not for me
the excuse that I haven't updated because i've not done much - I've done a shit load but never got around to updating. Tsk. All rather frustrating cos there's been about 5 epic updates earned over the last few months that I never bothered to actually commit to paper. And now I've forgotten them all. Whoops.
Below then is the one bit I do have documented, written on the train from glasgow to edinburgh many weeks ago. It's obviously not finished but will have to do for now.
Before I put it in however a bit of housekeeping. I have moved house. For a bit. Until the end of July I will be living at 43 East Avenue, Oxford, OX4 1XP. Then I will move again but don't know the address off hand.
SCOTLAND 1:
It was supping the second of my preparatory pints of Sam Smiths ‘Extra Stout’ that the doubts set in.
I had vowed never to use the Megabus again hadn’t I? Not after last time. Not after the Evans/Scott Newcastle to Reading debacle of ’06.
Come to think of it, hadn’t I vowed to never use a coach again ever? Not after my last National Express trip - a journey so tortuously slow and full of cockney lads and old biddies that I abandoned bus at a petrol station on the outskirts of Leeds and got the bleedin’ train home instead.
In light of these previous experiences I’m pretty sure the idea of a 926 mile round trip to Scotland, with 759 miles to be completed by coach, was supposed to be vetoed in the early planning stages and filed away in my (soon to be overflowing) box of bad ideas.
Still, life is for the living and the promise of nearly three whole days of Scottish based hi-jinks tempted even this most ardent of anti-coach campaigners. With a heady optimism therefore we (me and Nich52) leapt aboard our Megabus ready for the off. Or rather, we didn’t, due to some cretinous overbooking on behalf of megabus.com. On we jumped instead then to an alternative Megabus service. Noteable passengers on board included a mouthy Frenchman (resplendent in beret), a dour Scot (resplendent in ginger hair) and a chubby girl (resplendent in lard) en route to a ball-room dancing competition in Preston.
Thus followed the usual litany of bizarre coach based experiences, highlights this time including a dive off the motorway into residential Coventry to drop off a megabus staffer at his home as well as the wanton destruction of a pleasing hedgerow down a narrow country lane - a manoeuvre necessitated by the presence of a pesky low bridge forcing us to 3 point turn our way out of a single track road. It as though these drivers don’t know where they are going. Oh.
Later rather than sooner then, we pulled into Glasgow Bus Station, really rather happy to be off the coach for the first time in nine hours (megabus not being big believers in service station comfort breaks). Having found our way to the city centre and been awed on the way to discover a pub that was still open (we arrived at 08:13am) the search for bite to eat began.
Ignoring the multitude of starbucks’, café nero’s and prêt a bollocks’ we discovered the much more pleasing Dino’s Diner - American/Italian restaurant by night, sandwich shop by lunch and greasy spoon at breakfast - incredible scenes.
First impressions of Glasgow were not so good, dark, dank and oppressive architecture and the feeling that my fitted jacket and none-more-Hampshire accent were going to cause unwanted attention. The emergence of the sun however and a couple of pots of tea and we (literally) warmed to the place, the big buildings now looking shiny and impressive instead of intimidating.
It was to be three days of solid boozing, walking, dancing, ice cream eating and realising that Nich 52 is a git who will stop you getting laid. The bastard.
Below then is the one bit I do have documented, written on the train from glasgow to edinburgh many weeks ago. It's obviously not finished but will have to do for now.
Before I put it in however a bit of housekeeping. I have moved house. For a bit. Until the end of July I will be living at 43 East Avenue, Oxford, OX4 1XP. Then I will move again but don't know the address off hand.
SCOTLAND 1:
It was supping the second of my preparatory pints of Sam Smiths ‘Extra Stout’ that the doubts set in.
I had vowed never to use the Megabus again hadn’t I? Not after last time. Not after the Evans/Scott Newcastle to Reading debacle of ’06.
Come to think of it, hadn’t I vowed to never use a coach again ever? Not after my last National Express trip - a journey so tortuously slow and full of cockney lads and old biddies that I abandoned bus at a petrol station on the outskirts of Leeds and got the bleedin’ train home instead.
In light of these previous experiences I’m pretty sure the idea of a 926 mile round trip to Scotland, with 759 miles to be completed by coach, was supposed to be vetoed in the early planning stages and filed away in my (soon to be overflowing) box of bad ideas.
Still, life is for the living and the promise of nearly three whole days of Scottish based hi-jinks tempted even this most ardent of anti-coach campaigners. With a heady optimism therefore we (me and Nich52) leapt aboard our Megabus ready for the off. Or rather, we didn’t, due to some cretinous overbooking on behalf of megabus.com. On we jumped instead then to an alternative Megabus service. Noteable passengers on board included a mouthy Frenchman (resplendent in beret), a dour Scot (resplendent in ginger hair) and a chubby girl (resplendent in lard) en route to a ball-room dancing competition in Preston.
Thus followed the usual litany of bizarre coach based experiences, highlights this time including a dive off the motorway into residential Coventry to drop off a megabus staffer at his home as well as the wanton destruction of a pleasing hedgerow down a narrow country lane - a manoeuvre necessitated by the presence of a pesky low bridge forcing us to 3 point turn our way out of a single track road. It as though these drivers don’t know where they are going. Oh.
Later rather than sooner then, we pulled into Glasgow Bus Station, really rather happy to be off the coach for the first time in nine hours (megabus not being big believers in service station comfort breaks). Having found our way to the city centre and been awed on the way to discover a pub that was still open (we arrived at 08:13am) the search for bite to eat began.
Ignoring the multitude of starbucks’, café nero’s and prêt a bollocks’ we discovered the much more pleasing Dino’s Diner - American/Italian restaurant by night, sandwich shop by lunch and greasy spoon at breakfast - incredible scenes.
First impressions of Glasgow were not so good, dark, dank and oppressive architecture and the feeling that my fitted jacket and none-more-Hampshire accent were going to cause unwanted attention. The emergence of the sun however and a couple of pots of tea and we (literally) warmed to the place, the big buildings now looking shiny and impressive instead of intimidating.
It was to be three days of solid boozing, walking, dancing, ice cream eating and realising that Nich 52 is a git who will stop you getting laid. The bastard.