I went on the bus for a day out to Bridgnorth and found a rattling good odyssey

And on Saturday I happened to have a freedom of the line ticket for the Severn Valley Railway.

It was also the last day of the Bridgnorth Beer Festival with its fine liquid offerings for sale, and a terrific excuse to test my ageing bladder on the hour-long ride from Shrewsbury.

Aiming to get into Bridgnorth nice and early for a wander around and for breakfast, I targeted the 7.45am from Shrewsbury Bus Station where the building is best described as 'tired, old, grotty and a bit smelly.'

But you can get a cheap coffee for 75p and a copy of the Shropshire Star at the excellent newsagents there.

My immaculately calculated plans to catch the second of the thirteen 436 buses of the day to my destination were scuppered when I stood on the wrong side of Stand P.

Engrossed by checking for new mobile phone deals on my ancient Samsung, I missed that I was on the wrong side of the stand.

Next thing I knew was the Select Bus Services vehicle was very much on time and went sailing off round the lights at Raven Meadows on to Smithfield Road.

I waved forlornly at the driver but he didn't seem interested.

Select is one of several local bus and coach operators that run routes across Shropshire and it took over the 436 route about a year ago.

Ho hum.

After a breakfast at one of the Shrewsbury's two Wetherspoons I made sure that I wouldn't miss the next of the hourly services by heading to the stop at St Mary's Street, just outside the historic church.

Sure enough the next bus was on time and I was happy to hop on, pay my subsidised £2 single fare (thanks Government) and take my customary seat near the back.

Seven other people were on the bus as we exited Shrewsbury on the A458 to Cross Houses, most of them being of a certain age and holding bus passes.

No excitement to report other than a rather fruity agricultural smell coming from the fields around Cross Houses, and a BMW that overtook us at a rate of knots.

As regular route users will know there is an interestingly tight route through Cressage where any double parking would block the road to a big bus.

As it was we had to scrape past the trees and bushes at Sheinton Road to get around Severn Way and back on to the A458. Nobody got on or off there this time.

There were more single track roads in the pretty village of Harley but fortunately we didn't meet any buses coming the other way, or lorries for that matter.

Apart from me having a good old stare at the time warp that is the Birchfield Garage at Much Wenlock the rest of my journey was uneventful as we rumbled and bounced into Bridgnorth.

I felt smug at using public transport as the car parks were rammed or closed because of the town market and drivers were beeping and grimacing at each other as the town ground to a halt.

The heritage railway is about 15 minutes' walk away and, to cut a boring story short I took a trip to Bewdley, had a walk around, and took the Severn Valley Railway service back.

In a heritage-style throwback to pre-privatisation days the service back was delayed by a train fault.

Bridgnorth Beer Festival was in full swing when I returned, all the seats were taken and the booze was nearly gone so I went for a wander around the town, popped on the Cliff Railway, and took in some of the sights of this county tourist hot-spot.

My return bus was on time and I counted more than 16 passengers on the return journey, which did not include another squeezer around Harley.

The trip back was largely uneventful, apart from seeing car drivers nearly coming a cropper when they cut off the corners at junctions, and there was the drama of the open windows.

Buses, like offices, aren't democracies. Votes tend not to be taken if someone wants to close a window, for example, which one man did.

The back end of the bus was sweltering and a lady couldn't help but puff out her cheeks in heated exasperation as the sun-baked vehicle became instantly hotter when the window was closed.

Luckily, she had a window just above her head and once she figured out how to open it, a lovely cooling breeze wafted into the back end of the bus.

Our driver seemed to be a considerate chap and let his passengers sit down before departing.

All in all, taking the bus was much more interesting than taking the car even though the journey at one hour took around double the usual time.

And I am pleased to report that my ageing bladder held up very well to the task of surviving the journey.