For a few years I have always fancied travelling to London from my home town only using regular bus transport. The rules would be no trains, no taxis, no trams, no coach travel, however walking would be permitted. The journey would thus be from Kendal, the nearest town to me with a bus service, down to London Euston where I would catch a handy Avanti train back home should I succeed.
Regular buses, excepting the ones that run town circular routes generally go from town or city to town or city with the caveat that it is generally always to the nearest city or town and that’s the end of the journey on that particular bus. I looked at various options and I decided that keeping initially to the west and then The Midlands would be best. I studied a schematic rail map of the UK and decided to skirt Birmingham to the east due to enrichment reasons, the rail map had the town and cities arranged in a logical way, like the London Underground map and helped with planning.
Typing into Google, for example ‘’Lancaster to Preston by bus’’ usually brought up the bus operator, the bus number and the company website generally had a pdf timetable to view. If there was no service then AI provided an explanation stating that these two towns are not directly connected and suggested an alternative. Google Maps sometimes found more than one operator on the same route so I consulted both. Generally speaking buses depart every 30 minutes or so, more frequently down south with 6am being the start of things. With that in mind I employed the KISS principle and just took the next available bus rather than over plan.
Anyways, I kicked off on a Monday morning having persuaded Mrs P to drop me off in Kendal – actually she didn’t need much persuasion as it meant she would have peace for a few days. She had work to do and I was early for the bus so I swung the car around one mile short of the station, got out and walked. Kendal bus station is an ugly looking building, like some Eastern European prison perhaps, the picture flatters it. The first bus was the service to Lancaster, the 555 which I think starts off in Keswick. I paid my £3.00 (thanks Labour for the bus price cap) via credit card, which was easy and worked for the rest of the trip, settled myself upstairs on the double-decker and watched the scenery pass buy, it was 7.30am.
To drive to Lancaster by car via the M6 takes about 40 minutes, the bus needs the thick end of two hours. Just as soon as it gets up to speed on an A road, the brakes and indicator come on and it swings through a local village and makes about 6 stops and then repeats the exercise many more times then a further 10 stops or so as it gets close to the destination bus station. There is simply no point wishing for the driver to get his clog down as there are always several timed stops en-route and if progress has been too rapid then he waits at the stop until the timetable allows him to proceed, onboard telemetry puts a stop to speeding along. Never once were we early at destination but also we were never late by more than two minutes, something I found remarkable given the generally shambolic nature of our public transport systems.
The journey was pleasant with some views of Morcambe bay as we passed through Slyne-with-Hest.
Into Lancaster bus station and with good luck I spotted my next bus to Preston and rushed onto it with moments to spare. This bus ride was uneventful, again taking a few hours as it swung into some housing estates and Lancaster University stopping at several places. That university is built on a big site for sure. Upon arrival at Preston bus station I spotted a greasy spoon cafe in the building so it was a large English breakfast and tea. It was very nice and the waiter was on good form – ‘’here you go love’’ as a big pile of food appeared. I ate the lot went to the toilet and then looked for my next bus.
This journey was on the X2 bus from Preston to Southport and onwards to Liverpool all in one hit. Boy, that was a long ride taking in the full length of Lord Street in Southport, through the beautiful little town of Birkdale, past RAF Woodvale then doglegs Via Formby and into Liverpool, close to the old Mersey tunnel entrance.
Next was a bus to Chester, the X1 service from Liverpool Whitechapel. Obviously this bus passed under the Mersey and it utilized the old tunnel, hogging the outside lane so as not to lose the upper deck on the tunnel structure, James Bond style. A couple of scrawny dindoos and a dindoess had seemingly snuck onto the bus before it entered the tunnel, so first stop in Birkenhead, the driver stopped the bus, came upstairs and said they either got off now or paid – they paid. My God, what a dump Birkenhead was, buildings falling down, derelict properties, shit and litter everywhere. I was born on the Wirral and I can remember my mum taking us into Birkenhead to go shopping in a department store called Beatties. I used to walk to Hamilton square as a small boy to take the ferry to Liverpool and come back on the train for fun during school holidays, sadly I would not fancy letting a kid try that today. Past Cammell Laird ship builders, a large place looking well kept but opposite a complete shit tip line of housing and shops all closed down and boarded up. To think how busy the area must have been when Birkenhead docks and the ship building industry was full steam ahead, pubs on every street corner and wives out applying Cardinal Red to their front door steps on a daily basis.
Chester Zoo was a stop, with a few members of staff getting on the bus, Chester was on the horizon and it was 3pm, very warm on the bus so I decided enough was enough and found a hotel for the night in the city centre.
I found a cheapish hotel on the Hotels.com app, I noticed that I was still a mile away from the centre but hopped off the bus to take a walk for the last bit, I walked under the city walls and I knew I was getting close. Chester was busy, with gangs of tourists but not as I remember it from years ago when you could hardly move in the city centre. My hotel was pleasant enough, it needed a lick of paint here and there but the room was clean and functional and the aircon unit on the wall worked perfectly and soon had the room to a decent temperature. The ‘Spoons app suggested the nearest pub was 500 yards away so after a quick snooze It was time for scampi and chips and real ale at a true bargain price, ‘Spoons was busy which is entirely normal. After dinner I took a stroll up to the railway station and along the banks of the River Dee before buying a few odds and sods to have for breakfast. I noted that a few hotels out of the city centre appeared to have closed down, I wonder if Chester is not so popular with tourists these days?
Some homework for the next day was needed, the first bus I planned to take was the C84 to Crewe, first departure was 0600, and the next was at 0700. I decided to take the 0700 bus. I had double luck, there was a bus stop along the route that was very close to the hotel and the nearby Greggs opened at 0630, so I purchased a bacon butty and a latte and enjoyed them in peace before nipping to the bus stop with 2 minutes to spare – the buses never depart early so no worries on that score.
This was my first experience with a nut job. I was aware of random words emanating from a few seats behind me, I assumed a chap was on his phone and getting animated at times, however when I looked back I discovered some bloke randomly speaking to nobody. Very odd, no explanation especially at that time in the morning but I reasoned that he wasn’t displaying any signs of wanted to harm folk. This was my first single decker bus and it made its way through Cheshire, deviating from the main road to pass through the beautiful village of Tarvin and small town of Tarporley. They looked fabulous with hanging flower baskets, zero rubbish and a plethora of decent little coffee shops with zero Turkish barbers that I spotted. Well worth a little outing I would say. The town of Nantwich came up next, a bigger town but looking in good order, school kids were well and truly part of the scene now due to the time of day. 5 minutes in the bus station and then on to Crewe where the journey ended at Crewe bus station. I found I had 30 minutes of spare time so I had a stroll around and noted a huge area that looked like a cleaned up bomb site. I spoke to a couple of elderly chaps sitting outside a greasy spoon and asked what went on there. ‘’Oh the council demolished the old row of shops, British Home Stores etc and build a huge multi storey car park that nobody uses because the out of town shopping development is where everyone goes these days. They’ve no money left.’’ Very sad really, the centre was clearly on a downward spiral. I noted that the Crewe Heritage Centre is close to the town centre and has some interesting exhibits including the failed Advanced Passenger Train, Pete Waterman is involved I think, I must pay a visit some day.
My next bus was operated by First Potteries, the 103 and took me on to Hanley, one of the towns of Stoke-on-Trent . Nothing remarkable on this journey only that I noted that it passed through Alsager and Kidsgrove, in the shadow of Mow Cop. Hanley followed the same rules as Crewe and Birkenhead, signs of decay, poverty, rubbish and poor looking people. Probably a far cry from its former years when it had a reputable shopping centre and Stoke was a busy industrial city.
Onwards to the market town of Stafford on the 103, passing through the town of Stone. I made a slight mistake in Stafford, not recognising the official bus station and ended up disembarking at the railway station, one stop too many. It was lunchtime by now and after a quick walk through Victoria Park and the ducks I found myself in The Picture House, a ‘Spoons pub. A lovely former cinema with a decorative ceiling and some memorabilia dotted around. As usual the food and drink was good value and I decided that I would take my time over lunch and see what the timetable had to offer for my next journey. I found myself with another 25 minutes on my hands and so sat next to a drunk on a park bench and decided to chat to him. I honestly couldn’t work out what he was saying no matter how hard I tried, but I got the idea that he’d not been home in around 5 days and had forgotten where he lives. I asked if he knew where the nearest public toilet was, which was probably a stupid question as I imagine he uses a tree like a dog but a very pleasant young lady on the next bench just suggested I used Costa. Well I never thought of that one, folk are clever, so I thanked her and off I trotted saying that I hope the staff won’t shout at me ‘’they won’t, I do it all the time.’’ She was correct.
The next journey was really the start of the route designed to keep away from Birmingham, the prospect of that filled me with dread. So it was the 828 service to Lichfield, passing through Rugeley or being more accurate, doing a figure of 8 around all the main areas. I noted that we passed the Stafford Regiment HQ Quarters and they had a museum with some equipment on the lawn by the entrance. And then onwards on the X65 and 65 services to Tamworth and Nuneaton.
The buses were getting unpleasantly hot now as we were approaching late afternoon, however I could not seem to find a hotel within close range of the bus station at a sensible price so I decided upon taking just one more journey towards Coventry. This was a good move as the bus on the 56 service appeared to be more modern, a hybrid bus I think but importantly it had working aircon, not that powerful but did seem to drop the internal temperature by several degrees. Upon reaching Coventry I realised that I had been on the go for 12 hours, with probably around 10 hours actually in buses and I was getting tired. Snoozing or making yourself comfortable was impossible as all the buses shook, banged, thumped, walloped and rattled due to our third world potholed roads. They were on air suspension too. This was to be my longest day for travel.
Trivago pinged up the Britannia hotel near the bus station but bugger that, they house gimmigrants so I found another on the other side of the city, the Highlands Hotel, around a mile walk but that would stretch my legs a little. During the walk I passed a restaurant that had some outside seating and seemed very popular so settled down to some food and beer, I felt a change from ‘Spoons was in order. The hotel was odd, a big place in need of some decoration. Upon entering the reception area I spotted 5 men in suits, two behind the counter wearing passes with the lanyards issued by a police force. Oh dear, what’s going on here I wondered, so I joked to the receptionist about them coming for me but he kept tight lipped regarding their presence. I locked myself into my room and turned the deadlock too.
By now I had discovered that setting off early doors was the order of the day due to the global frying in the UK so I aimed to catch the 06.10 departure to Rugby in the morning. Upon checking out I asked the night watchman guy if the plods had gone and he said they were still here, there was indeed a plod panda car in the car park so goodness knows what the hell was going on there, anyway I survived! The convenience store by the bus stops had a door security goon on duty at that time of the morning, so goodness knows what the theft rate must be later in the day. I purchased some water and snacks for breakfast. Nothing nice about Coventry centre so I was glad to be on a bus whisking me away. This particular bus ride was interesting as it was with a 100% electric bus. It was nice, the aircon was working and there was a complete lack of sound from an old diesel engine, whining transmission and near constant gear changes. It also accelerated briskly. Upon arrival into Rugby I quizzed the very pleasant young driver who said he liked driving them but was now taking the bus to the Rugby depot to be recharged. Honestly, one trip from Cov to Rugby and the thing was ready for charging – you’re going to need three times the number of busses to do the job and goodness knows how much that will cost. I found a handy Greggs in Rugby so it was a bacon roll and a latte again.
Onwards, Northampton and Milton Keynes. MK was a strange place indeed, however on the plus side the bust stop was situated adjacent to a large shopping mall and as the clock just ticked over to 11.31 it meant that I could buy lunch at McDonalds, all nice and freshly cooked.
Initially I had planned to head, possibly via Luton/Luton Airport to Watford and Brent Shopping Centre but I could not seem to find any regular buses heading south from Luton or Luton airport. A hasty replanning was required and I found myself heading to Aylesbury then to High Wycombe and onwards to Slough.
In Aylesbury I boarded the bus and told some teenage lad to get his feet off the seats, I seem to be getting less tolerant these days and one day it might go pear shaped. Enroute to HW the (female) driver made an emergency stop as a dozy woman in a Chelsea tractor decided to scythe across our bows to turn left almost getting T-boned by our bus that was busy minding its own business in the bus lane.
I arrived at HW bus station and spotted the bus to Slough that was just departing. I walked at top speed to see the door closing and the bus just starting to reverse off stand. I walked out of the building hoping the driver might pop the door open and let me on, I noticed him mouthing something at me. Sensing some fun and games I approached the bus door pretending that I was trying to lip read and then then walked around to the driver’s window. ‘’What are you doing here’’ ‘’trying to find out what you are saying’’ ‘’no, what are you doing outside the bus’’ ‘’trying to get on, will you let me on?’’ ‘’No.’’ ‘’OK, so the reason I am here is because I was trying to board the bus, are you happy that you have my explanation?’’ My tone had changed by now and the driver had gone red in the face, a Polish chap that was clearly a guy that was used to bullying the meek and mild and hadn’t planned on my aggressive response. Anyways, the next bus was in 10 minutes and so I had a chat with another driver who was having a break and walking around to stretch his legs. A young male car driver drove through the bus park in his blinged up Corsa spinning the front wheels with the handbrake on, plenty of tyre smoke, I laughed suggesting that would probably have been me decades ago and just hoped he didn’t kill anyone. I arrived in Slough. It was around 2pm by now and it was also hot so pushing on to Euston I judged to be too much. I looked for a suitable hotel for the night and a bit of a relax. I noticed a bus going to Uxbridge and though that would take me onto the TFL buses stage of the journey and that would also be great for an early start. I booked a room in a converted large house that was right outside the main entrance to Brunel University and found some shops for food and an ice cream. Later in the evening when the air had cooled a little I went for a walk, found a duck pond, watched ducks, a friendly heron and also spotted the 222 service bus stop displaying a timetable for buses heading to Hounslow, that would save me the walk back to Uxbridge in the morning.
A 6am start was in order as it was already warm, this was my first ever ride on a London bus and I had spend some time working out how to pay, I didn’t have the Lobster card thingy, nor did I know where the hell you get them from, drivers would not take cash so I just hoped that a credit card would do the job. It did, the machine went beep, the driver never turned his head so I sat down. The area around Heathrow is fairly familiar to me and I passed a shop just off the Bath road called Sovereign Food and Wine. It is within walking distance of the big hotels and having frequently stayed there on company business I would often go to purchase a fresh curry at a bargain price. Another little mistake, I missed my Hounslow West stop due to chatting with another passenger and found myself walking back through Hounslow’s pedestrianised area. My god, another filthy dump with ethnics all setting up their market stalls and gibbering away in foreign languages, keep away from there late at night.
TFL have a good website and a route builder app and so I used it to plan my journey to Euston. The hard part was finding the way to uncheck all the various options leaving only ‘bus.’ Clearly it isn’t built to cater for idiots like me, but begrudgingly it found me a route by bus alone: Hounslow West H91, Chiswick Lane, walk to Turnham Green, 94 to Lancaster Gate, 272 to Baker Street and the 18 to Euston.
At Hounslow West I found myself among hundreds of kids heading to school. My bus had 10 minutes to wait before departure and so the driver was resting on a bench seat on the lower deck. One scamp school boy spotted the rear door open and jumped on heading straight upstairs. This awoke the driver who promptly went up after him and after a couple of minutes, the boy emerged with his tail between his legs. Of note, among the almost 100% ethnic children was the huge numbers with some sort of visible defect. One seemed to have a neck that was a bit too long and he walked with his head stooped like an old man, others seemed to have odd looking faces, glasses like jam jar ends and walked with varying degrees of abnormal gaits. Goodness also knows what sort of brain deficiencies these kids must have, you perhaps get an insight into why they are so fond of terrorist acts, they probably take around 10 minutes to radicalise. Huge problems for the UK in the future.
The Journey to Chiswick Lane took forever, much of it on a dual carriageway that was gridlocked and the average speed must have been 5mph. Walking to Turnham Green I spotted a coffee shop so had a latte and a cinnamon pastry, many folk seemed to be set up there for the day, doing their laptop work via the free wi-fi. The bus to Lancaster gate was even slower, I joked to myself that I could swim faster, and after another 10 minutes I had another thought, no joke, that I really would be better off walking. Google Maps was suggesting less than 3 miles to Euston on foot so I jumped off the bus and started to walk, the bus never caught me up, all I can say is that taking the bus in central London is simply madness, walking is quicker and cheaper. It was very hot, I kept in the shade as best as I could and walked at only a moderate pace. London is truly remarkable, in an instant you seem to be in a bad spot and then suddenly you see houses that probably cost 2 million a pop. Harley Street was noticed, the wax polished front doors and the shiny brass plaques together with Ferraris. I imagined that Sozzininski lives here somewhere. The Post Office tower was visible now, and Warren Street – I know that area and took the side entrance to Euston and had a sneaky look at the HS2 station area c/o a security guard who opened a door for me to have a little look.
So that was that, 3.5 days of travel, one day of 12 hours duration and then Avanti West Coast back home again which ran perfectly. It could be done, fairly easily but it was tiring and I won’t be repeating the exercise for some time!
© text & images Cardinal Puff 2025
