Bus Routes In Cheshire
41: Chester to Whitchurch
He alternates between sniffing up and blowing out of one of his nostrils with enough force to snuff out the candles on an octogenarian’s birthday cake.
He alternates between sniffing up and blowing out of one of his nostrils with enough force to snuff out the candles on an octogenarian’s birthday cake.
You might be desperate to escape, but the local authorities are determined to trick you into staying, as the timetables on the walls of the bus station are all for Gobowen, a village a few miles away.
We’re expecting Oswestry to either be weird or brilliant. Isolated towns without a railway station usually are, and – spoiler alert – we find out that it’s definitely one of them.
This heady concoction of sweat and sun cream has violently disagreed with the wee beasties, leaving their lifeless exoskeletons strewn between my freckles, and leading to a very rare victory for me against insects.
It’s then that he lets out a triple sneeze of such magnitude that, with his left hand holding a bag and his right catching his germs, his already low-slung shorts have nothing to stop them from sliding down beyond his knees.
Our first stop is to let a worker off at the West Midlands Safari Park, which judging by the fibreglass model of a sauropod guarding the entrance, clearly hasn’t heeded the dire warnings of the various Jurassic Park films.
As soon as we step off the bus in Ludlow, we are haughtily sniffed at by a pair of immaculately brushed Afghan hounds who are straight out of Timotei central casting.