Brest - Paris

The elderly lady on the bus this morning doesn't like sky scrapers. I show her the map, pointing out Exeter, she asks if there are many planes there. I say no and she nods approvingly. There are alot of such buildings near where she lives on the suburbs of Brest and, as she says she grew up on a farm, I can understand her dislike for them.

Kite-surfing is Kevin's main passion but he is on his way to Paris to meet his second, his girlfriend in Paris. It is a good story and he is a great interviewee but as with so many people I am nervous when I initially approach him. My brain is constantly telling me that the person I'm approaching looks uninterested or will be unfriendly. I run over possible openers in my head, glance over a few times hoping to catch their eye and feel courageous at the same time and then suddenly I am speaking without even realising it. I know that's a cliche but honestly, it feels like closing your eyes and the next thing you know you're plunging over a cliff. I am continually surprised by the beginnings of these conversations, because my mouth just seems to start talking on its own. I have to admit this whole paragraph sounded a little more manly in my head, but its true.

Speaking of manly, Herve is from the French navy. I'm amazed that he is OK to do an interview, considering the reluctance of all train personnel. I ask what the navy is like, relating my some of my own small experience of life on board ship, and he concurs that it is similar. Having talked about the less than strict standards of fidelity among sailors, I am embarrassed when he then mentions his girlfriend. He's just joined up and she is finding it hard, but he says that is just something she will have to get used to. The ship is currently based in Brest but Herve is looking forward to travelling abroad, the main reason that he joined.

The dining car is a hive of activity, not unexpected considering that it serves food that is enjoyable to eat. I am joined by five apprentice train drivers. One is initially keen to be interviewed but another warns him from associating with the press. I put the recorder away and talk about their studies, that they are going to complete in Rennes. I say that I have never met any trainee train drivers in England, which they ascribe to the fact that English train drivers never actually learn how to drive.

Another man is having a heated phone conversation about money, small, wiry with patchy grey hair and big glasses. I have a feeling its a messy divorce because he shouts down the phone for a few moments then sits before his anger crescendos again and he bangs the train walls and looks near tears. Then he realises he is on a train and sits once more, rubbing temples, shuffling papers.

In Brittany the landscape has been beautiful, sunlit hills and beautiful towns, dominated by huge castles and churches. As we near Paris it does become more dull but after Le Mans the train accelerates to over 300km/h and landscape, boring or otherwise just becomes a blur.

Charles, a consultant returning from a meeting with a client and frequent train traveller, is looking forward to the rugby. We have an in depth discussion on many different issues but at the end I eschew my usual wishes of good luck and all the best, because I would prefer that he watches an emphatic English victory. (Charles - I'm very slightly sorry that your trip to Paris may have been a slight disappointment. Hindsight Ed.)