Saturday, 25 July 2009

Welcome to the bus…of DEATH.

We are always being told that we should use more public transport, its supposedly safer and far better for the environment. Today I had to go into the City Centre to pick up a suit for my Brother-in-laws wedding (yes I know, he wont listen) and as her indoors was outdoors at work it made sense to meet outside her work. Bus it is then.

There was a small degree of trepidation caused by a friends Facebook status of a few days ago..

“Just been to town on the bus, what a bloody nightmare, the babies loved it, glad i dont have to do that to often, i cant believe i left the car at home, the bus drivers are total nutters, old people flying all over the place.”

I mean it cant be that bad… can it?

The Driver (Artists impression)

So i merrily catch the bus and cheerily give my destination to the miserable fucker of a driver who is smug behind his transparent aluminum shield. I wait for the price…and wait…and wait. I hopefully tender a tenner and some tickets appear from the machine which he sullenly punches buttons on, neatly dropping to the floor where i retrieve them. I then wait for my change, and wait, and wait. He finally realises something is amiss and gives me back a handful of shrapnel and a fiver. I hope its right because at no point has he actually told me the fare and I really am not in the mood to debate mental arithmetic with the gentleman. The kids are ensconced on the back seat under some odd circular marks on the back window. I wonder what they are?

I head towards the back seat, although they smell i had better sit with them and am part way there when we kick into first gear and our friendly driver tries to kick a hole in the floor of the bus. As the back window comes suddenly towards me and Newtons 1st law asserts its hold. I realise then that the circles are perfect prints of faces rudely shoved onto the glass as our madman accelerates like Lewis Hamilton on a really good day. I grab a pole as it passes and artfully swing into a seat. I take a grip on what I initially assumed were handles and now realise are better describe as “death grips”. We plunge off into the street following the PSV approved manoeuvre, signal, mirror method. P25-07-09_15.16My youngest helpfully points out the stop button explaining that you press it when you want the bus to stop. I wonder why they dont have “Stop driving like a complete twat” buttons? Thankfully we were soon there, I took my time as i shakily left the bus. I don’t think he liked it!

If this really is the state of the UKs public transport then give me my car every time. For the record I only started driving 8 years or so ago and before that bussed and trained everywhere and I don't remember it being “quite” this mad. Of course it would be very crass of me to reveal that the provider was the Stagecoach Citi 7 service in Peterborough. Ooops.My "Scared" Face

Paul out…and off to watch Speed.

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