They just don’t make motorway service stations like they used to
Have you seen the new league table of Britain’s motorway service stations? Right, now that half the readers have scarpered (their loss; they’ll come to regret it when they next need a wee and a tea en route to Snowdonia) let me state for the record that I am demanding a recount, a stewards’ inquiry or maybe a rerun of that high-jeopardy Thunder Road dragster car race in Grease.
Rugby Services on the M6 in Warwickshire has only gone and been voted the best in Britain, with one visitor comparing it to an “oasis”. The data, collected by watchdog Transport Focus, appears to be largely based on the cleanliness of the lavatories, the presence of Greggs and extensive electric vehicle charging facilities. Pah! Who are these dullards? Are they without aesthetic sensibilities, have they no sense of occasion – of glamour, dammit?
Everybody knows Tebay Services, further up the M6 in the foothills of the Old Man of Coniston, are vastly superior, featuring as they do an actual duck pond, a master butcher’s selling beef and lamb from the Herdwick flock served at the Queen’s coronation, plus a farm shop stocked by a former Harrods’ buyer.
Run by a family of Cumbrian farmers, the food comes from local suppliers and is cooked on site every day, prompting Frank Skinner, the comedian, to observe: “If there is a road to heaven, Tebay would be the service station on that road.”
My children agree and have always insisted we pull in on our way up to Scotland, by way of tradition, by way of a treat.
It’s a concept captured on the website: “When you pass through, you will know that you have arrived somewhere, not anywhere.”
Nirvana compared to the plethora of grim “discomfort stops” the length and breadth of Britain, most notably Hartshead Moor East on the M64 in North Yorkshire which was given the worst rating in the survey.
But a great many service stations are indistinguishable due to their dreary sameness, soulless fast food chains and strip-lit air of neglect. Here, need and speed take precedence over leisure, much less pleasure.
So much so, it’s hard to remember that motorway services were once ritzy destinations in their own right, back in the 60s and early 70s when dads wore driving gloves and everyone’s mum resembled Mary Whitehouse.
The M1 was very much aiming to attract the Gin & Jag set; Washington Birtley embraced futurism with vending machines full of duckling à l’orange and coq au vin for customers to “cook dinner themselves” in a microwave. Trowell in Nottinghamshire boasted a Robin Hood-themed “World-famous Sheriff ’s Restaurant” decked out as a medieval banqueting hall and an alcohol-free pub.
Leicester Forest East, meanwhile, declared itself “Europe’s most advanced motorway dining spot” with its Terence Conrandesigned “Captain’s Table” and silver service waitresses dressed in sailor suits.
Jimi Hendrix had heard so much about the amazing Blue Boar at Watford Gap, he assumed it was a crazy London nightclub not a tour bus rest stop. Bless his rock’n’roll heart.
Only the Brits could get so excited about steak and kidney pie with chips and a buttered roll. When we hit the road we have every right to expect quality, yet too many service providers have fallen asleep at the proverbial wheel.