Escape from Peterborough

I've just had a narrow escape from Peterborough. I'm not even certain as to where on the planet it is. I have a. Stud idea of where it is on the map; but whether it's in the East Midlands or East Anglia I couldn't tell you. Anyway, the pub I was in was brilliant. The beer was great. The food was just right for a lunchtime meal. And the bar staff just about scrapped a pass (which is difficult I know). It all started when my other party members made their various excuses and left me to my own devising. I had an hour to kill before my departing train. The first pub I visited was screening people who were entering because of a football match with Doncaster Rovers the day before; which still  had some side effects; apparently they thought that some local fans were still in the area. Strangely enough; I was let in without question without having to utter a word or action; despite a large group before me having to present ID beforehand. Perhaps I didn't look northern enough; after all to them I was technically a Westerner. However; with the possibility of another pub calling before my train; I decided to visit a more local venue to try the Locale beers. At the Ostrich;  the range was very pleasing; but the  clientele was not. No sooner than I had been served; I was approached by a Scotsman.  Now I usually have no quarrel with the Scots other than trying to understand them; and themselves being a loud folk. Finding one in this part of the country was particularly surprising; but after experiencing them before in England at this time of year; I naturally assumed it was part of the annual Scottish migration; where they head south to stay warm and visit what other relatives they have in this fair isle. This particular fellow was born in Ayrshire; but lived in Lancashire. He then tells me he's been homeless for a while. This is of little comfort to a fellow traveller; fortunately he finished his own drink and ordered and paid for another before finishing mine. So that was the perfect opportunity for me to escape without obligation; and after wishing him a happy Hogmanay; stepped out into the street. After five minutes I'm accosted with an appeal for money to get someone to Wellingborough; but; not being local I haven't  a clue as to where this is or even if it exists. I still have no notion of what Peterborough stands for; but after being left on my own I can tell you it's not a good place to be alone.