For those of a delicate...

disposition...

look away NOW.

The irreverent confessions of a virgin 

coach traveller

Sit back, close your eyes and let me take you 

on the trip of a lifetime.

In these straightened times, I thought it

would be prudent to cut our cloth and all that jazz.

To this end, out went the dreams of the Maldives,

Mauritius, Palau, the Arctic and beyond.

In came, like a knight in shining armour

Mr Shearing and his trusty steed...

the coach.

What better way than to blow the many and various 

cobwebs away, than a little light fell-walking?

Hating with a passion snobbery: I have a sneaky feeling

I am one...

'A coach trip!'

 said in my best Lady Bracknell tones.

The worm hiding in the very depths of my innards,

stirred, lifted its head and wondered...

'Surely not!'

the ghastly thought quivered down its entire length.

Ted, I must say took some persuading;

in true feller tradition made a token stand,

knowing all along the inevitable outcome.

Monday morning, before even the sun was up,

we set off.

Pack-up, packed up.

Books, Kindle, iPod, pencil, notepad,

barley sugars, Fisherman's Friends,

Rennies. Imodium... you

get the drift!  All safely stowed away

like illegals in the back of a lorry.

A 90 year young pal said

'Remember there will be plenty of 'comfort' breaks

for the oldies!'

'That's alright then, that saves packing the left-over

Miss Tena pads from our lovely little Lettice!'

Merely a precautionary measure you understand.

Well...

We stopped, we started, we got on, we got off.

Our first real stop was at Clacketts service station

on the M25, a mere 25 miles and two hours from home.

"Sit back LL, try not to remember whose bright idea this was!'

Ten hours later we arrived at Windermere.

Taken as we enjoyed our hotel supplied picnic

My abiding memory of the trip was the sea of

personal communication devices (deaf aids), topped off

with waves of grey hair.

To say I don't count myself among their numbers

would be wrong, so wrong on so many fronts.

For starters... in my eyes everyone...

yes everyone is older than me,

even my grandchildren...

work that one out if you can!

The driver advertised the trips arranged for us.

With a bum rapidly sporting seat sores overlaid

with hard skin, I must confess I couldn't get excited.

Added to which one was to a retail park, the other a garden centre...

Wot?

Living not a million miles away from

Bluewater, I pride myself on being the sole remaining

inhabitant of the S.E. who hasn't ever been and never ever will.

Why?

Would you want to, when there

are fells to be walked, or at least looked at

for the less able.

We did have fun, we laughed, we climbed, we strode

out like latter-day pioneers.

Our bott's didn't sit again on the coach until

it was time to come home.

We did however jump on a bus and use our free old

dears bus pass, which at home never sees the light of day.

And then on our return, imagine our dismay to read that

they are thinking of taking that privilege away from us...

Well I mean to say, what is the country coming to?

Sitting in the bar, we got chatting to a couple...

'We were very happy to find a Waterstones!'

'Wow, that was a stroke of luck!'

says I, thinking of deep and meaningful conversations

of Proust or Tolstoy.

Oh alright then, Bills and Moon.

'Sorry my husband means Weatherspoons!'

My interest waned.