Sunday
On Sunday evening I went to a gig in Birmingham.

Ordinarily the voyage to Birmingham from my abode is not a particularly difficult one, with a bus followed by a short hop on the train, both of which run at roughly fifteen minute intervals.

Being Sunday, they would probably be less frequent, I thought, but they would still actually be running. How wrong I was.

I don’t know if you’ve ever been on a Rail Replacement Bus Service, but let me assure you that the word 'replacement' needs qualification. It’s going to take about twice as long, it’s going to be horrendously crowded with almost no space for luggage, it’s going to feel a lot like you’re on a school trip and the driver is probably going to look like he’s followed the well-trodden career path of member of the Rolling Stones to Pirate to Rail Replacement Bus Service Driver.

There were no signs at the station indicating where to stand depending on where in the magnificent Midlands you wanted to go. There was one surly man in a high-visibility jacket, who looked like he probably had the job satisfaction of a Ryanair stewardess, who irritably shouted at people until we were all standing in roughly the same place. Naturally, the bus didn't stop there.

Eventually I did get to Birmingham, via every pile of rocks by the side of the track that passes for a station (where, of course, nobody got on or off) and, well, my time there is for another QOTW.

Several hours later I, of course, had to take the Rail Replacement Bus Service home. The last one of the night. With about a hundred other people. Thanks to some anticipation and careful pushing I managed to make it onto this coach, leaving several dozen people outside, and, for reasons I will never truly understand, I chose seats near the back in very close proximity to some loud drunk chavs who had been hitting the town, or whatever. I wish I could remember more of what was said, or perhaps simply more of the noises they made, but I do recall the word "knickers" being used with startling frequency, and at one point a pensive one asked "Would you rather go to Ibiza or Malaga?". This felt even more like a school trip.

An hour or so later I got back to the original station and waited almost an hour for the last bus of the night, before giving in and sharing a taxi back with some other stranded people.

I wish I could drive.
( zeltergiset, Tue 3 Jun 2008, 19:33, 1 reply)

'the well-trodden career path of member of the Rolling Stones to Pirate to Rail Replacement Bus Service Driver.'
Just for that you get a *click*


Oh, it does feel good to get back to clicking.
( chickenlady b3ta's very own Elizabeth Taylor, Tue 3 Jun 2008, 21:47, closed)