YesBut what a journey.

I think Eurolines must have a group of highly trained individuals whose sole reason for existence is to make my life a misery.

Mrs YesBut and myself left London by coach last night to travel to Holland. As soon as the coach moved off from Victoria Coach Station, the woman seated in front of us started a series of phone conversations. I don’t know why she used a phone, because she was speaking so loud her relatives in the North of Scotland could have heard her. It was incessant yak yak until we reached the Channel Tunnel. Thank goodness phones don’t work in the tunnel.

I don’t particularly like travelling through the tunnel. It’s like being broiled in a cigar tube. I prefer when the coach crosses by ferry from Dover. OK sometimes the crossing can be rough, and in really bad conditions sailings are delayed. But at least on the ferry you can walk around, have a cup of tea, wander around the duty free shop and go to the toilet. But going by the Eurotunnel you just have to sit on the bus as it is transported by train.

As soon as we got into the tunnel, the snorers started. Why is it ever time we travel, there is a World Champion Snorer on the bus? They are normally fat men whose snore starts at their toes and gains in volume as it resonates up through their body, until it is finally expelled with gusto out of their cavernous wobbling foul smelling breath flabby mouth. The one we had on last nights coach was a real champion, he could simultaneously snore and whistle.

I sat there getting more annoyed devising ingenious plans to shut up the snorting pig. I could tap him on his shoulder to wake him up, and ask him politely not to snore. Or I could stuff an orange in his mouth, (I’ll have to remember to add an orange onto my list of essential requisites). Perhaps I could shout “stop”, the driver would break, and the snorer would be catapulted out of the bus.

Absolute torment sitting there for six hours feeling wretched, exhausted but unable to sleep because of that ##### snorer. What a relief when he got off the coach at Breda.

But would you believe it, the coach stopping at Breda woke up the woman in the seat before us. Suffering from withdrawal symptoms having not made a phone call for eight hours, she was immediately on the phone.

What dastardly act did I commit in the past that I am punished now?

For the return journey, as well as an orange I’ll need to put ear plugs on my must get list.

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