National Express

There is something I've realised recently about National Express coaches.

They are probably better if you spend the majority of your time on the unconscious. They are most likely even better if you spend the entire time unconscious.

Don't get me wrong, the coaches aren't exactly 53 or so mismatched wooden chairs strapped to the floor with bungee cords on top of a plywood floor with no sides, but this coach was even less comfortable to sit on than your average London bus during rush hour (and I know how bad that can be).
So, not great.

So don't believe any crap they might advertise about it being an incredibly relaxing experience for everyone who is sober or conscious. Unless you enjoy being miserable (which is, in itself, a paradox).

Let me tell you where I'm coming from here:
Leg room.The designers on this coach must believe that the population of England have legs no thicker than pine-needles, or at least that if squished into a small space they will mould to fit the shape like putty or what not.
Coupled to the fact that moving means you will be digging your knee caps into the back of the person in front of you, the seat recline a staggering distance of half an inch. Perfect for an over night journey.


But I guess the experience wasn't all there fault. It is difficult to tell who the annoying people will be before they get on the coach, and they can hardly refuse them transport.
Just an example: There was a woman sitting across from me. It was the middle of the night, and the only light was coming from the blue safety lights above us (don't get me wrong, I could read a bloody book by that light - any hope of sleeping meant pulling my hood over my head and halfway down my face - but every colour was distorted slightly). She pulled something from her bag in a white wrapper and began to eat, but my tired and disoriented mind couldn't tell what it was. So my mind gave up on image recognition and tried to assess the situation using smell alone.
Problem was, all I could smell was the woman's soapy-perfume she had used in order to mask the fact she smoked, cigarette smoke (yeah, redundant perfume FTW) and the recently flushed toilet (which only seemed to smell AFTER you flushed it?).
So I assumed she was eating some sort of lightly smoke scented soap that she'd accidently dropped in the toilet bowl but had decided "it's still good, I can eat it".

As if I didn't already feel sick enough.

Another thing I learned from my journey:

If Hannah sits upright on a coach for more than 5 hours - even if she regularly uses the toilet at service stations or indeed the back of the coach - her stomach insists on attempting gymnastics every 5 seconds. And also her rear end goes numb even if she stands up for five minutes.

-Hannah

P.S. I think I'm going to have to start some sort of blog with all the things I notice on it, so that I have something to blog about.

Imma do that now.