Coaches - HELL YES!
OMFG! They turned the car park outside my house into a COACH PARK!

OMFG! They turned the car park outside my house into a COACH PARK!

I entitle this diptych ‘Cateralls lysergic experimentation livery progression’. I snapped these handsome coaches parked together and was stunned by the brave artistic development the livery has clearly undergone. 

Maxwell Caterall was an ordinary sort of coach ways proprietor until a messy divorce and a dalliance with his twenty-something son’s flirtatious GF lead him to a rave somewhere east of Leeds in the summer of 1994. Here he discovered all manner of new emotional insights as well as many vivid visual stimulations that culminated in a revelation that the feline form which adorned his coach line somehow needed more movement. Returning to the depot the following Monday he instructed Kenneth, his stoic livery artist, that he needed the Cateralls coach-cat to reveal every frame of movement as it performed its delicate dance across the white side of its “Carriage of freedom that set ordinary folks free from the oppression the fascist regime was currently laying down the law on the good people of the UK”.

I think it was a wonderful decision as I can almost feel the solid air tremble with joy as I too, like the sanguine feline immortalised (named Sylvester btw and still firmly the property of ex-Mrs. Maxwell Caterall) forever leap into the future on the wings of a coach.

Oh David! What were you thinking? I’ve been designing characters almost my whole life but I have to say this is one of the most dreadful I’ve had the misfortune of sharing the planet with. I used to pretend that every drawing I created came alive in a parallel universe of living drawings (duh!) which meant I took care not to make a bad drawing and therefore condemn the poor thing to life of deformed misery. Not so Mr. D Urquhart. I’m convinced he drew this himself (D.U. That is) what other excuse can there be for this abortion to end up cursing the livery of a probably adequate coach service. Only the boss would think this was a good idea. Perhaps D.U. Jnr helped out with his basic 3D design skills? Or perhaps It was a left over from a commission for a local plumbers merchant who decided against giving a retarded U-bend with a severed nose as their mascot. It will be hard to top the ghastliness of this livery.

Oh David! What were you thinking? I’ve been designing characters almost my whole life but I have to say this is one of the most dreadful I’ve had the misfortune of sharing the planet with. I used to pretend that every drawing I created came alive in a parallel universe of living drawings (duh!) which meant I took care not to make a bad drawing and therefore condemn the poor thing to life of deformed misery. Not so Mr. D Urquhart. I’m convinced he drew this himself (D.U. That is) what other excuse can there be for this abortion to end up cursing the livery of a probably adequate coach service. Only the boss would think this was a good idea. Perhaps D.U. Jnr helped out with his basic 3D design skills? Or perhaps It was a left over from a commission for a local plumbers merchant who decided against giving a retarded U-bend with a severed nose as their mascot. It will be hard to top the ghastliness of this livery.

OK Its a dreadful picture but let me spell out out for you the legend that is emblazoned on the side of this beauty:
“The future of coach travel in Basingstoke”
I’ll give you a moment to let that sink in.
WOW. I was never aware that Basingstoke was such a crucible of molten coach pioneering! I now imagine the leafy well planned streets to be literally trembling at the approach of yet another giant leap forward in coaching technology. I bet they had hydrogen buses in the 80’s!
But what bleeding edge technology is this specimen sporting? I didn’t get chance to quiz the driver but I can only believe he might have quipped:
“Roads? Where we’re going we don’t need roads!”
Perhaps even stuffing a banana skin into the diesel tank for effect… I can only dream…
http://www.mortonstravel.com/fleet.htm

OK Its a dreadful picture but let me spell out out for you the legend that is emblazoned on the side of this beauty:

“The future of coach travel in Basingstoke”

I’ll give you a moment to let that sink in.

WOW. I was never aware that Basingstoke was such a crucible of molten coach pioneering! I now imagine the leafy well planned streets to be literally trembling at the approach of yet another giant leap forward in coaching technology. I bet they had hydrogen buses in the 80’s!

But what bleeding edge technology is this specimen sporting? I didn’t get chance to quiz the driver but I can only believe he might have quipped:

“Roads? Where we’re going we don’t need roads!”

Perhaps even stuffing a banana skin into the diesel tank for effect… I can only dream…

http://www.mortonstravel.com/fleet.htm

I’ve never been to Crawley but I kind of know where it is and so I’m pretty dubious about the level of ‘luxury’ this small town in West Sussex is really able to muster. Just to be sure I checked out a local website http://www.crawleyonline.net/ and all my fears were realised.

If travelling with Cawley luxury coach travel be prepared to reassess your definition of luxury. You may even begin to question your definition of morality as you maim your fellow passengers for the last remaining cheese and onion pasty during a particularly brutal traffic jam in north Kent. Waking days later in the detritus of an orgy of human sacrifice and cannibalism you may be forgiven for losing the last vestiges of sanity as you ask yourself ‘Is this Luxury?’ before passing out as Mr. Neville Thumbcatch continues to feast on your shattered lower leg. 

Don’t say I didn’t warn you…

I’ve never been to Crawley but I kind of know where it is and so I’m pretty dubious about the level of ‘luxury’ this small town in West Sussex is really able to muster. Just to be sure I checked out a local website http://www.crawleyonline.net/ and all my fears were realised.

If travelling with Cawley luxury coach travel be prepared to reassess your definition of luxury. You may even begin to question your definition of morality as you maim your fellow passengers for the last remaining cheese and onion pasty during a particularly brutal traffic jam in north Kent. Waking days later in the detritus of an orgy of human sacrifice and cannibalism you may be forgiven for losing the last vestiges of sanity as you ask yourself ‘Is this Luxury?’ before passing out as Mr. Neville Thumbcatch continues to feast on your shattered lower leg. 

Don’t say I didn’t warn you…

I so wanted Coach Trippers to be northern as being from the north myself I couldn’t help but take great pleasure in growling the legend ‘No job too big or too small!’ to myself as I passed this beauty. ‘Doing exactly what it says on the tin’ is sometimes the most charming of angles to take and who would really be upset at getting nothing more than simply arriving at their destination alive from this machine. “Hot drinks?” Geoff the driver’s mate scoffs. “on-board toilet?” You see his temples throb. “You’re not on a bloomin’ Peter Carol coach ya know!” But alas Geoff wouldn’t talk like that as Coach Trippers are from Essex. Shame…

BTW though, if no job really is too small I might get them to pick me up to take me to the shop, its all of 15 meters away. Do you think I should challenge their livery boast?

With Galloway YOU are the star of your own world tour! Well that’s not true, several famous sites from around the tourist world are the stars of this livery but even that isn’t true, in fact the real star of this coach paint job is the photo-realistic earth that adorns it. Not since Jules Benoit (kiss me you fool) have we seen the photo sticker employed and I must say this realistic weather shot of an impressive spiral water system over the north atlantic almost tops the Venus de Milo. I feel though that Galloway is somehow too realistic and it actually makes me a little uneasy, I can’t help worrying we’re all about to be fried by UV light. Oh Galloway - I’ll never sleep!

With Galloway YOU are the star of your own world tour! Well that’s not true, several famous sites from around the tourist world are the stars of this livery but even that isn’t true, in fact the real star of this coach paint job is the photo-realistic earth that adorns it. Not since Jules Benoit (kiss me you fool) have we seen the photo sticker employed and I must say this realistic weather shot of an impressive spiral water system over the north atlantic almost tops the Venus de Milo. I feel though that Galloway is somehow too realistic and it actually makes me a little uneasy, I can’t help worrying we’re all about to be fried by UV light. Oh Galloway - I’ll never sleep!

Four sisters? Four friends? The Four daughters of Merlin? This has not only puzzled me for sometime but has lead to  dark medieval themed imaginings where I am lost in the wilds of North Wales, ravaged by the elements with a lame horse when all at once I am plucked from my peril and resuscitated by these legendary Four Girls. Sometimes I even cast myself as noble Sir Gawain except this time I succumb to the womanly temptations that besiege me and I am lost in a frothing sea of Welsh cakes and dark beer kisses from these raven haired siblings who are oh so eager to test my noble intentions. In calmer moments I simply toast the exquisite attention to detail in their livery, from the fragmented form-strip, shattering like my daydreams, to the totally boss font of the logo. But how can I leave without mentioning the genius of the private registration plates, which surely marks out Four Girls as the queen of coach livery.

Peter Carol it must be said, is rocking one of the most assured livery’s your likely to find. Note the details, inspect that unusual font (to me it hints at psychedelic experiences shared on through-the-night trans European odysseys). Now marvel at his powerful DOUBLE quality assurances he offers. Firstly, PRESTIGE COACHING (yes that’s a level higher than executive and two higher than VIP in case you were wondering) and secondly MAYFAIR SUITE. What does it mean? Nothing and yet everything. Like turning left on entering the plane, if you’re rolling Mayfair Suite you know you’re rolling heavy.  The equivalent plane journey to riding from Bromley to Brussles with Peter would start by you being carried on by the flight crew to an empty plane fitted only with a giant circular water bed and a grand piano played by Lionel Richie who serenades you while you get head by the air steward(esses) for the entire 12 hour flight. Midnight black and gold paintwork. I’m literally not worthy.

Peter Carol it must be said, is rocking one of the most assured livery’s your likely to find. Note the details, inspect that unusual font (to me it hints at psychedelic experiences shared on through-the-night trans European odysseys). Now marvel at his powerful DOUBLE quality assurances he offers. Firstly, PRESTIGE COACHING (yes that’s a level higher than executive and two higher than VIP in case you were wondering) and secondly MAYFAIR SUITE. What does it mean? Nothing and yet everything. Like turning left on entering the plane, if you’re rolling Mayfair Suite you know you’re rolling heavy.  The equivalent plane journey to riding from Bromley to Brussles with Peter would start by you being carried on by the flight crew to an empty plane fitted only with a giant circular water bed and a grand piano played by Lionel Richie who serenades you while you get head by the air steward(esses) for the entire 12 hour flight. Midnight black and gold paintwork. I’m literally not worthy.

As you can see I captured this at the same moment as Jules Benoit (kiss me you fool) and it offers an altogether ‘different vibe’. We’re talking ‘future’ we’re talking the vague feeling that middle aged women have that computers are somehow alive and talking to each other about them without them knowing and will one day revolt and kill them all by drowning them in their own bungalows thanks to robotic postmen force feeding one million unsolicited clubcard membership application forms through their brush-lined letter boxes. New Enterprise is perhaps also a faint nod to the trekkie that hides inside the coach line’s founder, who having found himself with a healthy dowry from his doting but obese and frankly repugnant wife’s father (never marry for money) finds himself having to invest wisely in a more sure-fire scheme than his dream of selling Klingon replica armour at Star Trek conventions across the globe.

As you can see I captured this at the same moment as Jules Benoit (kiss me you fool) and it offers an altogether ‘different vibe’. We’re talking ‘future’ we’re talking the vague feeling that middle aged women have that computers are somehow alive and talking to each other about them without them knowing and will one day revolt and kill them all by drowning them in their own bungalows thanks to robotic postmen force feeding one million unsolicited clubcard membership application forms through their brush-lined letter boxes. New Enterprise is perhaps also a faint nod to the trekkie that hides inside the coach line’s founder, who having found himself with a healthy dowry from his doting but obese and frankly repugnant wife’s father (never marry for money) finds himself having to invest wisely in a more sure-fire scheme than his dream of selling Klingon replica armour at Star Trek conventions across the globe.