Whenever I travel to London these days, I take the National Express. It can work out cheaper than a tenner for a return journey if you’re lucky. This just about makes up for the fact that most of the coach company’s staff are some of the most belligerent, officious and unbudgeable I have ever come across.
Some staff, however, are very charming, especially the Richard Branson lookalike who is often my driver on a late Sunday evening return trip back to Bristol.
If I haven’t got a heavy bag to carry, I always arrive at Bristol bus station by bike, normally arriving at the last minute and usually locking my bike to the stands opposite the White Hart pub.
As per usual last Friday afternoon before my 3pm coach to London, I locked my bike in its normal place. Unusually, however, I had a bit of time to spare before the departure time, so I decided to frequent the White Hart.
For a pub I have never been tempted to enter before, two things have always intrigued me. Firstly, its age, for this is one of Bristol’s oldest hostelries, parts of the building date back to the twelfth century. Secondly, the fact that this pub always seems busy, no matter what time of day.
Who are these people who frequent the White Hart? Well, when I walked in, one woman was giving a muted rendition of Valerie in the corner, echoing Amy Winehouse’s live version on the stereo. And by the door, an Irishman standing inside was making friends with a group of Irishmen sitting outside, a popular spot in the sunshine.
I ensconced myself with a pint of Thatchers Gold in a comfy sofa in one corner, underneath the timber-framed roof and next to a poster advertising next Saturday’s karaoke nights, something I think I will unfortunately have to miss.
Leaving the White Hart was the only occasion in my life that I have ever looked forward to boarding a National Express coach.
The White Hart, Lower Maudlin Street, Bristol. 0117 926 8747.
