Comparison is the thief of joy, it’s often said. Measuring yourself against others is often a sad dead end but one you just can’t help exploring. And this was certainly the experience I had during a recent jaunt up the M5 where I pit-stopped at Bridgwater services before having lunch at Gloucester services.
Posh Gloucester, often crowned Britain’s best service station, feels like a rustic foodie haven. Situated between junctions 11A and 12 on the M5, it’s like you have stumbled upon the Tellytubbies set as the sun shines and ducklings waddle between your feet beside the idyllic pond. A middle-class farm shop on steroids, it just bursts with local pride offering up salivating treats from nearby producers like artisanal cheeses and homemade pies.
The vegetarian scotch egg is a particular crowd pleaser. Open plan, airy and welcoming with a giant car park and more EV charge points then Elon Musk could shake a stick it genuinely feels like a destination in its own right.
And to be honest, it is exactly what all service stations should aspire to be, it is probably closest to that 1950s idyll early motorway farers hoped travel across the country would offer.
In comparison poor old Bridgwater, located just off junction 24 of the M5 in Somerset, really is the ugly duckling. But if there’s one thing we know about the ugly duckling is that it’s everyone’s favourite plucky underdog.
Yes, it’s ugly. Yes, it’s not that pleasant to drive into off a tangled roundabout and yes, the parking is, odd. However as we slipped in there for a morning coffee, it was packed to the rafters with happy students on a jolly, as builders in overalls off to the work site mingled with families in their finery off to a wedding.
No one seemed to particularly care if the hotel overlooked the car park or that the same car park, styled like a WWII German pillbox, felt ever so slightly flooded because the place just worked. The staff were happy and hard working, the toilets were clean and tidy and the whole place ticked over nicely.
It did exactly what it said on the tin and made you remember not everyone wants a focaccia flatbread, isn’t browsing for a Fair Isle woolen jumper, or needs some luxury biscuits when they stop on the motorway. Sometimes you just want a good solid Greggs and some petrol – and that’s absolutely fine by me.
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