I’m writing this on a coach. I know. How embarrassing.
I’m failing to read Kerouac by the insufficient, electric, light, drinking M&S’s own brand cola, which is fucking awful. As was my earlier sandwich. And so is my seat. Everything about this experience is awful.
The coach stinks of piss. People are talking – which I hate. The vehicle is swaying. It took almost a cocking hour to get out of London (wouldn’t get that on a train) and I can’t buy any booze here. Schoolboy error, travelling dry.
I’m on this coach because the journey I am making tonight necessitated it. Which is irritating. I shall endeavour to never take a coach again. I don’t take them very often, less because I hate them but more due to the fact that I love train travel (not in a nerdy way, in a pro-HS2, “rails not roads” kind of way). Trains are better for the environment, faster, more direct, and often offer beautiful views of the countryside one would seldom get to see otherwise.
The stretch of coast travelling south from Edinburgh, the north banks of the Severn estuary on the South Wales -Midlands line, the Chilterns the fabled HS2 will offer views of… Train travel is somehow BETTER than coach travel because it is not on roads, it offers a more detached experience of movement. And, of course, because it’s more expensive and thus you avoid having to sit across from real scum. (I’m joking. You DEFINITELY get scum on long distance trains. Probably book in advance.)