THERE are several definitions of hell.

I have two that are constant, namely disco dancing and swimming pools.

Two more have just been added.

The Halloween edition of Strictly Come Dancing and Victoria Coach Station.

If you saw the TV programme with its gruesome clichés you know exactly what I mean.

If you did not you are fortunate and can remain in blissful ignorance.

Describing it is a demeaning task.

Victoria Coach Station is a different matter.

You may be journeying there and a warning is therefore essential.

National Coaches are superb, punctual, comfortable, and economically favourable and the loos are magnificent.

This is of extreme importance as what awaits you when your coach arrives is less than gracious.

You head for the station toilets on leaving the coach and your first obstacle is to find 30p to get through the entry turnstile.

Then you see you are in a uni-sex area.

There are no more than eight cubicles, most of which are engaged.

You wait in the queue.

On entering a cubicle you find the floor covered in water or worse.

On leaving, you look for a wash basin, this is not easy in the uni-sex area.

When I found one available I was between a young lady administering her full make up and a gentleman trimming his nasal hair.

Both departures and arrivals are devoid of colour.

The staff are fine and considering their working conditions they are among the heroes of the metropolis.

One of the staff, if she sees Mrs Light’s clerical collar saves her the 30p turnstile toilet cost and waves her through a specially opened gate.

It is a merciful release from this drab dungeon like experience when you board your wonderful coach.

You are in a different world entirely!

The Cotswolds beckon.