Jenbel

You can clearly see in Mrs Poppleton's photo why the A64 has such a bad reputation for accidents locally...

Kevincm

Top Report ^ ... falling into the best report ever category

patgarrett

Here it is everybody: the penultimate installment of Mrs Poppleton's epic trip report. She's been a little bit downcast this week , but I'll hand over to her to explain...

__________
Good afternoon, Flyertalkers. Mrs Poppleton here. I've been a little bit down in the dumps this week. I'm sure you all heard the sad news about TV's own Raj Persaud, and the many accusations against him. I've been a big fan of Raj since his "Richard and Judy" days, and I've got all his books. For Christmas in 2003 I bought copies of his "From the Edge of the Couch" for all the family, as I thought it was a belter. They didn't agree, and I was disheartened to see most of the copies turn up at the Bramley Methodist Church jumble sale in early January. The ungrateful runts. I can't go into the allegations against Raj for legal reasons, but I thought I'd just include a couple of photos of Raj in his earlier glory days as a reminder of what a beacon of light and joy he was for me, and what an inspiration he's been to all of us Flyertalkers. Here's Raj looking cool and calm, fresh from a morning slot on Judy's couch:





I like this one below. Raj wearing a brand new cashmere coat, the background a little autumnal and dramatic. The face of a man who knows what he's about, and he's not putting up with any tomfoolery from any jack-the-lad:





And this one a little bit metaphorical. Raj being mysterious, a little bit Jekyll and Hyde. He's saying "you think you know me, but I'm lurking in the shadows here, and you can't see what my right eye is doing. You can try and pin me down, but I'm not having a bit of it, so skedaddle."





I'll miss you Raj, if the accusations are true. You were a smashing pundit, full of insight and humour, and we won't be seeing the likes of you again on GMTV in a hurry. Sadly, we will still be seeing the likes of that prat Richard Madeley.

Anyway, Flyertalkers. Life goes on. And life went on for me after meeting Peter Falk at the Pickering Fish Farm. As I mentioned, Vernon was a little mad that I was late back to the bus, but I slipped him an aniseed twist and he was soon as happy as Larry.



I plonked my rump back in 1A, and began to think about the last leg of this trip, from Pickering to Whitby. As many of you know, Whitby is an ancient Saxon town, famous for its seventh-century Abbey. It was founded in 657 AD by the Anglo-Saxon King of Northumbria, Oswy (Oswiu) as Streoneshalh (the historical name of the town Whitby where the abbey is located). He appointed Lady Hilda, abbess of Hartlepool Abbey and niece of Edwin the first Christian king of Northumbria, as founding Abbess. The name Streoneshalh is thought to signify Fort Bay or Tower Bay in reference to a supposed Roman settlement that previously existed on the site. This contention has never been proven though and alternate theories have been proposed, such as the name meaning Streona's settlement; a reference to Eadric Streona. This is highly unlikely though due to chronological considerations: Streona died in 1017 so the naming of Streoneshalh would have preceded his birth by several hundred years. As well as being an absolutely smashing edifice, there are some lovely fish restaurants in its vicinity!

I'm getting ahead of myself though. We were still about 20 miles from Whitby. Jenbel is right though about the hazardous conditions on the A64. We were just beyond the Pickering city limits when I looked down and saw this pile-up, caused, by the looks of it, by a Fung Wah bus. I was very surprised to see the Fung Wah attempt such a risky maneouvre on such a busy thoroughfare as the A64. This must be a route change, as I was only aware of the Chinese bus operating along the north east corridor of the United States. They must be expanding, and giving National Express a run for their money ^. I have heard that the Fung Wah drivers are absolutely mental though (can't you tell from this photo?!), and even accept bribes to drop passengers off at their own homes. You can rest assured I'll be sticking with Coastliner. We don't need funny mafiosi business like that in Yorkshire.




I meant to include a photo of the Coastliner's interior in my last installment. Here it is. As you can see, there's plenty of luggage space, plenty of room for passengers to negotiate the aisle, and the upholstery is lovely. My friend Betty recently traveled on a Singaporean aircraft (a "77W" or some such nonsense) to visit her grandson in Cootamundra, and she told me the seat was wide enough to accommodate even her ample girth. I can't believe it was any better than the seats on the Coastliner.




This is Coastliner's new East Coast product, only available on select routes to Whitby and Scarborough. Seat selection, as I've mentioned, is crucial. As soon as I stood up to take this photo those two lads began eying up 1A and 1B. You can trust me when I tell you that as soon as I hobbled back down the aisle I gave them a piece of my mind and told them to get to the back of the bus, well away from the premium seats.

Our seats even have bilingual safety notices on the back, and the Coastliner offers rewards to those responsible enough to alert the driver to any suspicious packages. Everyone's a winner! (Unless the bomb goes off and blows us into Filey ).




We were soon approaching the perimeter of the North York Moors, and it looked as though one of the dairy farmers over towards Kirkbymoorside was burning off some excess spring foliage. It was certainly darkening the sky:




Even Doris, one of the Coastliner regulars and sitting behind me in 3A, expressed some concern as we looked north. Doris normally isn't one to bat an eyelid at anything other than changes in the Coastliner timetable, but I distinctly heard her mumble something about the farmers this year being "a law unto themselves." I've been saying that since the 1950s, Doris, but who's been listening I ask? Chuffing nobody. Farming policy in North Yorkshire is a disgrace . Thankfully the White Horse over by Kilburn was visible despite the fumes and molten rock blowing in through the Coastliner's windows.



There's a story I once heard about that horse, but it's not family reading, so you'll have to send me a PM if you want the details.

We were almost at the edge of the Whitby city limits, and I could feel my stomach growling with anticipation at the thought of the haddock and the amusement arcades. In 1A I was perfectly positioned to get this approach shot of the harbour, with its whalebone arch, statue of Captain James Cook (one of Whitby's most famous sons), and toxic effluents drifting in from the North Sea.





My original plan was to wrap up the report with this leg of the journey, but I had an amazing chance encounter with an old friend from Clifford almost as soon as I disembarked from the Coastliner, and it's worth one more installment, just so I can tell you the story of what happened and tell you more about glorious Whitby. And before you ask, the friend wasn't Tony Hart . I know some of you are probably thinking that I'm never going to set foot in Whitby, but trust me Flyertalkers. We've come a long way together, and we're almost there, I promise.

Mrs Poppleton.

patgarrett

Hello, Flyertalkers. Mrs Poppleton here, with the final installment of my trip report. I'll cut to the chase, as I know you're dying to know whom I met when I got off the Coastliner. We arrived in Whitby on schedule at 1530, six hours after leaving Leeds. As you can see below, the terminal at Whitby Central leaves a lot to be desired. The facilities for premium passengers such as myself are very poor. As my nephew Frank once said, "there's Heathrow, and then there's Whitby Central, and it's hard to say which looks more like a khazi" ().





Whitby is a strange place though. It looked lovely in the afternoon sunshine, the boats on the harbour resplendent as they bobbed on the deftly eddying waves of brine and raw sewage.





Unlike Filey and Scarborough, you never know what's around the corner in Whitby. I like that. Looking across to the Jack Fulton freezer shop, for example, I could see Frank Bruno and a thin chap dressed as Superman, flexing his puny muscles.





Waiting to greet me as I emerged from the filthy terminal were these little fellas, looking quite cheerful at my arrival in Whitby.





Yet a further surprise awaited me! Just across the street I saw John Johnson-San, former proprietor and my former employer at Clifford Fisheries! I must explain that John insisted on the Japanese suffix -San as a rebellious gesture against the annoying alliterative nature of his name: rather than change it by deed poll he organized a vote in the Clifford Arms pub to decide on the best-sounding foreign suffix. "San" narrowly edged out John's own choice, the Lithuanian suffix "icius" (which would have made his name "John Johnson-Icius"). It confused some of his customers but I always felt it added to his aura of rugged masculinity and military prowess. Here's JJ-San in his pomp behind the counter, pleased with the batch of incredibly long sausages he's just pulled out of the fryer.



I should give you some background on my employment at Clifford Fisheries, and on the great times I had working there. John employed me in 1992, just after I'd turned 65. At first he was resistant to the idea as I'd reached retirement age and already had chronic arthritis in both hands. However, I lived locally, and he needed workers old enough to operate two of the most important machines behind the scenes, the chipper and the rumbler. John initially only employed me to work three shifts a week, Wednesday lunchtime, Friday evening (mental), and Saturday lunchtime (very mental). I soon showed him how efficient I was at serving customers, at rumbling and chipping the chips, at keeping portions of chips below the required 6oz limit, and at clearing the drain (more about which later). We had a lovely time together: there were three pairs of old hands, Vera, Pat and myself. Vera was a bit simple; she meant well, but her execution was often lacking. She was married to a Cuban named Basil who would show up smoking big fat cigars, and not really seem with the program until Vera ordered him to clear falling leaves and other rural detritus from the gutter. Pat was an escapee from the local asylum. Christ knows why JJ-San employed her. She was a total fruitcake. Other employees included young Beaumont, a bit of a maverick and annoyingly slow to ask for change, and Flyertalk's very own Mofomat! Mofomat was a rogue. Constantly eating the profits and joking around on the phone when he should have been dishing up the chips and peas, the queue snaking halfway to Wetherby. I sometimes had half a mind to show him the back of my hand, but it was crippled, so I didn't. JJ-San used to show up drunk, yelling out "Top of the morning to you," and "How's the world with you today?," to all and sundry. Sometimes he was so ratted on gin and Sam Smith's he could barely batter a sausage, but we muddled through. One of JJ-San's main gripes was the drain. Always getting blocked it was, with potato peelings from the rumbler and the chipper. It was a nightmare, because it used to flood the entire shop, but JJ-San would ignore it until we had to get a plumber in. Then he'd grumble about the cost.

I used to say, "John-San, empty the drain."

And he would say, "Mrs Poppleton, I'll empty it when it needs to be emptied."

And it went on like that, until the plumber came. Here's the plumber unblocking the drain:



Catherine was a lovely girl who worked there. She had a very odd way of scooping up the chips from the bucket. She would widen her legs, almost as though she was trying to straddle a Himalayan glacier, then in one lightning-fast motion, reach down and scoop up the chips and be back to first base before you could say "Tom Robinson." Deadly efficient, and almost terrifying in its use of the leg straddle and the quick reach-down. I almost wet myself laughing the first time I saw her do it, but we got used to it. The whole place was a freak show, to be honest, but we had a laugh, and there was nothing like returning home to a warm brew and a plate of scraps after a long shift.

It was lovely to see John-San in Whitby, despite the trials and tribulations we'd experienced at the chipper. There were no hard feelings between us, and no mention of the drain (thank heavens). After giving me a big hug John-San decided to take me to one of my favourite fish restaurants in Whitby, "Trenchers." Here's what I had. Yummy!




That's the end of the line for me on today's Coastliner journey, Flyertalkers. I hope you've enjoyed the ride. It's been smashing fun for me. Rest assured, I'll be back soon with another thrilling bus trip report. In the meantime though, prepare yourselves for my next report, JFK-LAX-NRT-SIN-CMB-SIN-KUL-SIN-SYD-TSV-SYD-AKL-YVR-MEX-LAX-JFK in C on UA, SQ, NZ and JL. It won't compare to 1A on the Coastliner, but what on earth can?!

Mofomat

Bloody marvellous! This has to rank amongst some the great epics. The SIN-SYD inaugural on the SQ A380 in R. CX HKG-LAX in F. BA LHR-JFK on Concorde.

I wish there were more trip reports from the Coastliner. Even the 760 Leeds to Whinmoor. That route doesn't even exist anymore, so it would make great reading.

I don't really remember the period 1992-1997. It's just a blur. John Johnson-San looks great in that shot. I wonder if he got his car back?

Remember Nicola's charity fund for university? I don't but I've been told it existed.

QueenVictoria

Hi Guys QV here, I am new to this whole FT thing so please be patient with me as I'm a slow learner and haven't been lucky enough to do alot of flying recently.

I really like this report as it involves buses rather than planes and after seeing the news this week I feel alot safer on four wheels. Or Eight wheels. Or possibly six wheels. Does anyone know how many wheels a coastliner bus has as although there were lots of pictures from Mrs Poppleton I couldn't be sure on the number of wheels.

oscietra

Mrs Poppleton will no doubt appreciate this episode of Excess Baggage which talks about the world's favourite bus journeys:

http://www.bbc.co.uk/iplayer/episode...ge_06_11_2010/

No mention of the Coastliner, though. A Travesty.

It was a bus stop in Swindon wot won it.

yorkshire exile

Now then. Quality.... may I recommend the National Express journey to Preston bus station for your next trip..... stopping in Bradford, Keighley, Colne and Burnley it is a mere 4 and 3/4 hours door to door. It even has on board facilities - which I know must be a blessing for Mrs Poppleton as it is not just her senses she no longer controls. Happen.

oscietra

I'd avoid Burnley. Quite a few stories of loose women in those parts.

Polomarc

This is magic, waiting for the film to be made

patgarrett

Now we're talking