Busing it – part 1

Due to limited funds, there was no way I could afford to take our car into BigTown, let alone pay for parking. So, I had two options, walk or bus it. The bus won.

The last time, I had been anywhere near a bus, must have been when visiting Amberley Working Museum in West Sussex, before Christmas. (The buses weren’t actually working, which itself is rather ironic ). Prior to this it must have been May 2000, on the occasion of Paul’s 40th Birthday, when he (a bus fan) hired a Party bus to take us to London’s South Bank, for a spin on the Millennium Wheel.

It also happened to be FA Cup Final day, the last to be played at the old Wembley Stadium, (which, sadly, was not part on our itinerary) and my team were in contention against Aston Villa. Thankfully, Chelsea went on to secure their second FA Cup in three years courtesy of a goal from Roberto Di Matteo. But I digress.

On Monday this week, with my virgin ‘Oyster’ card in hand, I boarded the suggested bus at the suggested bus stop. This would be my first proper bus ride in years, and other than the bus driver, the only voice I heard came from the bus itself, which announced in a digitised but vaguely friendly voice our route number and our destination, and as we progressed, every stop.

In under fifteen minutes we had reached journeys end, suffered no traffic hold ups, and the driver for his own good reason, had seen fit to drive warp speed where possible, adding to my excitement. I began to anticipate the return journey in five hours time.

Busing it – part 2

After the relative success of the previous days smooth and pretty uneventful journeying on red buses, came Thursday late afternoon. After hopping on the bus, I sat down and began to fumble in my bag for my book, something was wrong. The route! Sighing quietly, I then, realising my error, pressed the “bus stopping soon” button, alighted in a one way street and sought out a bus stop that promised a bus home.

A text conversation with Mrs W then ensued. (I will maintain that correct spelling is not important when txting, and it’s quickr).

“Delayed. Got on right bus but wrng drction. On way now… I think.”
Reply “That’s worth a quote!”
Me. “It could b worse, I could b really dumb and kept going.”
(Pause) “At least I got on the wrng bus at the rght time. I dont want 2 b in ReallyDistantTown late at night, cos that wld b wrong too. Right?”
Reply, “Stop blogging!”
“U love it!”

I got home about three quarters of an hour later than I expected, but there was a sense of relief in the air. The boys were oblivious, as two boxes of K-Nex were holding their attention. Later, when we sat down to eat, I realised “S” had built a car, and “J” a scooter. Not a bus in sight.