Bus Routes In Derbyshire
393: Glossop to Padfield
Slower Travel returns with a tense race to El’s auntie’s pub in Padfield. Who’ll win, though: the train or the 393?
Slower Travel returns with a tense race to El’s auntie’s pub in Padfield. Who’ll win, though: the train or the 393?
The 351 is as quirky a bus as you’ll find in the UK. It’s also the only service I’ve ever known which had its frequency halved thanks to it becoming too popular.
“Here you go,” Pat says, pointing to a clump of dots on his camera’s viewfinder, “I’m pretty sure that’s the top of Muhammad Ali’s head there. I waited hours for that and he’s pixelated to buggery.”
We pass a cafe called The Scotch Egg, which must have the most magnificent sign in the entire SK postcode. The ‘o’ in ‘Scotch’ is a cartoon of a scotch egg dressed in a kilt and tam o’shanter, while the wayward nature of its eggy limbs suggests it is mid-Highland Fling.
Not that there was anything wrong at all with Birchover or the campsite, but it was my first time sleeping under canvas, and I just wasn’t prepared for inadequate pillow facilities or to wake up covered in mid-sized spiders.
Putting the letter ‘e’ and a dash in front of a word doesn’t make the object in any way more modern or desirable. Just like adding ‘2000’ as a suffix to provincial club names in the 90s didn’t make fights less likely to break out at their funky house nights.
The building is so oppressive that I’m developing the early stages of architectural Stockholm Syndrome towards it. Sheffield Syndrome, I suppose.
From a polar bear bench pressing a giant key in Norilsk, the magnificent minimalism of Magnitogorsk’s black triangle, and the bag of wriggling puppies being drowned in a sack on Petropavlovsk-Kamchatsky’s standard, Russia has an instinctive understanding of how to best represent yourself on a flag.