" and a "family restaurant" and all sorts of pirate themed animatronics.  I've mentioned before that I love arcades, and this was the best one I'd ever been to.  I had to be dragged away.

Mr T's arcade next door, meanwhile, was Blackpool's reality.  Sparse and cold and ugly.  Concrete and low-rent neon.  It smacked of laziness; with a site like that, right opposite the Central Pier, they didn't have to make it nice to visit.  People would chuck money at it regardless.

We walked down the front to the Pleasure Beach, past row after row of B&Bs.  That's the other problem with Blackpool.  Its hotels are firmly stuck in the post-war era; it's a town where en-suite bathrooms are rare enough to be advertised on the signs.  It's hundreds of tiny one man-shows when it needs to be massive super hotels and entertainment centres.

Blackpool needs to be torn down and rebuilt.  Why isn't there an arena, so they can attract pop stars while they're still in the charts?  Why are there no complexes like you get in Las Vegas, the kind of place you don't want to leave, because there's so much going on?  It's thinking small when it needs to be epic.  I could have enjoyed epic.

The only place that seems to get it right is the Pleasure Beach, because that really does think big.  Well, almost right: five pounds just to look round?  Stuff that.

Then the sun went down, and we were treated to the Illuminations.  We took a tram to Bispham, a real boneshaker that clattered and shuddered along the track.  The trams are due to be replaced soon with a new, modern design; I'd like to pretend I'm sorry, but the tram we rode on was uncomfortable, so it's no good as far as I'm concerned.  The only bit I liked were the reversible seats, so the train can change direction and the passengers can still face forward.

The tram ride meant I could add another station to my tarting expedition though:

It's weird that the Illuminations have managed to hang on into the 21st Century: electric lights aren't as impressive as they used to be.  The designs went from surprisingly tasteful:

to the gaudy:

to the borderline racist:

Plus there were Doctor Who lights, because Daleks make everything better:

Alright.  I didn't hate Blackpool as much as last time.  It's got some charm to it.  I liked the pier.  And the lights were impressive.  But I wouldn't complain if it was another fourteen years before I went back.

Closing Time

Today's Echo has the details of closure for next year's station upgrades.  The good news is, the stations are being upgraded at all.  The bad news is that the promised station closures aren't going to be restricted to Liverpool Central, as had previously been indicated.  That £40 million is going to be spread right round the Loop, and so is the misery.

I've done a few little diagrams to show how the situation's going to develop over the next few months.

This is the situation right now: a lovely SQUARE loop, interchange stations, trains everywhere.  From the 23rd April next year, it'll change to this:

Liverpool Central will effectively be wiped off the map.  Both the Northern and Wirral line platforms will be closed for refurbishment.  Replacement bus services will run instead, but to be frank, you'd be better off walking.  When the Loop was closed, back when I was commuting from Birkenhead Park to Crewe, I found it quicker to just walk across town than to wait for the James Street-Lime Street bus.  Northern Line passengers can go onto Moorfields and change to the Wirral Line, if they really need to, to end up round by Central.

The Wirral Line platforms at Central will then reopen from the 24th August, but what's that at James Street?  I'm afraid that asterisk means that platform 1 at James Street will be closed from the 2nd August onwards.  Fortunately, that's not too stressful.  It'll still be possible to alight at Moorfields or, if you're really lazy, you can stay on the train all the way round the Loop and get off at platform 3, before the train heads back under the Mersey.  Of course, if you do that, I'll judge you a little bit.

Liverpool Central will then be fully reopened on October 21st, all being well, but the works on platform 1 at James Street will continue until January 6th, 2013.  Work then immediately shifts to platform 3, so people getting on a Wirral-bound train at Central won't have much chance of getting a seat.

The James Street work is due to continue until April 23rd 2013, but on April 21st Lime Street will close for business, until August 21st.  The map will probably show that it's perfectly possible to walk from Lime Street to Central, but I couldn't work out a way to do that without re-jigging the map in a major fashion.  It'll probably be similar to when the Grand National is on and signs appear in the streets to guide tourists to Central for the Aintree trains.

Sixteen months later, and three of the city's underground stations will have been refurbished.  Moorfields and Hamilton Square will also be getting done, but the timescales haven't been specified: it's somewhere "between 2014 and 2019".

What's interesting about this to me is that they're going to close any of the other stations at all.  I understood that Central would need a lot of work, but I didn't realise that the other stations would be getting this level of attention.  I'm actually a bit more excited now, thinking about the level of work that can be achieved in those kind of shutdowns.  Put it a different way: I am REALLY hoping that the brown plastic seats will be gone when I turn up at the new look stations.

Incidentally, my earlier post about Central has thrown up a couple of issues of its own.  As Marke pointed out, the time for expanding the station is rapidly shrinking, while a shopping centre is built over the top; any reconstruction gets 1000x times more expensive the minute you can't dig down from the surface.  The Echo article also alleges that platform-edge doors (PEDs) will be implemented at Central to contain the crowds.  I'm taking that with a pinch of salt.  When the Jubilee Line extension was built PEDs were put on all the new stations, but not on the old ones, because of difficulties with signalling equipment and the software involved.  Even now, the likes of Green Park are open at platform level.  I think this is one of those cases where things are talked about but will never actually happen.

"Anonymous" (why so shy?  We're all friends here) also said that my Kirkby-Hunts Cross plans will never happen because of the flat crossing of the Liverpool-Manchester line.  Running two such intensive services against one another would cause all sorts of hassle.  This doesn't surprise me, as I basically came up with my plan by pointing at the map and working out what I'd like to happen, rather than being practical, but I have since read rumours that Network Rail has a similar idea.  They're considering putting in a turnback facility somewhere beyond Liverpool South Parkway, so trains can reverse without hitting the junction in the first place.  Good for the Northern Line; bad for Hunts Cross, it seems.

I'm less keen on "Anonymous"'s suggestion that staff are employed to force people along the platforms.  We're British; we don't respond well to that kind of forcible behaviour.  That's all a bit Japanese, and we know where that will end, with disgustingly efficient bullet trains.  Members of staff should be kept behind glass screens where they belong, not manhandling the public.  Unless it's that fit bloke who used to work at Birkenhead Park, in which case he can manhan[remainder of this paragraph cut for reasons of taste].

Him & Her

I don't understand this.

I think it's something to do with Merseytravel.  They've put up posters advertising it, anyway, and it's on their YouTube channel.

So he gets a train, and he fancies the girl.  And he gets the train again, and he still fancies her.  And then gets up late so he runs over the bridge and misses the girl he fancies.  And his train.  The next day he's on time, but she's not there.

Then he decides to take a bus instead.  Or something?  And then gets up earlier, and sits next to her, even though the entire bus is empty, and next thing she's resting her head on his shoulder.  While there's some French music playing.

I don't understand.  It's like watching Mulholland Drive or something.

I get the "boy fancies girl and decides to stalk her" part.  Are we meant to sympathise?  Surely she changed to a bus because of that weird bloke on the platform who kept staring at her?

Are we meant to find it romantic?  If someone came and sat next to me on an empty bus I'd assume he was a pervert and/or mental.  She seems to love it though.  It's not exactly Sleepless in Seattle*, is it?  More like the first five minutes of Saw.  I bet he ties her up in his shed and abuses her with garden implements.

I just don't understand.

Maybe the message is "if you have a season ticket, all sorts of exciting things can happen to you!".  You can have toast!  You can sit in the pissing rain with pensioners!  Though there isn't a single shot of a season ticket in the whole thing, so I might be wrong about that.

I like its extremely accurate portrayal of bus drivers as people who will ignore a man running behind banging on the glass, trying to board.  The woman is working some fierce scarves.  Cressington is a very pretty station.

It's just... odd.

I don't understand.


*I love Sleepless in Seattle, by the way.  It's one of the few films to make me cry (I am essentially dead inside).  It's the bit where Tom Hanks says "we have to go," then turns to Meg Ryan and says, "Shall we?".  She's become part of his "we".  Sob.

The Central Question

What can you do with Liverpool Central?  It's the hub of the Merseyrail network, the centrepiece, but it's in desperate need of help.  The 19th Century by way of the 1970s station is bursting at the seams.  Last month's announcement of £20 million and a four month closure will go some way to alleviating the pain, but how far will it go?

I happened to be in town today so I headed there to have a look round before the refurb starts (being a Wirralite, I rarely stay on the train all the way to Central unless I'm heading for Bold Street).  The MtoGo has made a massive difference to the ticket hall.  It's a lot brighter and more welcoming, and the white tiled floor helps.  This is where the majority of the money's going.  A new glass roof is coming in, along with "improved toilet facilities" and "improved passenger flows".  The Central Village scheme (currently being constructed behind the old Lewis') will see escalators inserted to the left of the MtoGo, leading up to an intermediate concourse on the roof and then more escalators up to the new shopping district (you can see it on the video here).  There will reportedly be more Walrus-ready passenger gates put in as well.

All well and good.  But I can't say I'm not disappointed.  The problem isn't with the concourse; it's down below on the Northern Line.

The Northern Line platforms predate the Link & Loop; in fact, they predate an awful lot of railways, full stop.  The island platform was opened in 1892 as the terminus of the Wirral Railway from Birkenhead via James Street.  When redevelopment came in the mid-Seventies, the Wirral Line was sent deeper to a brand new platform on the loop, while the old Wirral platforms became the new Northern Line.

Head down the escalators and, despite the usual cigarette-smoke coloured cladding, you're aware you're in a completely different station to the Wirral Line one.  Island platforms are a rarity in UK underground stations (the London Underground only has two, left over from the earliest days of Tube building) and it feels narrow and restricted.

And look at those crowds.  I was there at the tail end of the rush hour, and the train on the left was just departing, but look at how full the platform on the right is.

The escalator banks occupy much of the centre of the platform, and so there's little space either side for waiting passengers.  It results in a "bunching" effect at either end and then, when the train comes in, a squeeze to get aboard.  The signs showing where the doors are help a little, but it's far from ideal.

Network Rail plans on removing some of the escalator machinery to give people more room to circulate.  That would help but it's a bit of a sticking plaster, like their decision to remove some of the seating units a few years ago.

The basic problem is that the Northern Line platforms just aren't fit for purpose any more.  Using the old island platform when the Link was built probably saved an awful lot of money, but it just created more problems years later.

That twenty million sounds like a lot but what's really needed is a more drastic plan.  My trip to the Glasgow Subway showed one solution.  The whole circle was built with tiny island platforms in all the stations.  At busy locations like Hillhead (below), they've built a second platform, across from the first.  The old island platform becomes one way only, and a glass wall is installed to stop people from plummeting onto the tracks.

Bash through the wall at the top of the Northern Line escalators, build a bridge over the track, and put in a new platform with escalator and lift access there.  You've just doubled the station's capacity.

Yes, it'd cost a bomb, but it's got to happen eventually.  The alternative - which Network Rail consider might be necessary in the future - is to build a whole new station, probably underneath the Church Street/Ranelagh Street junction.  Which would cost even more of a bomb.

There's still some smaller schemes that I think could be implemented to improve life for Central's users.  At some point in the rebuild forty years ago, some jobsworth realised they could save a few quid by only putting in three escalators, even though there was space for four.

Well done; you saved a little bit of money.  Can we replace that staircase with an escalator now?  Because I think that might help the passengers a bit by getting them to and from the platform a lot quicker.

Another way to lighten the passenger load would be to send more trains to Hunts Cross.  At the moment, in a typical fifteen minute period, there are three northbound trains and one southbound.  If, say, the Kirkby train continued on instead of terminating, you'd double the amount of trains to Hunts Cross - and halve the number of people waiting on the platform.  (As a bonus, you'd get twice as many trains serving the busy Liverpool South Parkway).

Next year's refurb will put in another lift; can I suggest it's a large one, so you can fit more than one person with a bike or a pushchair in it at a time?  Perhaps big enough for half a dozen people at once?  And if you could build it in a place that means people won't get rained on when they reach ticket hall level, that would be a good idea as well.

These are just a couple of idea; I'm sure you've got some of your own, and please feel free to use the comments to tell me what they are.  I think we can all agree that Central needs help.  Any money coming its way is of course appreciated.  I'm afraid that £20 million just isn't enough.

P.S.  I also noticed that Central's acquired a new bit of artwork on the floor, which looks a lot like a Grant Searl piece for the Animate the Underground series.

Firstly: on the floor?  Really?  Secondly, has this all been announced and unveiled and I missed it, or is it still being laid (I couldn't find this painting's riddle, which makes me wonder if it's a work in progress)?  Thirdly, how much of it's going to be left after the refurbishment works?