NOBODY really wants to hang about in an industrial estate in Rotherham on a Sunday evening. By the time our coach pulled in, for yet another feeder bus pick-up, my swollen ankles resembled tree trunks and I’d lost patience with the yappy woman in front who’d got off and on again at Northampton, because she thought it was Cleckheaton.

After travelling for 36 hours, through four countries, with maybe 40 minutes of sleep in total, I was reaching the limits of endurance. I hadn’t brushed my teeth since a French service station at about 2am. I was shuffling about in socks because my legs and ankles had swelled so much I couldn’t feel them. I was dehydrated and had bits of biscuit in my hair. I ached all over after sitting for hours on end and was so tired I could barely stand up. Over the past week I’d spent more than 80 hours on a coach, and gone a bit potty in the process. And I’d do it all again in a heartbeat.

I love a coach trip - but it’s not for the fainthearted. My friend and I have discovered that you can travel to some lovely places in Europe by coach, at a reasonable price if you bypass the overnight stop. You can keep your hotel stop-offs with their comfortable beds and bathroom facilities. All we need is a neck pillow and reclining seat to make it through the night.

Coach packages which include the cost of transport, half-board or inclusive accommodation and daily excursions are an affordable way to travel. I’ve been to places such as Barcelona, Venice, Rome, Florence and the Italian Lakes, by coach and visited some lovely, off-the-beaten-track gems and hairpin bends I may never have come across if I’d travelled another way.

As I say, it’s not for the fainthearted. Last week I travelled to the western coast of Tuscany (I didn’t know Tuscany had a coastline until we booked the trip) and we were several hours into France when I started to lose my mind. I’d been up since 1.30am - our first pick-up was at 3.45am and because it was such an early start I’d barely slept. Heading down the autoroute, my friend, who can ‘sleep on a clothes line’ as my grandma used to say, was curled up and out for the count in her window seat while I watched the clock creeping up to midnight in a mild state of panic because I Hadn’t. Slept. For. 22. Hours.

There were mutterings of a spare double seat, possibly two, further up the coach. I craned my neck to try and suss out the situation but it was too dark. All around me were snoozing passengers, seats reclined. I’d have killed for a 10-minute nap by that point. Eventually, wild-eyed and beside myself, I prised my stiff, aching body out of my seat and stumbled up the bus, still wearing my neck pillow. “Stretching your legs?” someone smiled. “I’ve been up since 1.30am - I need a double seat!” I hissed, vaguely aware but past caring that it had been an early start for everyone. Squinting into the darkness, I spied two vacant seats - with hand luggage strewn across! I briefly considered lying on top of it. When my wild, darting eyes fell on two people in blissful slumber, stretched out on double seats all to themselves, I felt like throwing myself on the floor, kicking and wailing, like a giant toddler. Instead I returned to my seat, blinking back tears, and had a word with myself. Eventually I nodded off - and awoke as the sun was rising over mountains in Switzerland.

Coach travel nearly broke me, but I love it. There’s nothing quite like sitting back with a book and a coffee (or wine), enjoying the scenery en route while someone else takes care of everything. It’s like being on a school trip - you’re told when to get off, how long you’ve got, where to meet. And you make holiday pals. Even the dour chap who kept his camouflage baseball cap on the entire trip (we called him Hannibal, as in The A Team) was like an old friend by the time we were all saying misty-eyed goodbyes at the feeder coach holding pen in Dover on Sunday afternoon. Exhausted, grubby and hollow-eyed, we had a bond like no other. And we’ll be back to do it all again.