Ready and checked out by 2:30am for my ultra-luxury, zero-lie-flat National Express coach to Manchester Airport. Not that I was getting much rest anyway—I went to bed at 9, but from midnight onwards it was a revolving door of 30-minute naps, existential dread, and glances at the clock.

By 1:30am I gave up the ghost, got dressed, and headed out. The walk to the coach station was interesting . The night crowd was still in full swing—revellers spilling out of bars, kebab wrappers fluttering in the breeze, the occasional bouncer still trying to enforce order with minimal enthusiasm.

The coach station was heaving, too. Not a single empty seat in sight. Apparently, 3:25am is peak hour in Birmingham if you’re travelling on a budget, trying to make a Ryanair check-in, or in my case, chaining together a convoluted award itinerary for fun.


Sleep may be in short supply, but spirits are high.