To Gloucester services, then. A place about which I am ambivalent. If you're unfamiliar with Gloucester, or it's sister services the (to my mind marginally superior) Cumbrian Tebay, it's somewhat different from your standard motorway services. You know the ones, a KFC, a WH Smiths, two of those massage chairs and, mystifyingly, a shop selling phone cases. Where hope goes to die and an acrid coffee will set you back a fiver. Where, if you're lucky, there'll be an M&S so you can at least get something that resembles food, even if you have to remortgage to do so. Gloucester is different to these. A food hall and farm shop in a rather lovely building, all wood, glass, stone and clean lines, it's pleasing to the eye and a significantly more pleasant experience than, say Lymm, at least aesthetically. It's also possibly the most middle-class place on the planet, lots of mums with sunglasses pushed up over their hair (which is inevitably in a ponytail) and dad...
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