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The Bloke: Reality is a ride on the bus

IT'S funny how you develop a misty-eyed affection for public transport when you don't actually have to use it, isn't it?

The idea of climbing aboard a big double decker, sharing a seat with one of life's characters and absent-mindedly watching the world whizz past the window often appealed to me as I made the lonely morning tootle to work in my car.

Then my car broke down – again – and I came face-to-face with the brutal reality that is the world of your average bus passenger.

For starters, there's the thorny issue of actually trying to get on one.

People make catching the bus sound like the easiest thing in the world, don't they?

To listen to them you'd think you only had to roll out of bed to be greeted by a friendly driver wishing you a pleasant morning.

And I'm sure that is the case if you happen to live with an aforementioned friendly bus driver, only if you don't they're a little harder to come by.

In my limited experience, most of them seem to be experts in the art of exaggerated eye-rolling – particularly when someone dares hand over anything that necessitates doling out more than four coins' worth of change.

But before I could even think about getting an eye-roll as I presented my crisp new five pound note, I first had to find a bus driver.

As I made my way from the house to the bus stop a few hundred yards down the street I suddenly remembered why travelling by bus is really no fun at all.

You see, I had no idea whether I should continue to stroll along and conserve my energy for the day ahead or if I should break into a slightly embarrassing run in case there was a bus already waiting out of sight round the corner.

And what would I do if it suddenly came hurtling along behind me? It would be too late to run then, I'd never make it to the bus stop in time.

I began to feel like a big game hunter trying to creep up on an unsuspecting lion while all the time worrying that he might turn up unannounced behind me and proceed to treat my left leg like a chicken drumstick.

I decided to settle for walking at a decent pace, keen not to look like one of those nutters you see galloping down the road only for the bus to inevitably pull away just as they get within touching distance (surely that sort of cruel stunt is one of the best perks of being a bus driver?), but still wary of missing the boat. I mean bus.

As I quickened my pace I suddenly heard a sound behind me. They were footsteps, no doubt about that, and they were going considerably faster than mine.

Glancing furtively behind me I saw a bloke who was clearly trying to catch the same bus I was. Only he was running.

This worried me.

Did this guy know something I didn't know? Did he actually know the bus timetable? There was only one thing for it. I started running too.

Soon we'd developed some weird symbiotic relationship. I ran when he ran. If he slowed to a walk I did the same.

Eventually we both caught glimpse of the bus stop. Sure enough, there was a bus there. We both started running again.

Only as we got closer did I notice that, for once, this particular driver wasn't behind the wheel waiting for us to get close enough so he could pull away. Instead, he was standing with his back to us a few yards in front of the bus, sucking on a cigarette.

Relieved, I slowed to a sedate walk. My fellow passenger, on the other hand, kept on running.

I was surprised by this but then I realised what he was doing.

Spying the driver with his back turned, he bolted unseen through the open doors and disappeared up the stairs leading to the top deck.

Hearing a noise behind him, the driver turned round just in time to see me approaching the door, brandishing my crisp fiver in my hand.

And then he rolled his eyes.


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Saturday 26 May 2012

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