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.
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