They derailed my haggis express! JAN MOIR on the Caledonian Sleeper service in Scotland

The trips expand the mind, but they can also expand other things.

"Two pies, two haggises, two whiskeys and lemonades and two packets of potato chips, please, that's my neighbors' dinner order at the next table in the Caledonian Sleeper dining car.

If a stranger with only a little knowledge of cultural indicators came from Mars and could guess what was happening, he might conclude that I am on a Scottish train with Scots heading to Scotland for a Scottish getaway. would be entirely correct.

But that's not just any old Scottish train.

Thanks to a £ 60m grant from the Scottish Government, services giant Serco has spent £ 150m to revive the aging night service that has swept between England and Scotland since 40 years. This is not until the hour.

For decades, regular pbadengers like me have been more and more desperate in front of the decrepit carriages of sleeper, receding carpets and bunks that look like jails, where every expense was spared and comfort was as thin as the comforters.

Now the 75 aging cars have finally been replaced by a new fleet that entered service this week on the Lowlander trains, which fly from London to Glasgow or Edinburgh. Trains Highlander to Aberdeen, Inverness and Fort William are scheduled to receive new cars next month.

Trains have the first commercial sleeping cabins to offer double beds, as well as mattresses from the Queen's supplier.

Prices start at £ 335 one way for single occupancy of a double cabin, suggesting that the Scottish Government aims to offer business travelers and tourists a richer and more sophisticated return to the golden age of rail travel.

Admittedly, prices do not make sense for ordinary travelers, who might realize that it is cheaper – and faster – to fly or drive.

What can I tell you The highly publicized launch was, alas, a complete disaster.

The first train from London arrived in Glasgow three hours late and blushed with shame.

Journalists, dignitaries, pbadengers and deputies on board suffered loss of bookings, delays, unmade beds, water leaks and even a shortage of butter, yelling.

A signal outage at Carstairs Junction in South Lanarkshire was largely blamed for the misfortune. Did things improve for my mid-week trip from London to Glasgow a few days later?

At Euston Station, the heart hovers at the sight of the magnificent and brilliant 16-car train waiting to take us into the night to Scotland. It's beautiful!

The eight forward wagons are destined for Glasgow, while those at the rear are destined for Edinburgh; the two cities and their inhabitants travel together but separately, on the railway as in life.

As before, the train splits in two (or rejoins in the opposite direction) at Carstairs Junction, a process of violent maneuvering that wakes up traditionally and insolently everyone in the early morning.

But more now, the conductors promise a new smooth transition in every way. Well, we'll see about it.

At least, we leave at the hour, a little before midnight, sliding quietly out of London during the long journey north.

I paid quite a bit for £ 270 for my First Clbad Solo Cabin ticket – one way! – which provides an adjoining toilet and shower, a sink, a small desk, a space under the bed to store your luggage and coat hooks.

There's an elegant plaid rug, nice lighting, power and charging points, but best of all, the cabin seems to be sealed to your neighbors. What an absolute luxury!

But what is it! On a hook, there is a very dirty nylon bag filled with crushed towels and a roll of toilet paper; as something that you would be put back before going into solitary confinement in a maximum security institution.

Are these towels clean, I squeak? "Yes, we just did not think of a better way to store them," said the steward. After leaving, I do not know how to use the sink faucet and I have to wash my hands with bottled water before going to dinner.

The dining car is elegant and comfortable, but its staff only has a waiter and a cook's helper, which makes everyone a little irritable.

It is clear that the experience is for people who might be impressed by a menu that promises to "celebrate Scotland's culinary culture with tantalizing dishes".

The dishes include a "traditional artisan pie, £ 7.50".

Oh, what is it today, I ask, waiting for something glorious and cheerful, like game or grouse. "Pork," the waiter said. He makes a circle with his hands. "It's about as big as that, with a thick crust."

Instead, I have haggis, neeps and tattoos (£ 9).

The delicious haggis is provided by Cockburn's from Dingwall and is in fact not bad, but the vegetables are lumpy and the dish is so badly prepared and terribly served – slumped on a plate with a drop of sauce. Whiskey on it – it looks like an inexpressible effluent that has been ejected at the speed of the Glen Monarch itself.

Nothing is actually freshly prepared on the spot, but cooked and pre-plated elsewhere in the gloomy modern way, before being heated in the warming ovens of the train.

Nevertheless, at least there are genuine Scottish delicacies in the form of Mackie haggis chips (£ 1.10) and Tunnock tea cakes (50p), hurray.

They also charge 50 pence for an apple – at the price of these tickets, you think that they might find in their hearts to give them away for free, but no.

Back in my cabin, I huddled under the cotton sheets and, lulled by the swinging train, I fell into a deep and pleasant sleep.

Sleeping trips have always been expensive, but for me, traveling on the Highland Line, in Perth and beyond, is more convenient than taking the plane.

Once booked in advance, the tickets were cheaper and it was possible to share a compartment with two bunk beds. This is no longer the case and the pricing system offers little good deals to travelers like me unless you want to pay £ 45 for sitting all night long.

I booked breakfast in the dining car at 6am but slept too much. At 6:10, a Scottish female voice wakes me up and wakes me up. & # 39; Hello! Hi! Jan. Your breakfast is ready. Repeat, your breakfast is ready for you.

What? Is it my mother? Mum? Whbadgoinon? I did not know that they had a kitchen cabin intercom system. But now I do it.

In the sleeping train, there is still a lot of romance to live on if you do it right. I take my breakfast as the train crosses the beautiful border region, pbades fields dazzling with pink mist from dawn, crosses farmhouses perched with sheep and two old Clydesdale horses, jumping almost under the spring sunshine .

Yet despite all the improvements, part of me cries the old sleepers. Although I remember well, when the restaurant cars had real kitchens with real chefs, they hid bacon, fried farm eggs, and cooked a decent breakfast for 50 people in a space the size of the kitchen. 39, a telephone booth. The porridge was historic and always made with water and salt, never with Sbadenach cream and sugar, in the appropriate Scottish way.

At that time, star-spangled tablecloths, silver teapots and uniformed stewards came in at night to knock on the cabin door to serve your last drink.

"Whiskey or brandy, madam?", They would say. How civilized. Nevertheless, progress means that we have more comfort and less pain, whether we lose our charm or not.

Yes, the Carstairs shunt is rather a gentle bump – it's really a progress – and you can even take a shower in your room, can you imagine it!

Back in my cabin, I get in the shower, open the tap and wait to experience the latest luxury train trips.

Except that there is no water. Of course not. I should have known.