Not so long ago I went for a walk and accidentally ended up in Fleetwood.
This, before the postbag begins overflowing with missives from the good people of the port is no bad thing.
Fleetwood is a fine spot and I thoroughly enjoyed the views down the Wyre estuary to the majestic snow-capped peaks of the Lake District (choosing to ignore the giant chemicals plant behind me).
I didn’t land up at the Mount or on the doorstep of the Scotch Bakery.
But when I finally emerged from the undergrowth Eros was in sight and I could have shouted a cheery greeting to Farmer Parr as he went about his tractor-based business. It took me a good half an hour to stroll back to Stocks Towers, taking the more direct but slightly less scenic route along Fleetwood Road North.
Recently, for reasons which will be clear if you’re familiar with the other end of this newspaper, I had to spend a Saturday afternoon in Crewe, hitching a lift on the supporters’ charabanc.
With one eye on an evening in the pub the decision was made to let public transport take the strain for the short journey to the the ground.
I thought, as I boarded the bus the price of £3.20 was a bit steep but given what I now know it really is incredibly good value.
I’m not quite sure where the driver went, I can only assume Singapore, Timbuktu or the remote Marshall Islands were involved.
It’s the only way to explain why, 45 minutes after leaving Thornton, we were still meandering throught the back streets of Larkholme.
I know people need public transport to be convenient but quite frankly this roundabout route, apparently serving every door in Wyre, is a bit of a joke – unless you’re of an adventurous persuasion with time on your hands.
I like public transport, I know it provides an important service and I’m happy to subsidise it through my council tax.
But now I know if I need to be in Fleetwood in a hurry, I’ll just walk.