Post number (er . . . lost count)

It has come to my attention that I'm dead which does make writing a bit of a problem, but not insurmountable as you can see.

The fast few months have been uneventful in the bus world that I call home, lots of moans and groans but not interesting reading, its easy to complain but hard to entertain.

I've not crashed the bus for ages (that's an instant curse now I bet), nor have I run anyone over (they tend to dodge out of the way now), no one's died in transit but there's still time.

Been spending a lot of my time on my new project, the history of Worthing pubs (yes I know, boring but the on site research is fun) and the current results can be found at www.worthingpubs.com, got a mention in the local Argus newspaper about it on page three with a very unflattering picture but at least they spelt my name right. When I got home that evening the local radio station wanted an interview which I did over the phone which was very strange to do, so Andy Warhol was right, fifteen minutes of fame.

There was one amusing story I heard today of a past incident, a driver was coming to the end of his round when a customer was getting off the bus remarked to the driver that there was a wheelchair on board, nothing unusual about that you might think, except there was no one in it, it would seem this driver had the power to heal the lame, hopefully we won't nail him to a cross at Easter!

183) If you missed it . . .

Top Gear did a Bus Race, check out BBC Iplayer (bbc 2 section) for full programme or you tube link here for the bus section.

182) The picture I said I wouldn't publish (I Lied)

I’ve been inspired to write some more and to dismiss any rumours of my death. It was August since my last confession and I’ve been a good boy since then . . . (stop laughing)

So, what’s new? I’ve been invited to write for the in-house news letter, there has been an offer by one of the controllers to do a centre page spread but this would require a fold out section and extra staples so that’s on hold, perhaps a Christmas Advent calendar would be more suitable then at least you don’t have to open all of the boxes.

We did a bus pull (ok, I didn’t, I get out of breath taking my hands out of my pocket) along Worthing sea front in aid of charity (ahh) there’s even a video clip somewhere (er . . here)

and you know what, people still tried to get on. It proved so successful the bus company has sold off the tow truck.

Chichester has a new ruling for bus drivers reversing out of the bays, we have to beep the horns, strangely the public have a habit of walking across the forecourt behind revering buses, this gives rise at busy periods of a cacophony of tuneless honking except on one occasion were everyone joined in and did a wonderful rendition of Beethoven’s Piano Concerto number 5, second movement (he had a gippy tummy that day), it brought tears to my eyes but I was peeling an onion at the time.

The story behind the picture. Chichester has branded the number 60 service with the swinging sixty’s imagery. Its named after the route number, not the average age of the customers (apparently).

Signing off for now, the warden wants the crayon back now.

Bus pull pictures here

180)

The Other Customer
So, what happened to the story about the other "customer?"
(Comments 176)

The three old dears shuffled on to the bus (by ‘dears’ I mean elderly people, not as in venison) ‘Three to Portsmouth’ said the elected spokesperson and held out her pass. Now it’s easy enough to press the enter button three times (just an hours training) but I’m much wiser now and just press it once, the elected spokesperson gives me a strange look (she had it in her hand ready), I looked over her shoulder and she clicked on, ‘Oh, he wants to see your passes girls’ she said and low the passes were pre offered. ‘I’m sorry, that’s an old pass, for I can not accept it any more’ say I. ‘Well the other driver accepted it’ replied the elected spokesperson’, ‘Tell me another one’ replied I (or rather wished I had) but instead just paused. It was stand off time; I got out a jigsaw puzzle. ‘How much is it’ the elected spokesperson eventually asked, ‘£3.70’ I said quick as a flash (as in a flash of light, not a dirty old man standing in an alley way) ‘Oh, it was only £3.50’ coming here’ she said . . . . ahhhhhh gotcha! If the other driver had accepted her free pass how could she have been charged? I remained silent (but my alto ego was running up and down the bus naked, try not to picture that . . please).

And there’s more . .

I pulled in to the main bus stop in the middle of Worthing, the crowd welcomed me in the usual fashion, waving, and shouting, throwing rotten fruit etc. In the end I had to open the doors and they heaved on totally ignoring my hand written sign saying Anthrax quarantine unit. As I dealt with people on an individual basis I noticed three children being ushered on behind the paying passengers and noted the two women/mothers doing the ushering. After about a minute these mothers boarded the bus at the back of the queue. ‘Two to Portslade please’ she asked, I rung up the fares and added ‘Plus three children was it?’, there was a pause (similar to the one I the story above except this one was yellow) . . . . ‘yes’ came the eventual reply, I completed the tickets and told her the price ‘What, I’m not paying that, we’ll get a taxi, come on children, off the bus’. This did mean I had to cancel a string of tickets but it was worth every one. The strange thing was, round the corner I was due to change drivers and have a break and so I wondered back in to town to search the rubbish bins for food when I noticed the very same mothers back in the queue for the next bus, If I had had the time I would have just stood in the bus stop in clear view and smiled.

TIP of the week:

Don't waste money buying expensive binoculars.
Simply stand closer to the object you wish to view.

178) I'm a name, not a number

Yes, we have badges with our names on now and I always though my name was ‘Oi you’, you live and learn. I have contemplated changing mine, the options being: Darling, The Artist Formally Known As Prince (to long) Mr H Shipman, Xyzyz (A Chinese national hero or Polish Politician - probably) or ‘Yes I’m late – don’t talk to me’

OK, it’s been a while I admit, it just that nothing exciting has happened for ages or am I tempting fate I wonder.

Now there was that incident the other day, lady got off the bus (I did stop, I’m considerate like that) and she wheeled her shopping trolley off the platform to the pavement below, I guess she had a lot of shopping in it as the rim of one of the wheels parted company from the hub, I saw it happen . . . she didn’t and waved me goodbye, I drove off with a smile (and the bus) wondering how she was going to get home on one wheel?

‘You’ve got a trainee with you this morning’ I was informed the other morning by Control . . . they smiled, I smiled back (but mine wasn’t real). Now we all have to start somewhere, I remembered those early days too well. ‘Can he drive’ I asked, this may sound a little strange but it has been known for the odd trainee to have no sense of direction and spend chunks of the day reversing a bus out of people’s driveways as in . . Turn right here . . . no, I meant where that road is not immediately in to someone’s garden . . . bless.

My concerns were unfounded however, he was keen, confident and a lot bigger than me.
I spent the first couple of rounds riding on the platform which is like standing on the deck of a small boat wearing roller skates pretending your in full control of your legs knowing the passengers behind are watching and thinking ‘why are there two drivers, perhaps one’s good at turning left and the other at turning right’. These first trips were uneventful. By trip three I was sitting behind him (not on the same seat I should add) out of sight, it takes a bit of the pressure off him, I did shout out ‘MY GOD WE’RE GOING TO CRASH’ a couple of times but he was unfazed. Trip four found me halfway down the bus enjoying the ride, listening to the old ladies gossip which made me realise why I like it up front, at one point Paul Gadd tried to get on but he told him he wasn’t welcome here

177 Just another day

The vermilion splash of blood on a freshly formed elder leaf, the soft carpet of rabbit fur ground in to the black tarmac and the shades of grey on a pigeons wing waving in the breeze strangely absent from the rest of the body, the morning dew glistening from a dead badgers eye hanging from a twig on the road side, all these wonders of nature only open to the early shift drivers. . . .

(excerpt from Jimmy latest book: Jimmy and the Windmill of Doom. Published by Ginster Pie and Sausage Company, available as a hard back with wipe clean cover, coffee table version available soon, just as soon as we find some legs to fit it).

The bus stops halfway up a one way street, a fire engine blocks the way, ‘what’s that driver’ asks a woman passenger, ‘it’s a fire engine’ replies the driver, ‘What’s it doing there?’ says the woman, ‘Attending a fire’ replies the driver, ‘why have we stopped?’ enquires the same woman’, ‘there’s a fire engine in the way’ ends the driver in total disbelief. None of this happened to me thankfully but to another driver, I am given to understand that they’ve not found her body yet!

Foreign students, you either love ‘em or hate ‘em, me, I’ll reserve my opinion for the moment. When it’s a single student then there’s not really a problem but they tend to herd together like cattle and rush the bus the moment the door opens snapping the legs of the elderly as they try to disembark. I now stop short of the bus stop to give the more fragile a head start to leave the bus and perhaps the opportunity to scrape the shins of the rushing students with their shopping trolleys. What does bug me is that whilst they are here they are under strict instructions to only speak English but this seems to have got lost in translation I think.

A few days ago I pulled in to Littlehampton a few minutes early; a small crowd were waiting for me, I frisk them as they board the bus looking for knives, alcohol rub and illicit toffee making machinery when one gentleman decides to vent his spleen and tells all within hearing distance what a poor service the bus company was giving, I raised my eyebrow (there’s a small lever in my pocket)’ Is there a problem sir?’ I asked as I confiscated a knuckle duster off an octogenarian. Yes, we’ve been waiting here for 15 minutes and three buses stopped, put ‘OUT OF SERVICE’ up and drove off’ he answered. ‘Ah, those would be ones that have finished their duties and were going back to the depot to be fuelled and cleaned sir’ replied I. ‘yes of course, you would say that wouldn’t you’ he answered back in a disbelieving voice. ‘It’s quite true sir, it’s now the reduced evening service sir, those buses will be back on the road at five o’clock tomorrow morning. ‘Well why can’t they carry passengers back, it’s on the way, it’s a total shambles’, ‘unfortunately once a service is finished they are no longer insured to carry passengers’, yer, sure’ came his reply.

What was annoying is that in those fifteen minutes he was waiting, no buses were due or time-tabled to arrive to carry passengers, the bus prior to me was on time, I was on time (in fact early) the service was running as printed, still, it’s not as if he were paying for the service was he, he had a free pass. (body still undiscovered at time of writing)