A true story…
Well we’ve all used it, and deep down we know it’s largely unsatisfying, so why do we go back for more? The simple answer is, if you’re minus a car you’re forced to use London Transport’s red lorry service. Oh don’t get me wrong, they’re a bloody marvel if you haven’t got to be anywhere particular at a specific time, but my advice is, give yourself half a chance and leave the day before!
I’d received a letter from the hospital saying that I needed take a blood test for my Lithium levels, and I also had an appointment with my psychiatrist. I was dreading it. Not the meeting or the visit to the vampire suite, the journey! It meant that I’d be at the mercy of three different bus routes, using six buses in all – in short, a bus traveller’s nightmare.
It wasn’t a cheap trip either; LT had just increased their fares. Some twat in a suit had come up with the brilliant idea of a blanket charge which meant that even if you only went one stop you still had to fork out two quid, so my round trip cost a small fortune.
By car, the hospital was literally no more than a 10 minute drive, but I didn’t have a car at the time so I was stuck with the situation. And to makes things even less appealing when I checked back over some rough figure work I saw that, even if you took into consideration the bus mileage and timescale, it would’ve still been quicker to book a short haul flight!
So I turned up at the place where the big red lorries were supposed to pick you up. If you haven’t had the privilege of using this form of transport, the object of the game is this in brief. You, the ever hopeful traveller, hang around for anything up to an hour in all weathers.
If you’re lucky, you’ll find a bus shelter but there’s no point in using it as it’s been built with no sides. When the bus does finally arrive, you board and hand over a small portion of your life savings, and for this you get thrown around for half an hour by the guy sitting behind the safety cage, and if you’re really lucky you’ll get dropped off roughly 600 hundred yards from where you actually want to be!
After just a few moments of waiting, my first bus turned up, and to my total surprise, we made the first leg of the journey in a reasonable time. I disembarked and my fingers went straight for my cigarettes, as there was no way the second bus would turn up straight away. I’d just inhaled a lung full of quality tobacco smoke when heads began to turn at the stop and, sure enough, the second licensed bandit was approaching. This miracle was repeated at the third stop.
Unbelievable – staggering even, and up until that point in my travel history unheard of, so I arrived at the bonce department with plenty of time to spare. I went straight in for my blood test, as there was no one else waiting, and my meeting with the head doctor was over in 15 minutes. I hit the road at 3.20 pm exactly, with the hope that my return journey would be a swift as my arrival… more chance of being ravaged by a brace of nuns dressed in nurse’s uniforms!
For one single solitary minute, I did toy with the idea of calling a cab. I had the money in my pocket, which was about the same as the bus fare, and there was a phone in the hospital’s reception with a cab company’s number to hand. But I thought no, I’ll entrust my faith in the big red lorry network once more. What a bloody idiot!
On leaving the brain factory I could see my first homeward bound bus heading my way and could only assume that every one of my stars were in perfect alignment that day. Then a negative thought crossed my mind, I hadn’t a clue where to hail down my nine ton people carrier, as the council had seen fit to dig up the road that day.
But I needn’t have worried as, behind me was a fully functioning stopper of buses minus its shelter, reeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee-sult! I stuck my arm out casually and waited for the comforting sounds of air brakes and a hiss that said, “The doors are open mate, step inside.” Bastard drove straight past me!
I was immediately filled with a sense of rage which was unusual for me, but before I began shouting the odds I thought I’d better check the timetable to make sure it was on the route I needed, and it was. My sense of loathing elevated swiftly to a hate status. But, what I’d failed to see was a small yellow notice at the top of the bus stop which said the stop was out of use due to the road works.
Now at this stage the transport for the poor was held up by a set of temporary traffic lights about fifty yards away and, as these types of lights generally take longer to change than the fixed variety, I figured I had enough time to walk up to the bus and see if the caring sharing son-of-a-bitch would let me on.
From my position on the pavement I could see the driver, and I knew that he knew I was there, but he’d obviously been flicking through London Transport’s conduct manual to discover how to deal with the, ‘angry client standing outside his bus.’
On page nine there are just two short paragraphs. The first says, “Just drive off.” And the second states that, “If you find yourself stuck in traffic for any length of time start playing the ‘looking straight ahead game’ – and then drive off.” I extended a friendly wave. Did he offer to open the doors even though he wasn’t at a stop, but there was clearly plenty of time for me to board without causing an accident? Did he bollocks!
I was more than a little pissed off to say the least, but in the distance I could see a glimmer of hope, about a hundred and fifty yards away was another hailing post. A couple of minutes had ticked by at this stage, so I decided to make my move, especially as I could see that the driver was beginning to lose his cool.
Oh yes, even though his head was fixed in a facing forward position his body language was beginning to let him down. There was much gripping and un-gripping of the steering wheel, and from time to time he’d roll his head from side to side in attempt to relieve the stress in his neck. Boo-wa-ha-ha!
Final part next week…
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