The last bus home....
Always a winner, especially when you're 17, and your boyfriend lives on one of the better council estates (this was 1983, they all had jobs and were looking to buy!)
It was a bit of an eye opener to a brave little Sparkie, country girl that she was.

Now there were a lot of people from the estate of Irish parentage, who loved a bit of a sing-song on the way home. I'd never heard smartly turned out old ladies singing about Dickie Didoes before this..

This one night, the bus pulled away slowly, and the old ladies started to fret. "Where's Iris?" "Maeve, MAEVE, where's Iris?.." "where the feck is she?" "I've not seen here since the Saracen's" etc etc. Til we all got a bit worried, Leicester at that time was no place for a mature lady on her own, after a sherry or two.

"THIS IS A RECORDED MESSAGE!!" boomed a voice approaching up the stairs, making everyone jump, not just the ladies "IRIS IS A RECORDED MESSAGE!!" said the voice, as a tall, red haired woman hoved into view.. "Sure, it's a great echo in this stairwell in't it?" said Iris, grinning...

Just then there were words of encouragement from the lads at the back, to one of their number who, it's got to be said, looked a bit, well, mauve..

"Hold in it Dean! Soon as you puke, you'll be at it all night!"

"Our stop's just up here, Keep going, not far now matey!"

I looked around just in time to see - and hear - Dean lose the fight with ten pints of Skol.

"God love him there's gallons of it!!" Observed Maeve

There then followed a weird Mexican wave of knees down the top deck of the bus, as revellers avoided getting recycled beer on their Saturday Night shoes by lifting their legs up rapidly, in turn. accompanied by random shouts and swearies.

We'd only gone 100 metres..
(Beer Elf Thought this was like a campfire, anyhow, on, Fri 26 Jun 2009, 14:38, Reply)

routemasters
did anyone ever jump off one while it was still moving? did this once 'for kicks' when i was in my early teens. as the bus slowed in it's approach to the next stop, i waited for just the perfect moment when the bus would still be going fast enough for me to get my much needed funs, but not so slow that it wouldn't be worth it. as it turns out i sliiightly misjudged how fast the bus was actually going, only realising my miscalculation when my feet touched the ground and the momentum caused me to sprint like linford christie (this was in the 90's, so i'll compare as such) for several metres. straight in to a bin. to the amusement of everyone.
(TheManWithThePlan cussed your mum on, Fri 26 Jun 2009, 14:35, 3 replies)

I like sitting in the front seats on the top deck,
holding the rail under the window, and pretending I'm handgliding very slowly around London.
( Pope Shax XIII uses Visio for picture editing, does it show?, Fri 26 Jun 2009, 14:18, 3 replies)

Sick bus ride
I was never very good at travelling, used to puke all the time when in cars, buses, coaches and the like. My uncle even had to wipe off half an eaten hot dog on the way to watch the Mighty Argyle many moon ago after I puked my lunch down his shiny Ford Orion.

Anyway, when I was 17 I started a new college (after dropping out the first one) and all was set for my first day. Well, that was until the night before. I was invited to a friend’s landlady’s 30th birthday party, and that’s when 30 was old. I was not going to miss this.

Me and my friend went to the party, had much fun, old people were actually alright, and then all back to theirs to drink Jack Daniels till the early morning.

When my mum woke me the next day bright and early for my first day at the new college, which was 14 miles away, I wasn’t feeling the best. To say the least. She made me eat breakfast, Cornflakes no less, and sent me on my way.

By the time I got on the bus, my first real hangover kicked in. I was not feeling good. And I had 14 miles through Cornish roads to travel too. Wasn’t boding well. It actually almost was fine, until about 2 miles away from college, my breakfast, which now included warm curdled milk mixed with the JD, decided to pay a visit. I had no choice. I puked. There and then. On the bus. Over the seats. Luckily it was only college kids on board, and not many of them too, so no one saw. Still, I’d managed to spray myself a nice coating of vom too. Which was nice, for my first day of college and all.*

Day from hell went by and the bus ride back beckoned. Arse, I’m still not feeling chipper. And this time, the bus was packed, not only with college kids but with mum’s and gran’s and their shopping. Arse.

And this bus went the long way… over lots of bumps.

Unfortunately this time round, my stomach contacts didn’t want to wait long to make their escape. And they didn’t. I was upstairs on a double decker bus, which was packed. What could I do? Well when the first wave came, I kept my mouth closed, with my hands clamped overI managed to contain it (although a small bit escaped). Shit, now what do I do, I can spit it out on the floor, but everyone will see, it will smell, it could cause a chain reaction? Only thing for it. Swallow it. Which surprisingly, made me gag, and puke some more. I was stuck in a puking /swallowing mire for about 15 mins until finally I managed to re-eat what I was fighting. It was pleasant. To say the least. I wouldn’t advise it to anyone.

The hour later when I finally got home, I managed to get rid of the troubles in my stomach and rest my weary bones. No doubt, it was the worst bus journey ever. And I’m sorry if you were sat near me watching me puke and eat it for 15 mins, but I wasn’t feeling too good that day.

*my friend Ben, who got stuck on the 220, later told me he wondered why I stank of sick all day. He told me 5 years later. Which was nice. Could’ve told me that day.
(CornishStanley can't post hyperlinks, Fri 26 Jun 2009, 14:16, Reply)

Stuart, the bus and Supergran
A friend (Stuart) was a bus driver in London during the mid 80s. About a week after qualifying as a driver, and with a rather packed bus he was merily chugging along.

Suddenly he was presented with a young lad who decided to play chicken with a 10+ ton Leyland. Stuart was rather impressed with his reaction times as he performed an emergency stop. That was until he looked in the mirror. To his horror the elderly lady originally standing by the rear doors was doing an amazing "human-missile" impersonation down the length of the bus. Supergran® eventually faceplanted the "Please do not distract the driver" sign ( her knitted beanie providing minimal protection). She then hit the deck and began to roll sideways towards the hydraulic front doors. Nervous and unsure what to do next...

Stuart opened the doors! Spanging "Dottie" in the face before she rolled out into the high street.

Length: about an inch shorter after her flight but still longer than his bus driving career.
(skintagain, Fri 26 Jun 2009, 14:07, Reply)

Paint Vaulting
Many years ago, I was on the 49 bus from Broadmead (Bristol shopping centre) back out to Staple Hill (the boondocks)where I then lived.

I was on the top deck about half-way back and the bus was packed.

A few stops into the journey a young couple get up to disembark carrying many bags of shopping and a big tin of magnolia Dulux paint... which they dropped down the stairs...

The lid came off and the contents globbed out covering the entire staircase except the top 1 or 2 steps and filling the bus with the heady smell of fresh paint.

After a brief conflab with the driver it was decided that the journey should continue.

Those wishing to disembark from upstairs therefore had to jump/vault across the lake of paint which covered the stairs.

Dr S
(Dr Skagra glorious glargzhem, Fri 26 Jun 2009, 13:51, Reply)

Exhausted
Back in about 1975 as a young 16 year old I was the proud owner of an NSU Quickly (50cc Moped). I used this to go the 2-3 miles to my local school.
I thought I was Jack the Lad.
One day as I neared school, my exhaust silencer fell-off. This certainly humoured the watching pupil pedestrians.
I stopped, dismounted and was just walking back to pick it up off the road when a great big double decker school bus ran over it.
I picked it up and it was like a cartoon comedy flattened exhaust - looking like a massive chrome pancake.
I think my complexion was redder than the bus and the pointing and howls of laughter still haunt my sleep.

Jack the Lad? Twat more like.
(MichaelLinge (ywc), Fri 26 Jun 2009, 13:49, Reply)

Gavin
was the son of mr Boyden of Boydens buses* and drove our school bus (Alton to Uttoxeter if you're interested). He had greasy black hair, greasy pale skin, and always wore a beanie hat and a sneer. One day he decided to play the new system of a down album (Toxicity) which was cool with us because we liked a bit of fiddler on the roof metal to mix with our angry teenage hormones. but then he played it on the way home and the next day, and everyday for the rest of the term! put me off it for life. he never played music any other time for the 5 years i took that bus. very odd.
To make it more annoying, the bus only took 2o minutes so i still don't know what the second half of the album sounds like!

*might not be the correct name but i can't remember
(bryo, Fri 26 Jun 2009, 13:21, Reply)

On the Magic Bus in Manchester, on the top deck filled with ganja smoke
Three talented guys at the back all freestyle rhyming against each other.

Ace journey.
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Fri 26 Jun 2009, 12:56, 2 replies)

And very recently
I got on the bus outside Waterloo and asked for a "half return to Guildford please". I don't know who was more startled, me or the driver. Its been a good 25 years since I've bought a half return to Guildford.
( browser still relating boring anecdotes into a void on, Fri 26 Jun 2009, 12:40, Reply)

The Nighthawk
For a good ten years I travelled to and from school on a decrepid, faded-brown 70s relic of a bus called the Nighthawk. The journey was almost an hour each way, round winding country lanes passing through several local villages. About every two weeks it would break down - incidents such as the side panels of the bus just falling off - and we'd have to sit even longer on the damn thing.

Oh the tedium of those journeys.. but compounded times ten by the fact that the bus driver was rather tunnel-visioned in his music tastes. We'd occasionally get the radio, but more often than not it was one of two casette tapes; a Bob Marley album, or the early greatest hits of Johnny Cash. Cash was clearly the favorite. I have painful memories of years listening to that tape what seems like every day - the relentless "1, 2, 1, 2" of the guitar's bassline burning holes in my skull, and the simple, succinct lyrics becoming totally meaningless and monotonous, a hammering gibberish. Now I love my music these days - including country stuff - and can see how important Cash is to the general framework of music history, and have even been tempted to see "walk the line".. but all appreciation is utterly ruined. Many of his best-loved tunes make me wince in abject horror, and only I know why. Cheers Mr bus driver.
(raymond "three griddle pans" luxury yacht lovin' the christmas action, Fri 26 Jun 2009, 12:17, 2 replies)

God I loathe busses
I won’t have much to say this week because of a sheer refusal to get on one unless absolutely no alternative is available. I walked most of London during the recent tube strike rather than ride on of those stinking pits of hell.

That said, on one rare experience I saw one of the hottest girls I have ever seen waiting at a bus stop wearing a tight T-shirt that stretched the words ‘Bukkake ruined my carpet’ across her magnificent chest.

I do kinda wish I’d got on that bus. Not to try to find out if it was true (she was way out of my league) But just so I could say to her ‘Mine too, I accidentally jizzed on it while watching some’

I think that will be it from me this week. Oh apart from to add that the bloody 88 bus that comes up Great Portland Street and is the only vehicle legally allowed to make the right turn on to Euston Road comes close to running me over at least once a week. One day I will found dead under it’s wheels if I keep forgetting to look over my shoulder before I cross.
( scarpe We Stole Bikes, Fri 26 Jun 2009, 12:03, Reply)

the school run
London hosts many a dangerous bus route in which blipping your oyster card also translates into you agreeing any personal injury you recieve is your own bloody fault and you shouldn't have sat next to that shifty bloke in the first place.

However, it is the school run that always provides the most drama. In my case I was sitting at the back of the bus with my ear phones only just drowning out the noise of school kids arguing on the deck above. Soon my tranquil state of mind was interrupted by a boy being thrown head first down the stairs. He staggers to his feet whilst passengers look on confused though barely surprised. Soon his attackers leap their way like spring boks down the stairs, grab him and slam his face agaisnt the front windscreen leaving it spattered with nasal blood whilst calling him a wanker.

All due respect to the attackers though, they did do it just as the bus came to a stop outside the local hospital so at least the guy didnt have a long walk to get his stitches.

and the whole time? no one said a word but kudos to all the blokes and the old lady that managed to apprehend the spring boks so they couldn't escape. never mess with ya granny...
(bloctiger, Fri 26 Jun 2009, 11:57, 2 replies)

Tesco's Car Park
I drove into the car park and turned left into the overflow car park when a small 'skipper' style city bus made its way aggresively towards me, the driver peeping and gesticulating wildly....my error was to go round the forlorn 'one way system', the wrong way.

Forlorn, because all the road marking had wearily rubbed off some time before and I had been using the car park for about 2 years and was completely unaware of any 'system'...

The cunt screamed in an apoplectic rage, passengers on board and everything. I parked my trusty Tipo and walked towards his open door

"whats the problem mate"

"YOU CAME THE WRONG WAY ROUND THE BLOODY ONE WAY YOU FUCKING IDIOT"

"really, well, i apologise, no harm done...but don't you think that is a ridiculous way to talk to someone when you have passengers on board?"

*spluttering rage*

"not very professional, is it mate?"

and i walk away, smug...only to step partially into the path of an delivery lorry, it was still 10 yards away, but i got a fright and the lorry driver peeped...

..and the bus driver laughed like a drain, well more of a sneering cackle...his hate had borne fruit.....

well, that was enough for me, my previously impeccable decorum was smashed...i strode over to the bus and hocked up a very vigorous throat oyster onto his windscreen...fucking magic

I could hear his howls of rage and bitter hatred fade into the distance as i made my way into the cathedral of consumerism......

i done my shopping

I left with the sinking feeling that he saw me come in and could have raped my little Tipo...so it was with no surprise that i returned to the car to see teh cousin of my throat oyster dribbling down my windscreen.

the dirty bastard had jumped off the bus, found my car and returned the favour, then he must have got back on the bus and delivered the passengers to where they were going

I suspect he's dead by now, blew a fucking gasket, the stupid, enraged old cunt!!

But hey, we all love a good confrontation though, eh?
(Cancer Joy was short lived, Fri 26 Jun 2009, 11:50, Reply)

Frustration
I like to sit at the front of the top deck of the bus so I can look out of the windows and while away my journey by watching the world go by.

Once, as the bus was taking on passengers at the bus stop, I looked across the road and saw the most gorgeous girl similarly sitting on the upper deck of the bus stopped on the other side of the road.

Our eyes met. A definite spark - and perhaps something more - passed between us.

But just as I was considering jumping off my bus and running across the road to get on hers and ask her for her phone number, I saw a girl with cropped hair and wearing a man's suit who had just boarded tap her shoulder, and the object of my affections, who clearly knew this other woman, immediately lost interest in me and started snogging the new arrival for all she was worth.

You guessed it. My dream woman turned out to be on the other bus.
(Capo, Fri 26 Jun 2009, 11:48, 4 replies)

Orbital, Glasgow Barrowlands 1996
I had consumed a whole microdot and frugged myself into a narcotic stupor. I could just about manage walking, but any interaction or decision making was still hours away.

Luckily my 7 month pregnant wife and her friend were also at said gig, and they managed to corrale me all the way to Jamaica St where we were going to get a 'nightbus'. I hadn't been on any bus for about 3 years but was willing to give it a pop as it was cheaper than a cab. However, my intentions and what I was capable of where poles apart.

Standing at the bus stop, all manner of hobgoblins and freaks were milling about, whispering, glancing, ageing 100 years in a second, all that fun LSD stuff. If they hadn't been with me, I would have stood there for hours until i could function well enough to get on a bus, hopefully the right one.

Anyways, very shortly thereafter our bus rolls up and they usher me on, i stand at the driver who is expecting me to pay, but i don't know what to do, i just look at him helplessly....my wife comes at my rear, oo-er, and pushes me down the gangway as her friend pays for us. My relief is palpable. I sit up the back and start to fidget nervously....what if we miss the stop, what if this isn't the right bus.....the bus windows are steamy and it is raining outside, this makes checking for familiar landmarks pretty challenging....add to that that fact i had never been this route and you have a heady combination of teh fear and disabling confusion.

Every time i would wipe the window to see our progress i was convinced we were just going past our flat....every, single, time. I was exhaling heavily, stressed and extremely nervous. Would i EVER get off the bus...what if this is all a joke and the bus and it's driver and my wife are all in on a elaborate joke that will end badly for me.....fuck knows, i just couldn't tell.

After 'passing our flat' for the 200th time my wife assures me that this is our stop. I jump up and am off the bus within a millisecond, happy to relieve myself of the condensation based freak out windowlicker fest.

Amazingly, the second i stepped off the bus, my mind cleared and the LSD fog lifted and i could think clearly and sharply once again, all in the space of a second.

It was the most intense and 'edge of my seat' bus journey i had ever been on, and had it not been for my helpers i would have stood at the bus stop in glasgow for many hours, paralysed and paranoid...

Amazing gig though!
(Cancer Joy was short lived, Fri 26 Jun 2009, 11:31, 2 replies)

Observer of unconsidered trifles...
Since I can't drive, following a driving test/nudity incident that I won't bore you all with, I've had an adventure or two on buses. I offer these for your delectation (Routemasters rock!)...

A smartly dressed gentleman with a huge suitcase asked "'ere, mate is it OK if I bung this in here?" the conductor nodded, and busy with his work he didn't notice the aforementioned gentleman alight from the bus and mount his trusty bicycle in order to follow his luggage on the bus.

I had to laugh as the driver did his level best to speed away from bus stops and traffic lights in a bid to separate the man from his luggage. T'was to no avail though, as the man kept pace without even breaking sweat. Of course the bus crew were powerless to stop the ingenious gent from reclaiming his suitcase at journey's end, he just nipped into the open back, hoicked it out of the rack and went on his way.

On the journey back, I sat upstairs staring idly out of the window when there was a huge commotion on the lower deck. Voices were raised and there was much swearing and a scraping noise. Nosey bint that I am, I ventured down to view the scene.

I had to laugh, there were four men of (I guess) Asian heritage, heaving a huge, flowery sofa onto the bus, to the protests of the conductor, and the driver who had dismounted to join the fray. There was some high quaility arm waving and shouts of "You can't bring that on here!" It was only lack of space that made the amateur movers see sense and remove their furniture. As one of them pointed out "C'mon Dad, where would we put the chairs?"

The 1970's were a much more innocent time..
(Beer Elf Thought this was like a campfire, anyhow, on, Fri 26 Jun 2009, 11:29, 5 replies)

A Paddy Constantine Moment
I was heading into town to pick my missus up from work.

As I went through a junction, the light was just going from green to orange. The second the light went orange, the bus that was waiting to turn right across me lurched into my path. There was a locking of brakes and I slid to a halt at a point where my Honda Accord car was blocking the bus and the driver was next to me.

He leant out of his window and shouted "watch where you're going!"
I shouted back "I had green, you fat twat!"
To which he replied "who are you calling a fat twat?"
And I had to do the classic Dead men's Shoes line: "You. You cunt"

He just goldfished for a moment and closed his window.

I drove away, chuckling to myself.
(ScousersPet, Fri 26 Jun 2009, 11:27, 2 replies)

Kind of a bus. But it's a train. Still smelly and full of cretins however.
So yeah.

Sat on the single carriage train to Newark one day many years back listening to my CD player or whatever, and kind of not knowing how loud I was breathing or sniffing. The headphone paranoia. So I was clearing my phlegmy throat a little bit and suddenly a huge reflexive cough sent a Creme Egg filling sized lung spaff flying across towards the window, splattering just above head height where it was visible to the rest of the passengers on the carriage. The flying bit was amazing, because I saw it in true slow motion as it spun around bolus-like, one end impacting the window before the elastically-attached other half swung round. I have no idea of the noise unfortunately.

So yeah. I took off my headphones and had a look around to see if anyone had noticed. No-one was making obvious signs of having noticed it (whether they had or not) but there was still 20 or so people within gandering range. Someone surely must have seen it. Or had they?

The choice was difficult. Do I ignore it? Do I acknowledge it and lay claim to the gooey bubbly oesophageal jizzball? I knew full well that I couldn't wipe it off without having to stand up, drawing attention to my actions especially as it would smear horribly and I didn't have anything to wipe it off with except for my ticket.

So I pressed my ticket over the gooey blob, applying plenty of pressure to make sure it stuck whilst rotating it back and forth. I didn't want it falling off now, did I? Success.
(Klangtarnflatchslapper looks just like a Telefunken U-47, Fri 26 Jun 2009, 11:25, Reply)

The Bus?
13,662 rushing yards at an average of 3.9 yds a carry, 94 touchdowns. Not bad at all.
(kitescreech still here, Fri 26 Jun 2009, 11:18, 3 replies)

"ONLY"??!?!?!?!???!!!!
Was in pub near Victoria Coach Station having pre-journey pint.

Wild-eyed grizzled old git bursts in and staggers to the bar.

"F-fuckin' coach drivers!" he announces to all. "Wouldn't let me on!" he bellows.

Not surprised, thought I. But then the old git tells us why the driver wouldn't let him on.

"I only called him a cunt!"

Dr S
(Dr Skagra glorious glargzhem, Fri 26 Jun 2009, 11:13, Reply)

Living in the country,
as I do, means I rely heavily on buses to get from point a to point b. I catch the bus to and from school every day. I discovered a few months ago that bus companies, the ones who don't do my school bus run, are absolute cunts. I didn't normally travel into town after school, but one day I did, and this is how I discovered how big a pack of cunts V-Line are (they control the city transit buses in my town too for some reason).

I'd been on one of my rare trips into town after school to buy a present for a friend's 18th. I was standing at the bus stop, waiting for the 4:20 bus to come so I could get home. Mum was busy with Uni so she couldn't get me, my brother doesn't drive, I couldn't drive home and my dad was in hospital. So I really, *Really* needed that bus.
So there's me, minding my own business, when Prick rocks up. Now some people here may know about Prick - he's a very nasty, very frightening ex of mine who stalked me until I took him to court and the judge gave him a "word of advice" to leave me alone. The judge, after accusing me of lying about Prick for my own amusement, then told me I needed to pull myself together and stop being like every other girl he sees in front of him wanting an AVO. never mind the fact we have one of the highest domestic violence and sexual assault stats in the whole region, apparently we're all lying whores.
So yes, I'm now suitably uncomfortable and nervous and it is with great relief I see the bus roll up and I jump on board.
Me and the driver chat a while since we know each other fairly well (he lives about 300 metres from me), while we wait for the bus to fill up. I haven't bought my ticket yet and then he says,

"Look love, you're going to have to catch another bus - your stop has been pulled from the list - I can't stop there anymore. I'm not allowed."
I know it isn't rational - but I begin to panic slightly, particularly because I've noticed that Prick is close enough to hear every word we've said. The bus driver tells me to go to the station and to catch the bus from there. It doesn't leave for another hour and a half. Fair play to him, he's not nasty about it and he does seem concerned about me when he realises how upset I am, plus he's only doing his job and following orders.
Nevertheless, I don't kick up a fuss and I walk the five blocks very quickly to the station.

I get to the station after having Prick follow me for most of the way there. Except now I don't know which bus to catch. So I go in and ask the V-Line man which bus I'm supposed to catch, explaining about Prick, and the apparent bus change I wasn't told about (they're supposed to put a notice out to regular country bus travellers) and on the verge of tears as I'm trying to keep control of myself, only to be told,

"It's not our problem, find your own way home."

My arguments and pleas for an exception were unheeded and I eventually sat out on the waiting bench, feeling extremely panicky and frightened. I had to wait an hour and a half for a bus that went out my way, and even then, I had a lot of trouble convincing him to stop at my usual stop. I sat there, the whole way home, feeling both relieved I actually had a way home, and furious that I had been put in that situation by people in melbourne who have no idea how far it is and how difficult it can be if you're underage and live out of town.

Apparently V-Line had decided that the fact my stop was on a *slight* curve was too unsafe. They'd also decided that another stop I would catch was too curvy and dangerous. Nevermind the fact that the roads were flat and you could see for miles in either direction, it was apparently "Just too dangerous" for them to risk it. The fact my bus had stopped there twice a day every day for the past 8 years with no accidents or even near misses was just not good enough.

It's been a few months and all I can think is just what utter cunts the people who decided to pull my (and other major) bus stops are.
(Poppet some assembly required., Fri 26 Jun 2009, 10:59, 12 replies)

Buses = faster than humans
I used to catch the number 7 from Paddington to Russell Square (that's in London). This was an old routemaster bus with the staircase at the back and the open platform where you could hop on/off.

Unfortunately they only came every 20 minutes or so, so one morning, late for work, I saw the no.7 waiting at the stop. It was about 50 yards away, so I broke into a part jog/part walk to try to catch it up. I was about 10 yards away when it started to pull away, so I speeded up. So did the bus. I just about grabbed the pole on the back and thought I would easily pull myself onto the platform, so for some reason I stopped running. This caused me to lean forward violently, let go of the pole and end up in a big heap on the ground. Slightly grazed and puzzled I looked after the no 7 to see the conductor stood on the platform disappearing into the distance, pissing himself laughing. And then a look of feint concern on his face.

I looked behind me to see the no 23 screeching to a halt about a yard from my feet. I got up,dusted myself down, nodded to the no23 driver, and with all the dignity I could muster, picked up my laptop bag and went and sat in the bus shelter for the next 20 minutes trying not to say Owwww too loudly.
( Roland E O'Dorant R Tape loading error, 0:1, Fri 26 Jun 2009, 10:52, 1 reply)

My worst experience on a bus....EVER
It started out as a normal morning, I got on my regular bus to start my journey to work and took my usual seat amongst the other city folk.

Nothing that day seemed out of the ordinary, the bus took it's usual route and was trundling along at a good pace. Just then, some maniac jumps on board the bus saying he is a cop! The guy next to me must have been on the run or something, because he suddenly whips out a gun and in the ensuing scuffle he shoots the fucking driver!

The 'cop' who identifies himself as Jack explains that there is an armed bomb on the bus, and someone needs to take over the driving seat to keep it from dropping below 50mph.

Long story short, we all get off the bus and this guy Jack saves the day.

Bindun?
(porkinator is a Rock n Roll nerd!, Fri 26 Jun 2009, 10:30, 1 reply)

Buses
Hold a really quite special place in my heart, not only as a no-frills means of transport, but even as a means of living.

I spent a good year living on a bus, with a bed and a few bare necessities. Nothing separating me from the wild.

All went wrong when I ate what I thought were wild peas. Had a well dicky tummy.
( Rookie You'll have to speak up, I'm wearing a towel, Fri 26 Jun 2009, 10:24, 3 replies)

I was taking the bus home one day
When this youngish woman in a catsuit got on. She didn't seem to have enough money for the fare, but the driver let her on anyway. She was followed by this bloke in a blue suit and a long brown trenchcoat.

So far so straightforward, but then, as we went through the Blackwall tunnel (although it could well have been a tunnel in Cardiff) we must have hit a pothole or something because there was all of a sudden lights flashing outside, sparks and general odd spacey-timey effects.

ALl of a sudden we find ourselves in the middle of the desert on an alien planet. The weird bloke in the suit claims he's some kind of doctor, but he didn't help with my sprained ankle. And the woman in the catsuit annouces she's Lady Fruitella-Tottington or some such and decides she's in charge.

After that a whole bunch of alien flying metal things come swarming towards the bus and I start to regret taking a bus anywhere near an Easter Bank Holiday.

If only I'd done it forty years earlier I'd at least there's have been some singing and dancing and I'd have got to meet a young Una Stubbs.

GL
(GoodLord doesn't have time for sigs., Fri 26 Jun 2009, 10:23, 1 reply)

There was a busdriver who was shagging his busductress.
Not unusual, but they liked to park under the flyover in Croydon toward the end of the late shift, lock the doors and go at it on the top deck. Which meant they were always running late by the end of the night. Makes me wonder whnever my night bus is late.
Now the road inspectors ( the ones who make you get off one bus and on the one 'right behind' - yeah, right) had to put an end to this.
Didn't really want to as they used to park on the flyover and look down into the bus to score the evening performance. Probably should have sold tickets (instead of photos) but anyway their solution was to wait until the driver went into the short strokes then drop a dustbin onto the bus roof. Worked a treat.
( Farmer Geddon - is on his way., Fri 26 Jun 2009, 10:18, 1 reply)

Junkie ride
On the way home tonight there was an old dude swaying and wobbling, just about fell into the aisle twice. The person next to me helped them up a bit. A young guy imitated him to amuse his girlfriend. It didn't occur to anyone that the guy was off his nut on smack until I pointed it out. Not so amusing old guy now.

Not like the time the entire front half of the bus I was on got vacated by everyone except me and a feral looking diabetic guy. The look of horror on people's faces as he injected himself was pure gold. We had a loud conversations about diabetes that nicely shamed the lot of them.
(xixax, Fri 26 Jun 2009, 10:02, Reply)

Shameless pearoast on this the darkest of days
I met the current Mrs Milo on one of Ken's finest innovations, the London night bus. It was about 2am on a Saturday morning and I'd staggered on around Tottenham Court Rd after a Friday night spent in various less than salubrius Soho establishments.

I sat down next to this attractive petite brunette but the only thing I really noticed was that she was reading a book as that was a bit odd for that time of night even in London.

Anyway we got as far as Camden and a couple of wasted Camdenites (trilbys, skinny jeans etc) got on with their Maccy Ds and started talking loudly about Razorlight or some such while playing something similarly crap on their phones at full blast.

At the start I thought it was quite amusing as they were so pissed they were struggling to stand. But then one fell completely arse over tit and deposited the majority of his coke in my lap.

I was pretty pissed by this, but stayed sitting and conveyed my disgust verbally in a suitably sarcastic fashion. He however jumped up spitting obscenities in my face.

Before I could react, the girl next to me got up pushed him backwards while yelling something along the lines of "Why don't you just fuck off? You're dressed like a cunt and noone gives a monkey's fuck about your shite music!"

He looked a bit stunned by this. Then stepped forwards like he was going to start something further. However she curtailed this by punching him in the nuts (I've since found out she's been doing jujitsu since she was 15, whether this was a regulation move I don't know).

Wisely he left it at this and him and his mate got off rather sheepishly a couple of stops later.

This was quite a good ice breaker so we started chatting and it turned out she lived just a couple of stops before me. We exchanged numbers and it went from there.

I'm still shit scared of her, but that's by the bye.





To end on a topical note...

What's the difference between Michael Jackson and Alex Ferguson?

Ferguson will still be able to play Giggs in august.......
(Milo Minderbinder, Fri 26 Jun 2009, 9:57, 5 replies)

Dented Bus
One fine day I pulled out of my drive in a very small car (Vauxhall Tigra) and around the back of a bus stopped next to my flat.

2 months later there was a knock at the door from a policeman. Apparrantly I had dented said bus with my car and not stopped.

"But Mr Policeman, come and look at my car, it's shiney and black with no hint of damage or bus paint" said I.

"Ok" said Mr Policeman "I'll write a report that there is no damage to your car and that it has not been repaired".

2 months later I get a court summons for damage to the bus and loss of bus earnings while it was being repaired! Apparantly my little car had dented the bus so badly that it had to be taken off the road. My car was hardly taller than the floor of the bus.

At this point I talk to a lawyer.

The lawyer agreed that the bus company must be mad and after lots of letters and help from him we were ready to go to court.

On the morning of the court case Arriva rang up the lawyer to say they were willing to drop the case.

Now, at the time, I was looking after a very sick (soon to be no more) husband so I really didn't want to spend the time away from him in court. Even though the lawyer thought we could get his fees paid if we continued to go to court I decided I could afford the lawyer but not the time.

The lawyer, who knew about my situation, was an angel called Xavier. He only charged my 20 quid for all his work. He is a beautiful person.

Arriva on the other hand are gits.
(lawlam, Fri 26 Jun 2009, 9:51, 5 replies)