It took me four hours to get home from Mrs Monkeysex's last night
A journey that takes an hour and a half at most by car.

Absolutecockmunchingcuntingpigfuckingarserapistbastardsfromhell.

But at least I got to watch all the naughty videos we made on my phone the whole time I was waiting for trains, and look at the pictures I took of her in her tiny little hotpants.

HOTPANTS RULE.
( Bert Monkeysex is waiting for the mods to delete him, Thu 5 Jun 2008, 9:54, 38 replies)

not really a terrible experience,
but i once got a train in yokohama and the carrige consisted of me and about 60 schoolgirls who stared at me for the whole 1/2 hour journey. Awkward? never been looked at like a potential rapist before or since
(Moshi Moshi, Thu 5 Jun 2008, 9:44, 2 replies)

Phew!
Thank kucf for that..that was my worst journey ever. Being trapped in this dull and feckless office without any sweet B3TA to sooth the soul!..*mops furrowed brow* etc..
(misshotlips, Thu 5 Jun 2008, 9:22, 6 replies)

One that completely blew my mind
After a difficult break-up last year, I decided to go to Amsterdam with a young lady of my acquaintance for a weekend of drugs and hopefully some dirty sex.

We booked cheap as chips tickets through easyjet, and got up in plenty of time to catch the train from Kentish Town to Luton airport. The train arrived, we got on, all seemed normal. Then before we'd even got to Cricklewood, the train slowed and stopped on the tracks. A harrassed-looking guard bumbled trough our carriage muttering something like "bugger it, the train's broken." However, after about five minutes they got the train working again and we were on our way. All well and good.

Until we got to Radlett. The guard came back through and said that everyone not planning on going to Luton (the last stop on the line, one after the airport) had to get off there. There would be another train along in half an hour to pick us up.

When I enquired why this train wouldn't be able to take us to Luton airport, he gave the most incredible excuse ever - because of the unscheduled stop earlier, if the train stopped to let passengers off at the stations along the route, it wouldn't make it to Luton on time, and they had to keep to the timetable. So in order to keep to the timetable, they simply dumped all the passengers.

Unbelievable.
( emvee cruor deo cruoris, Thu 5 Jun 2008, 8:07, 4 replies)

Just three words.
Woo and Yay!
( girlinthehole, Thu 5 Jun 2008, 8:00, 27 replies)

More a 'lack of public transport' trauma...
I used to work at Chorlton Street bus station in Manchester, not exactly the most salubrious area in town.
I finished work at 10pm, the bus (from a stand literally a stones throw from the bus station cafe, and an olympic lob from my office)was due at 5 past. I was there at 2 past.
I was still there at 20 past.
No problem, next due at 25 past.
"Want some fun dearie?" Seriously, she used the word 'dearie'!
"No thanks"
"You gay? I can get you a lad" This from a woman who was about 5ft 2, looked 60 but was probably thirty. (We were about 400 yds from Canal street, it was Friday night, if I had wanted a lad I'd have not needed a go-between...)
"No thanks, I want to get home to my pregnant wife" at which point she grabs my balls.
"So you're not getting any then?"....
I just pushed her away, unfortunatly she went over the kerb and sat down on the road.
"Oh Sorry" says me offering my hand...
"Oi you, what you doing pushing women round?" a dwarf who was probably her pimp smacks me in the mouth.
I shout for the police, there's a cop car just gone past, and they scarper.
Needless to say the police ignore me.
So do the three or four other people waiting at the stop. thanks folks.
My mouth's bleeding, and still no bus. I end up walking down to the Arndale Centre where the driver looks at me and says "You're not getting on."
He relents when I point out that if his bus company had provided the service it advertised I wouldn't be in the state I'm in.
Adding insult to injury, when I get in she's gone to bed leaving me a note asking why I'm late!!

(Couple of things to clear up:
She wasn't actually my wife but it was easier to say that than "my pregnant girlfriend who's still married to someone else at the moment".
Secondly, some women actually get a higher sex drive during pregnancy. I know that, evidently the prozzie didn't.)
(paof2 Nude might not be rude, but rude could be nude..., Thu 5 Jun 2008, 7:43, Reply)

NINE HOURS.
After a somewhat delectable five day trip to New York, it was time to make the rather un-fun plane flight home. Let's set the scene: 80% of the 20-odd college kids that are on our trip are ill with some strange vomiting virus: how we managed to sneak them all through check-in I'll never know. Additionally, due to a cock up on the college's department, everyone's seats are interspersed.

Trust me to get the two rudest, most obnoxious, tipsy and loud Italian women I've ever come across.

And this is how they went about me wanting to jump out of the plane:

1. Talking very loudly in Italian. Constantly.

2. Stealing my fucking blanket.
In broken English:
IW: "It is cold, no?"
Me: "Yes, very cold."
IW: "You use blanket?"
Me: "Yes." *Blanket is rather obviously wrapped around me.
About 3 minutes later, when she thought I was asleep she reached over and took it. Cue the rest of the journey spent with my wrapped in my rather heavy winter coat.

3. Stealing my yoghurt. Bitch stole my yoghurt! Again, after waiting til I'd closed my eyes and attempted to drown out their incessant chatting. Obviously I could fall asleep with their quiet, considerate, yakking.

4. Looking over my shoulder at my DS. Seriously if there's one thing you don't do it's look over my shoulder!

5. Stick me on the window seat, refuse to move and mean I have to climb over them every time I run away to the other side of the plane to commiserate myself.

6. And finally, the piece de la resistance: After proving that a little broken english existed there, attempting to talk me. In Italian. And getting pissed off when I didn't understand. I speak several languages, of which Italian is not one. Please get that into your thick skill at least one hour after you try to talk to me next time.

...Seriously, I could not get off the plane quick enough when we landed. It was probably a half sprint, pushing everyone past, celebrating the fact I'd never have to see these two idiots again.


I am by no means a xenophobe, either, however these two washed-up 40 something "fashionistas" have put me off Italy for life.
(TheHBoxster is probably playing Beatles Rock Band on, Thu 5 Jun 2008, 6:53, Reply)

Mmmmm, smell the peas
A couple of mondays ago, me and my friend C (shes female and noticibly so) had been out for a wee bit of drinkage in the fine town of manchester (joshua brooks if your interested).
The early hours were upon us and after my dismal failure to pull this chunky lass and C having a massive argument with her mate, and we both decided to call it a night. So off we went to the bus stop and hopped on the first bus heading our way.
The bus eventually arrived and we hopped on. The bottom was fairly full so we headed up to the top, there were only us two sat at the front and three scabby looking guys at the back. About 30 seconds into the journey an unshaven mess appears at my shoulder and announces (in its best chavspeak) "You want any blow mate?"
I didnt, and informed him thus. He apparantly took objection to this and responded with this (stunning) bit of repartee: "Then give me all your fucking money"
Being in a rather inebriated state (and fairly convinced this bloke was a gnome) I just nodded and continued staring blankly at him. The threats continued for a few more moments and I eventually realised I was being mugged. Deciding I liked my face very un"slashed" I got out all my money (about 4 pounds in change) and duly handed it over.
About 3 minutes later (after an ignored attempt to steal my phone) the kindly gent retires back to his seat and starts cackling with his fellow man-gnomes. The bus pulls over a few seconds later and me and C decide to ge the hell outta there.
Man-gnome chooses this moment to look up and notices C, looks very confused and hurried up to me.
"Shit sorry mate, didnt realise you were with a girl."
Now its my turn to look confused (this may have showed in my expression) as manchavgnome proceeds to reach into his pocket and pulls out all his change and hands it to me.

Yes, thats right, I got a refund on a mugging.

Actually I made about 1.50 on the deal.

I think that makes me Jesus...

Apologies for length, it would be longer but im still confused.
(big king bob Lord of the Ska, Thu 5 Jun 2008, 2:08, 1 reply)

Not my journey,
but it did spoil my evening. I went to Wales a couple of months ago with 2 friends. One came with me in the car, but the other was taking the train down later that day.
London to Swansea isn't hard and usually takes around 2 hours. We were going to pick him up from Swansea station at 6pm. His train got later and later and eventually trundled in at 11pm.
It turned out that between London and Bristol someone got run over, so they all waited for ages at Bristol Temple Meads for a replacement train, which then promptly ran someone else over.
So 2 fatalities, 1 train trip. In the end the few days we spent down by the sea were very pleasant, despite the cursed trip down.
( Soggy, Thu 5 Jun 2008, 1:30, 3 replies)

Crazy people on the 62...
I thought they were just two jakies having a loud conversation, a couply argument. Takes all sorts, especially on a bus that goes through Yoker. It was only at about Whiteinch that I realised that the pauses in their "conversation" was for when they stopped talking to themselves/the voices/the woman on the concession ticket poster to glug down more pikey cider. As the journey wound its way on into the heart of Glasgow, they slowly drifted in and out of sync with each other. I wish I'd taped it.

Length? A damn sight longer than it took to drive to work the next morning, I can tell you.
(gordonjcp, Thu 5 Jun 2008, 0:53, 2 replies)

Russian Nightmares
Not strictly public transport ... but ... went on a holiday to Cyprus a few years back and my mate and I decided to do the wee, two day, three night cruise to Israel and Egypt. Depart Cyprus night one, cruise to Egypt, wake and have the day in Cairo/Giza, cruise to Israel that night, wake and have the day in the holy land (buy cheese) back to the boat and cruise overnight back to Cyprus. If you can, do it! Well worth it.

You can pay shed loads for it and get a view, or you can, like us, pay pennies and get a tiny room near the engines. Sink you couldn't wash both balls in at the same time, storage enough for one shoe and fold down bunks that had inches of cleance space from either person above you or the roof.

Me and my mate didn't care ... we drank up on deck until the sun started to come up then stumbled a mile back down into the bowels of the ship to lie down for a few hours. We were sharing a room back on Cyprus so were fairly comfortable with each other, and it was only for two nights.

Not so for the guy we met on deck on the third night.

In fact, we met loads of people on the third night. The Cruise was mainly populated by older people, but as the bars closed all over the ship, there was a larger and larger group of young people gathering together in the search for booze. We made it to the last bar just as it was closing but managed to get a few armfuls of wine and beer bottles to drink al fresco. By about 2 or 3am the deck was populated by two Scottish blokes (us) two girls from Israel (pals, one Arab, one Muslim), some German girls, a HUGE Russian guy (more of him in a moment), a few Asians from the West and South East of the continent, the ubiquitous Oz bloke, a few randoms we never identified ... and it was fecking fantastic. A veritable United Nations, all happily drinking with each other, putting the world to rights and trying to get off with each other. Brilliant night.

Anyway, back at the point. One of the folk there was a guy from Liverpool who was joining in as much as he could, but was quiet plainly exhausted. He'd turned up on his own as his mates didn't fancy the trip, and had been assigned a bunk mate. He was in the same financial bracket as us, so ended up sharing his tiny bunk room with the aforementioned HUGE Russian guy.

He hadn't slept for the two previous nights and told us why ...

The HUGE Russian bloke had turned up in the room about midnight, just as our pal was bedding down. He was about 25, and 6 foot square, a scary combination of fat and muscle ... probably couldn't run after you for very far, but you were fucked if he caught you. On the other hand, he was sweetness and light, very quietly spoken, with a very gentle manner. When he came in, the Liverpool guy had to get out of bed to let him manouver into his, but was very apologetic and polite ... even offering one or two little vodka shots as nightcaps from his hip flask.

After a bit of kerfuffle, both were bedded down and the lights were off ... the guy from Liverpool slipped into a gentle doze. All was well.

Then around 4 in the morning the Russian guy started having a nightmare. A. NIGHTMARE.

I've woken up in some unfamiliar places before, but imagine, just imagine, waking up in a tiny space with an enormous bloke inches below your head screaming at a big imaginary scary monster. In Russian. In the dark. Then the arms started flailing.

The Liverpool guy shat himself. He didn't know what to do ... there was no way out of the bunk without standing on a part of this guy, who was now dreaming about having Godzilla in a headlock and shouting about it at the top of his voice. He stayed put, and fortunately Godzilla died not long after, making the Russain snore loudly in triumph.

Our pal didn't get back to sleep again that night.

The second night he stayed up drinking as long as he could and as he got to his room door, he heard the fight starting again ... he went back up and stayed on deck that night. It gets cold out there!

By the third night he'd given up and was trying to sleep with his rucksack tied to his leg and all his spare clothing around his body. Shame he'd camped out next to us as we cheered everytime he managed fall asleep.

It's not the size but what you do with the enormous bastard that counts.
( Cheeses of Nazareth Where's Captain Kirk? www.whereiskirk.com, Thu 5 Jun 2008, 0:12, Reply)

stag do carnage
got caught up in a stag do the other night. one of the guys thought it would be cute to pull me onto his knee. shame my high heel caught his toe on the way down. and the way back up.

still, no more of that nonsense nor the yakking barf everywhere now boris has banned the booze. yay boris.

btw, boris? you so would!!
( rachelswipe with a fork, Thu 5 Jun 2008, 0:08, 5 replies)

On a bus in Germany
somebody stuck a sausage up my arse. That was my wurst public transport experience.
( mistaspakkaman and the inedible shifting caterpillars, Thu 5 Jun 2008, 0:07, 3 replies)

A train journey that normally takes two hours took me...

9 1/2 hours. You know it, the old 'rail replacement' story; only this time I had to get three rail replacements, and the train from Reading to Bournemouth went via Portsmouth which is a pretty long way out.
So yeah, I was tired after a wasted day as you can imagine, all that was left was the final leg from Southampton Airport to Bournemouth via coach, and do you know what topped it off? The driver played Phil Collins. Really fucking loud.

Not impressed.
( Turquoise Hexagon Sun has just dropped acid on, Thu 5 Jun 2008, 0:02, Reply)

A lesson in Chivalry
Many years ago, when I were just a lad, I was travelling on the bus with my brother, dear ol mum and my Uncle.

Aaanyway, the bus starts to fill up and as properly raised little gentlemen (with our mum watching) we were sure to give up our seats to any little old ladies who wanted them.

Eventually its just my uncle and mum left sitting, and another old dear gets on.

My uncle stands and indicates for her to sit down, which she does. Then my uncle taps her on the shoulder and says, ''Oh, I'm sorry, I left my paper there and you're sitting on it.' So she stands back up to let my uncle retrieve his paper and, quick as a bunny, he slips back in and sits down again, nudging the old dear into the aisle.

'The next time someone is gentleman enough to offer you their seat, you be lady enough to say thank you'

The look on her face was priceless, and with most of the passengars (including mammy dear) supressing giggles the old bat got off at the next stop, lesson learned. :)
(Poombah the destroyer where did tutt and dth go, Wed 4 Jun 2008, 23:54, 3 replies)

Trauma
Trauma is paying about twenty quid for a train journey that lasts half an hour. Trauma is sitting on that crowded train, mouth dry, hands shaking, adrenalin coursing through your veins, terror in the knowledge of what you're about to do. Trauma is re-running every conversation over and over again in your mind as each second of your travel spins out into an excruciating eternity. Trauma is re-reading the same page, the same paragraph, the same sentence, the same few words of your book over and over again. Trauma is standing with your hand on the door waiting for the platform outside. Trauma is walking unsteadily through the ticket barriers, eyes scanning the station. Trauma is the spun-out moment before you meet for the very first time the person who has become everything to you.
( crackhouseceilidhband Fuck off back to Mumsnet, Wed 4 Jun 2008, 23:43, 45 replies)

On the subject of giving up your seat for the elderly...
I remember being very young and my mom was reading to me from a book of rules for little kids. Such rules included always saying "please" and "thank you," as well as washing your hands before meals, et cetera. Then we came to a rule near the back: "Always give up your seat if someone older than you gets on the bus." My mom said, "Listen, I want you to follow every rule in this book...except this one. Just because people are older than you doesn't mean they automatically should receive your respect. Old people are often bastards anyway." To this day I've never offered my seat to an elderly person and on this point I think my mom would be proud.
(BrainSurgerysFun, Wed 4 Jun 2008, 23:33, Reply)

Aw, bless.
This wasn’t so much traumatic for me as for the poor twat who thought he would vent his bad day on me.

To set the scene I am not a small person. Ok, at 5’ 6” I’m not that big. But add to that the 16 stone frame and you’ll get some idea. It’s not all fat as I was a heavyweight gym rat for a while, anyway you know what I mean. Add to that the fact I was wearing a rather thick leather levi style jacket and as you can guess I was taking up about one and a half seats.

Normally, if it’s crowded on the metro I will squeeze myself in as much as I can so the seat sharers can fit. On the day in question this was not the case. There were shedloads of empty seats. On gets a fellow fat bastard and he sits next to me. There were empty double and even quadruple seats. Did he sit in one of those? Fuck no. Next to me.

I continued reading and listening to my walkman (yes it was a while ago) while he squirmed and wriggled and became increasingly agitated. I had guessed his intention of making some sort of scene or starting an altercation and the following exchange took place.

Me: Is there some sort of problem?
Him: Yeah, you’re taking up too much room.
Me: There are loads of empty seats, why don’t you use one of them?
Him: I’m not moving why don’t you move?
(I was in the window seat FFS)
Me: Well to be honest I don’t want to. You are the one cuddling in ……. But honestly I don’t mind, get as close as you want. (with my best seductive smile).

He moved pretty sharpish and I relaxed and enjoyed the rest of the trip home.

Length? About 35 minutes on a good day.
(porkylips looks better as the sun goes down., Wed 4 Jun 2008, 22:47, 2 replies)

Once when I was going down
on a lass with a right old 'Judith' between her legs, I was finding it impossible to get anywhere through the thick undergrowth. I would have to keep stopping and cough up hairballs. This didn't make the task any easier. Her bush must have been like the Lernaean Hydra - every time a hair came loose, two must have grown back. Naturally, she was starting to get bored. The lack of stimulus soon made her fed up and she started to move. She lifted her back up off the ground and started her upside-down crawl back from my place to hers. I was determined to finish the job so I held on by hugging her tight just above the buttocks with my head stuck into her hairy mary. She crawled backwards this way while I walked forwards. To anyone with poor eyesight who saw us, we must have looked like a giant insect - her being the head and thorax, and me being the abdomen. When she got to her front door, she realised that I still hadn't taken the hint, so she drops her back to the ground, sits up, punches me in the face and kicks me away. I was too dazed to follow her inside before the door slammed shut. Coming to my senses, I realised I was being laughed at by spectators. That was my worst pube-lick transport experience.
( mistaspakkaman and the inedible shifting caterpillars, Wed 4 Jun 2008, 22:27, 10 replies)

Animals and wanking
A few years ago I was minding my own business on a very long train journey. I had some work to do with me, so I had a window seat at a table.
A strange looking lady boarded the train, grumpily making her way down the aisle - swearing at, and bumping into every available stranger with an armful of bags. Of course, she sat down next to me.
I stared at my work, using every ounce of my concentration to pretend not to notice her. She tapped me on the shoulder, and began one of the strangest conversations I have ever, ever had in my life:
Her: "Do you like pets?"
Me: "Er, yeah they're alright I 'spose. I had a hamster once. It died.
Her: "Oh, hamsters. I know them, they're internal."
I can only assume she meant nocturnal. Chatter went on for some time, she appeared to be completely lucid when talking about animals. If conversation strayed, she was completely barkiing. My favorite example of this was:
Her: "I went to see my son last week, I like his dog but he beats it with his belt so I gave it some of my sleeping pills to make it feel better but my doctor said not to do that again otherwise he would strike me off. My careworker doesn't know I've gone out shopping today."
I was literally trapped against the window at this point, and not wishing to provoke her I decided to keep her talking about the animals, dogs, horses, chinchillas, cats, ferrets, rabbits, fish... anything I mentioned she seemed to have been an owner/keeper of at some point. I wanted to find an animal she hadn't ever owned, and this happened:
Me: "My friend had an african grey parrot once, it said rude things."
Her: "oh yes, yes, they're very clever. Mine said allsorts."
Me: "Don't they live for a long time, do you still have it?"
Her: "Oh, no, I've been banned from keeping animals for ten years. Didn't you see it on the news?"
And then I twigged, I had seen it on the news a few months previously, my new friend was this lady:
news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/england/leicestershire/4052781.stm

Two weeks after this, I was upgraded on a flight to America. Again, a window seat. I fell asleep feeling smug about all the leg room, only to wake up sitting next to a very twitchy, spotty 15 year old lad. I slowly came to the realisation that he was having a jolly little wank under his blanket. I was too mortified to say anything, for an entire 45 minutes. At which point, he stopped twitching, slumped down in his chair, and asked to borrow my pen. I told him I'd rather he didn't touch my belongings, until he'd gone to the toilets and washed his hands.

Edit: I must have met her escaping. Wonder what was in the bags? news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/england/leicestershire/5103072.stm
(blubear, Wed 4 Jun 2008, 22:25, 2 replies)

Stuck on a train from Glasgow to London
Got on the thing just after work on a Friday night. It went a few miles down the track and stopped. For several hours.

Some selfish twat had jumped in front of the train in front of ours. There was a delay while they scraped him up.
It was dark before we started moving. They didn't have to clean it any more after that time.

As for the train. It was a virgin train (not a virgin anymore as it had some cunt smeared all over it) so the blood wouldn't have shown on its red paintwork.
(Wize, Wed 4 Jun 2008, 22:09, Reply)

A mates stag night
and for some reason we went on a train from Glasgow to Edinburgh after pouring as many different drinks as possible down his neck.

Its a reasonably long journey. Long enough for him to leave what looked like a pile of baby sick in the middle of the isle.

As quick as a flash, one of the guys runs to the end of the carriage, through the adjoining doors to the next one and catches the ticket inspector, who had been wandering up and down the train, just before he entered the carriage. He managed to keep him there the rest of the way (which was about half an hour) by chatting away with him.
As soon as we got in to Edinburgh, we offloaded our mate as soon as possible (and so we could get some air as it was getting a tad strong in there). Someone managed to blame the bloke sleeping in the next row of seats when the guard did eventually enter. Luckily the sleeper was drunk as a skunk too.
(Wize, Wed 4 Jun 2008, 22:05, Reply)

Naked ladies?
Many years ago when I was a very small girl I had a lovely big walking and talking doll.

Which makes it sound like Bride of Chuckie or similar....it wasn't.

It was a large blonde doll which sported a sprinkling of holes in its chest rather like a plug hole and below this was a big button. When the button was pushed the doll said things like, "Would you like to play with me?" and, "Will you be my friend?"

Anyway, I was young and adventurous and thought that the doll, while lovely with her long blonde locks and blinky blue eyes (with eye-lashes), could do with a bit of improvement. I had repeatedly made her 'outfits' fashioned from tissues and drawing paper, but this was not enough.

No. She needed a proper makeover.

Gok Wan, Trinny and Suzanna, none of them had anything on me - I was truly ahead of my time. I took a blue biro to my doll's face and gave her firstly some fetching eyeshadow, then pretty blue lipstick and finally the pièce de résistance - blue facial tattoos.

As I said, ahead of my time.

Sadly my parents didn't agree with me. They were rather 'disappointed' with me....rather disappointed with my mother's (hard) hand across my backside.

Fortunately my father had a friend who worked at the local Pedigree factory - Pedigree (for those of you born in the 80s or later) made toys such as Tiny Tears and the famous Sindy doll (she was the cheap slut cousin of Barbie).

This friend could get my doll repaired or maybe a new head if necessary. All that was required was the doll to be delivered to the factory on Monday morning.

So Monday comes around and there I am with my mum waiting for the bus to take us into town, from there we can walk to the factory. The doll is safely tucked under my mother's arm, naked save for a blanket wrapped around her with little pink flat feet protruding and my mother looking like a body snatcher of rigid toddlers.

The bus is packed with people going to work - this was the 70s - not everyone had a car in those days.

As a complete aside, I had to assure some young children today that back when I was a child there were cars and I didn't go everywhere by horse-drawn carriage. The wouldn't believe me, however, when I said that there was a civilised time before the internet.

One empty seat was left, my mother pushed me towards it and she chose to stand with my beloved friend under her arm.

I sat down and enjoyed the journey as the bus slowly filled up as we got closer and closer to town.
And as we got closer and the bus got busier so the blanket wrapped around the doll got looser and looser.

My mother was entirely unaware of this until one man started to whistle a tune....he was joined by woman singing a tune.....then another...and another until the bus was in uproar....

The tune?

The Stripper.
( chickenlady b3ta's very own Elizabeth Taylor, Wed 4 Jun 2008, 21:32, 6 replies)

Stinky Portuguese bus
When I was a student in the 90s, I spent a month in Lisbon on a Portuguese course. One day some of us went to to the beaches at Caparica for the day on a nice, cheap bus.

On the way back in the evening, some guy got on carrying a bucket. It wasn't until he plonked himself next to me that I realised he must have been a fish stall holder and his bucket contained whatever he hadn't sold that day. And judging by the stink of it, it must have spent the whole day sitting in the sun. It smelt so foul you could taste in it the air.

I survived the journey by putting my head right next to the high window and taking desperate gulps of air every time the bus moved and clamping my mouth shut every tile it stopped. Finally arrived in Lisbon half dead and gasping for breath.
(lolwhites, Wed 4 Jun 2008, 21:21, Reply)

I can't remember having a really mind-bogglingly awful experience on public transport,
but a memorably unpleasant incident occurred when I was going up to visit a friend in Wilberfoss (a small village in East Yorkshire.)
I'd just got off the train at York, studied the timetable and worked out where I needed to catch the bus - miraculously catching it just before it was due to pull off and baggsying a window seat with a decent view. Then, a rather podgy middle-aged lady, having nowhere else to sit, plonked herself down beside me.

Now I don't like it at all when people sit too close to me. And this lady apparently dozed off about three seconds after the bus got going, and every time the bus turned left she'd slump onto me like a big bag of jelly, causing me to cringe involuntarily.

This carried on throughout the whole 10 miles to Wilberfoss - it was one of the most uncomfortable 25 minutes I've ever experienced. And the very scond I got up to leave, she was shuffling onto the newly-vacated seat and glaring at me as if I'd oppressed her God-given right to sit in that particular seat. To this day, I'm convinced she 'fell asleep' deliberately to try and make me bugger off.

I tell thee, they're a right weird lot over there in the East Riding.
( The Mock TurtIe ™ --- Thinks you are a cunt, on, Wed 4 Jun 2008, 21:03, 2 replies)

Scottish buses of yesteryear...
Oh the joys!

Way back when I got on one of those wee mini buses you get in Scotland, travelling a short distance up to my mates house.

My fellow passengers were three tramp-like characters, who were all indulging in alcoholic beverages whose strength was only matched by their cheapness.

Being a bit of a novice drinker at the time, my eyes widened in amazement when the oldest of the gents took out a can of Tennets' Super - like a lager, only much, much stronger - and proceeded to down the whole can in one.

Genuinely impressed, I would have doffed my cap to such a feat of drinking had I been wearing one.

In fact, I was just pondering how I culd never, ever have even taken a large swallow of Tennets' Super without retching when the old guy proceeded to projectile vomit the entire lot back up on to the floor...

Thankfully, My stop was next, and I managed to avoid the slowly spreading pool of regurgitated lager as I made my exit.

But as the bus drove off into the night, I could still see the trio - two of them blissfully swigging their White Lightning cider while the third emptied the contents of his stomach beside them.

Happy memories!
(El Fandango carved a big EF onto his nemesis' doublet on .., Wed 4 Jun 2008, 20:55, Reply)

Unlucky fella from work...
Back in 2005 one of our guys working in the London office I think had the worst luck.

I'm sorry to post this a bit, I hope some don't see it in bad taste, but it may just make you reflect that your trauma really isn't all that bad..

The guy went for his morning commute in July. Got to the tube station, getting down to the tube and one of the July bombs went off... he gets evacuated.

You think phew, that's a lucky escape isn't it?

Unfortunately not. He then gets on a bus to go to work. Yes, you may be thinking... he got on the bus that exploded in Tavistock Square. Unfortunately he was one of the 52 fatalities of that day.

I remember being at a comedy gig and one of the comedians was taking the piss out of the bombings, then he asked the audience if anyone had any experience of the bombings as he was swearing at the Council for stopping public transport for the day...

I told him that story. The room went kinda quiet. No witty retort from said comedian.

So whenever I have a bad commute with screaming babies, drunk people, snoring people, over-cramped carriages, I just think of the poor bloke from work that died and quite frankly, I've got nothing to be miffed at.
(Wildchild, Wed 4 Jun 2008, 20:46, 43 replies)