Dreamy fantasies rather than the possibility of nightmares inspire me to book a sleeping compartment on the Royal Scotsman. In the days leading up to my trip to Edinburgh to catch the train with my girlfriend, I am full of anticipation. I've read the food on board is just sublime, I know the landscapes of northern Scotland are absolutely stunning in that grim, brooding way unique to the Highlands, and I am thrilled to be riding on Britain's only luxury sleeper service. I've always loved trains, and whenever I go to big countries, I make a point of taking long train rides. Britain is small, so sleepers are a rare delight.
But a Halloweenesque theme does seem to accompany us on this particular adventure. I put this down to the mist, or the malt, or perhaps a Scottish spirit taking revenge for all the misdeeds of the English.
It starts the night before we board. To be close to Edinburgh Waverley, our departure station, we've booked into The Witchery. The hotel, an iconic boutique property, is opulent and ostentatious. Occupying an ancient warren of a building in Edinburgh's Old Town, it has only a handful of rooms, all with big wooden four-posters and decked out in antiques. Ours has suits of armour, 19th century military uniforms, ball gowns and hats, and other dusty old costumes. Hardly any light strays in from outside. It is exotic and slightly erotic.
'Dannii Minogue said it was the best lust pad in town,' says Roxy, the charming and camp, concierge. 'You can be what you like here. Settle in and get that uncorked.'
And with that, he leaves us to our complimentary bottle of bubbly and a night in a private theme park. But, I wonder, after a lovely dinner at the hotel's restaurant, what exactly has happened at this 'witchery'? Roxy had pointed out, almost as an aside, that the iron rings on the steep spiral staircases were for shifting cadavers between floors. Nonetheless, I sleep well, eventually.
A breezy ride on the Royal Scotsman's observation deck - the only one in Britain - blows away any meandering thoughts. We've been out of Waverley only 10 minutes and are crossing the famous Forth Rail Bridge, which, until this year, has been painted continually since its construction in the 1880s (a new long-lasting protective paint has just made the round-the-year painters redundant).