Double – Double Decker
This essay could go anywhere. Let’s type. This morning I had to wait for 27 minutes for my bus. I commented on FarceBook that if our lives were timed to Nottingham City Transport timetable, we would live to 147 years of age. This was not an accurate calculation, but a few saw the humour in the observation. I like to commute using the public transport, and I confess to being an ‘anorak’ bus spotter. I don’t care what you think of my moronic like of the orange buses on the 36 bus route, I have confessed and feel liberated for doing so.
I travel upstairs as the smelly senior citizens, and noisy babies cannot get up the twisty stairs, left to me, I would put a height limit on the upper deck. Anyone below 1.7 metres should be banned. Did I mention that when the bus arrived, it was being pursued one of its brother’s? Bastards, one bus full the other empty, apparently a conspiracy between the two drivers to ruin at least sixty citizens day.
On the upper deck, were two ‘drug thugs’, an attractive blond, and a lovely lady who I recognise as a regular. The man who gets off at the tax office (looks like he could be dangerous) watched me carefully. And an Oriental gentleman who had two shoulder bags with the straps crossing his chest like David Carradine in the T.V show KungFu. A nice mix of fellow travellers. I imagined what it would be like to be on a Trans-African journey with them. Would the drug thugs addict the blond and the Oriental turn out to be a trafficker? Taxman could be an undercover spy and me of course, would be the National Photographic journalist. I could write a tip top story with this lot as the cast.
The journey ended outside of John Lewis (60% drop in yearly profits announced today) I scooted across the road to buy a lotto ticket, using some of the ten quid I found in an old pair of trousers last night. Zipped into the centre and up the escalator, turn right into the market. Open Lizzy’s stall 45 minutes late courtesy of Nottingham City Transport. I don’t get paid, so there is no guilt for being late! Although today, I have written the 17th letter of complaint to the bus company about the abysmal service offered (never have received a reply). I have to date wasted about 8 pounds in the cost of stamps in pursuit of justice, and I will not stop until I receive a complementary weeks bus pass (value 15 quid). There are dark days ahead, though, as there can only be another 17 letters after which there is no hope of recouping the cost of the stamps.
Around 12:30 Penny arrived, and I spoke to her about her holiday in Jamaica next month, and her two weeks in New York in December. It is all very well talking to a bus loving sun freak about jolly japes in sunny climes when he is attempting to get some compensation out of a French-owned bus company Penny, however….