travel writer

By Tim Saunders

A day out in London is an enjoyable experience when travelling with National Express. As a motorist, well used to fretting about parking and the challenges of motorway driving, I am more than happy to sit back and let someone else take the strain.

Parking on the outskirts of Southampton we walk to the coach station in the city, which is about twenty minutes away. It’s a nice summer’s day. This is an adventure and the day feels like a holiday. Henry (8) is happy to walk alongside his older sisters Harriett (13) and Heidi (11), which means Caroline and I can rest a little.

Boarding the coach and finding our seats is easy. It’s a pretty new vehicle in very good condition and the interior features comfortable leather seats for every passenger, with plenty of room. Try getting this luxury on a train in rush hour. CCTV provides peace of mind for travellers and the driver alike. We have a bit of fun with this by waving and pulling faces. It doesn’t take much for us to enjoy ourselves. It takes about two-and-a-half hours to travel to London Victoria – leaving at 0915 and arriving at 1150 – precision time keeping despite traffic, which is impressive. It’s a slick operation with well behaved passengers and a courteous driver. As we leave the coach station we notice lots of National Express coaches driving around the city. It’s somehow comforting to see this. We see our first blue plaque on a house for James Bond writer Ian Fleming. Later in the day we see one on a house commemorating Swallows and Amazons author Arthur Ransome.

The whole part of travelling for us is to read maps and to talk to people, getting lost along the way helps us to discover and find ourselves. Having looked at the map in the coach station we’re still a little hazy about which direction Soho is. Caroline spots a couple of London cabbies having a natter and she asks them. They’re only too happy to explain. It’s about a half an hour walk in the end taking in Buckingham Palace where we see a guard in his box, and on through St James’ Park. There’s always a little nagging doubt in the back of the mind. Are we actually heading in the right direction? We see some striking architecture. We stop to watch some street dancing and then move on to check our route with another helpful street map. “Do you know where Old Compton Street is?” Caroline asks a young woman. “No, I just use Google Maps,” comes the reply. That’s sad and seems to be a recurring issue these days as everyone seems to be glued to devices rather than walking upright and taking in their surroundings. We’re fine, says a street vendor, just ten minutes away now. And before we know it we arrive at Poppies fish and Chips in Old Compton Street. This is a delightful restaurant and takeaway. We dine inside and are instantly taken back to the 1960s thanks to the tasteful décor from that period. Formica tables, bright floor tiles, period wallpaper and posters featuring the likes of Marilyn Monroe all set a perfect backdrop for an excellent meal. Family friendly we spy all ages from young through to old very happily tucking into the finest fish and chips. This business, founded in 1952, has a great story behind each dish. The effort that goes into catching the fresh fish each day and the preparation involved in getting it on your plate is something to be respected. The same goes for the chips, freshly prepared from potatoes on their Cambridge farm. Sparkling high quality knives and forks start our culinary journey. Caroline, Heidi and I have to try the cod and chips – I’m so hungry I have to have a large cod. Harriett has a chicken pie and Henry a sausage. A Henry Weston’s cider for Caroline, a pint of pale ale for me and fizzy drinks for the children. When our meals arrive on plates featuring the Poppies emblem and little jars of Poppies homemade tartar sauce, we savour each mouthful. This is great food and we thoroughly enjoy it. “Is everything ok?” the manager asks. “Yes, it certainly is,” we all reply in unison. There’s nothing left on any plate, which is really great for Henry because he is a picky eater. For pudding Caroline and I go for the homemade apple pie while Heidi and Harriett have the sticky toffee pudding and Henry has three scoops of strawberry ice cream. Again, delicious. “You can tell this is homemade,” says Caroline. “Sometimes apple pie can be a bit stodgy but this is just right and a perfectly sized portion.” Heidi can’t quite manage all her sticky toffee pudding so I finish it off! This is very tasty too with a good amount of toffee in it. Very contented we leave and make our way up the road for some exploring.

We soon find ourselves in Fortnum & Mason, the upmarket department store. It soon feels overwhelming with shoppers and products. For us the highlight of this shop is the fabric seagulls that fly up and down between the floors accompanied by their squawking. I have to take a video.

Mooching on we stumble across some soul singing at St James’s Piccadilly and then find ourselves walking to St James’ Park where we dreamily collapse in a heap in the shade of the afternoon sun. Henry sits watching a game of football while we relax and do a spot of people watching. This idyllic time doesn’t last long and a piggyback is soon required for little Henry. My poor back. We find a bench and sit on it for a couple of minutes, watching the park attendant doing the rounds collecting £4 an hour for deckchair customers. We then waddle through the gardens to see some geese and the lake. It’s time for some more exploring so we make our way to Big Ben and the Houses of Parliament. The gold on Big Ben really does shine in the sunlight. Suddenly a police motorcyclist stops the traffic for a fleet of brand new Bentleys and Rolls Royces of all colours. It must be Royalty. A little boy in the passenger seat of one, waves to us.

It’s getting towards seven o’clock and the coach leaves London Victoria in an hour so we think it wise to start heading back. Tiredness kicks in and when we’re tired we make mistakes and we do make mistakes but gradually correct them and then start running like mad, finally getting to the station with ten minutes to spare. Phew. Boy, are we glad to see our National Express coach. You start thinking about what would happen if we arrived late and all the problems that would occur as a result. Thank goodness we’re safe and secure in our reserved seats and return home quarter of an hour early. Now that’s impressive.

“It’s travelling without the pressure thanks to National Express,” sighs Caroline as she hits the pillow.

It really does open up the world of carefree travelling and I start thinking of other as yet unexplored destinations...