All packed and eager, I awoke from my two-hour sleep ready to walk to the bus station.
To find rain. Not just a little, but dirty great drips so heavy the contents of my case would be drenched before I even reached the end of my road.
It is also worth mentioning at this point that I dyed my hair the day before - and it had that beautiful bounce that only comes of having newly-coloured hair. In my imaginings, I would be swishing off the bus in Cardiff, all hair and glamour. Yes, I am something of a dreamer - you really should have got that by now…
Suffice it to say I really did not want wet hair - I also didn’t relish the idea of having to dry clothes in my hotel room on arriving - so I wimped out and called a taxi.
The driver was very nice and seemed quite knowledgeable, so to hear “The weather’s great in Cardiff today” spoken with the same authority as a report on the state of traffic on the drive over I was hopeful of Sunshine. Especially given that the sky had started to clear at some time around ‘too late to walk now’ and I could see I was leaving a potentially not too unpleasant day behind me.
A glance through the social networks suggested otherwise… but I certainly wasn’t travelling for the weather, now, was I?
Arriving at the station posed an interesting situation. I thought it would be simple - head directly to the ticket desk to find which bay I needed and await my bus.
Ticket desk, it seems, is not deemed necessary on a Saturday when the majority of people do their travelling - but I was able to locate the zone, bus arrived and we boarded.
Amongst my fellow travellers were a pair of teens; a brother and sister, as mum told us all between her sobs, travelling without her for the first time. I would imagine she might still be crying. They were chatting and laughing the moment we pulled out of the station.
This made me a little sad, as no-one had bothered even waking to see me off at home, least of all coming to the station - but at least I was saved the guilt of leaving them I guess.
Travelling itself was not the trauma I had anticipated. I don’t travel well, but given that there were only ten people on the coach I was able to sit at the front with a full view and even had a little table should I decide to work. Yes, I should have I know…
I chose instead to listen to Pantheon of Heroes - and whilst searching for it discovered my mp3 player has an FM radio (travelling on a Saturday, headed to Wales; need I elaborate? Just. Pure. Joy. Or hope at least.)
As an aside, I know that some time ago there were tweetings of the writing of series two… even more anxious for it now!! HURRY UP!!!
I was surprised given that you must prebook for this journey the driver still had to call in at every town. It must be quite demoralising as a job having people shake their heads apologetically when they see you approach… and we could have arrived far more quickly had we cut out those towns and stuck to the main road. Nevertheless, it was nice to sit back and not be the driver for once, so I was a little grateful of the scenic detour.
At some point (it may have been Taunton, I really wasn’t paying attention) we acquired a group of hens and some other newcomers. Opposite me was now a Spanish guy - this I knew because he had little English and the struggle over communication with the driver piqued my interest enough that I removed my earphones for a moment. Anyway - having completed Pantheon, I had now embarked on a little Pappy’s catch-up and was working through the Bangers and Mash podcasts. Now having children I am obviously used to not giving voice to every sound I feel inclined to make (although it has been a while!) and as such the out-loud laughter was suitably stifled… the problem is, though, that stifling any noise does instill a facial expression and as I noticed Mr Spaniard watching me with a somewhat peculiar expression my initial indignation became embarrassment as I realised my face was contorting into some very strange ‘don’t laugh’ shapes as I tried to remain quiet. Not a sexy look, so I chose instead to brush up on my Welsh lessons… after all, when in Rome and all that! Very quickly we arrived in Bristol.
Now as with most cities, all I knew of Bristol was the hospitals and places we may have passed by during our many accidental detours and having the worst sense of direction in the world decided leaving the surprisingly small bus station might not be a sensible move. Thus I spent the hour and a half between journeys seated in a little coffee shop, having paid around £7 for a coffee, slice and a Double-decker watching the board for my bus. Incidentally, it is just as well I didn’t rely solely on the board, as my bus was never listed even as we pulled out of the station. I discovered at this point that the hens were also going to Cardiff - and they were to grow rowdier on the next leg of the journey!
Nearing time for phase two, I headed to the gate. There were a Polish couple headed to Bridgend who were just repeating over and again “Swansea, but” and laughing more hysterically each time. They made me chuckle, as did the peculiar lady who turned to a friend on seeing a bus with our number headed to a different gate and with ‘Heathrow’ in the destination window said:
“That’s ours”; “No, look, he’s going to Heathrow”; “Yes, but doesn’t ours go on to Heathrow? I’m sure I read somewhere that it’s going to Heathrow via Swansea.”
Were I her friend, I’d have been hard pressed to not send her to that gate and pop her on the bus regardless!
Anyway, phase two of my journey was not so great; this coach was a newer one, more designed for comfort with big seats and high, darkened windows. The seats were so high I could not reach the floor, the only thing on which to rest my feet was pumping out hot air and the guy behind me was in some sort of restless sleep that had him constantly kicking out at my seat during the journey. I immediately felt nauseous and claustrophobic and spent the entire drive scanning the radio for BBC Radio Wales to take my mind off the horrid feeling in my stomach…
I had a romantic vision that we would pass through the toll and instantly the voice of divinity would appear on my radio in some flamboyant welcome gesture. This didn’t happen. What I did hear was some fuzzy white noise a few miles after with a glint of Mr Corcoran at the back of it only recognisable to someone with a heightened interest in such things. But he was there. And I was able to listen to small moments between bouts of further fuzz until reaching the outskirts of Cardiff - the one place I thought for sure there would be a decent signal. Here he vanished altogether and rather despondent, I gave up looking for him.
We had found sunshine at around the point of the M5/J27 services and it had stayed with us for the most part through the journey. We left it at Newport, however. It’s probably just as well- Newport looked gloomy enough even with the sun we brought - in fact not even the presence of the funfair seemed to create any sort of joy.
Newport is a peculiar place. From the architecture it appears that there have been sporadic efforts at renovation which result in a new building, or maybe two or in some cases only half, of a particular style amidst a mish-mash of different designs. Even the new, modern buildings look tired and dirty. It is certainly an odd place to see!
So we left the sun in the hope it makes just one person in the town smile and drove on into ever heavier rain to reach our destination in a horrendous downpour.
Immediately on stepping out of the station I was thrown into a panic that I’d become one of those ‘rural girl killed within minutes of hitting the city’ statistics on being targeted by two guys wanting money. Being quite obviously not from round here, with my case and my bag and fully aware they were now following me (or at least walking in the same direction as I was), I hopped into a taxi rather than walking around not quite sure where I was going. With hindsight, I could have saved the money but it was raining as heavily as it had been at home and I didn’t see the point in taking chances - besides which, I needed to save the hair!
And so it was that I arrived at my hotel a little later than expected but nevertheless safe and happy into a room much lovelier than pictures had shown with most importantly a nice big mug for my coffee!
Quite uneventful as my journeys go, but the next is something else altogether!
