Bus Rage

Do you wish to travel by public transport? Are you loud, bullish, annoying, unreasonable and prepared to share your personality defects with anyone? Then why not become a bus driver, Today! The bus companies of Plymouth need You!

On Thursday I thought I was going to die, while being driven at top speed on a screeching bus through the streets of this fair city. I was the only passenger. This was the problem. The driver had been foiled in his attempt to get back to the depot and clock off with as few saps on board as possible. I was unceremoniously dumped at Derry`s roundabout, at the traffic lights, which I`m fairly sure is illegal as well as bloody unnerving. He didnt complete the route, by stopping at a bus stop in Royal Parade; he had far bigger and better things to be doing, like lancing the cat`s boil etc.

After quitting this driver`s warm, engaging company, I stomped up the street with arms in the air, gesticulating wildly to myself, thereby frightening other pedestrians unnecessarily. What I was actually asking was somewhat rhetorical; i.e. "what is wrong with everyone?" meaning, what was wrong with that particular driver, and the one I almost became acquainted with that very morning.

The morning episode involved waiting for half an hour for two of the same buses to arrive at once, then being told I would have to have a credit note for change of a tenner - (from a £3.30 fare? Is that an inconceivably large amount of change then?) or get off again. I got off the bus, and stomped down the road, seething quietly. You can see how the second episode of bus misery was one episode too many for me to contain.

All these irritations and rudenesses would have been as nothing to one so entirely reasonable as I, if it hadnt been for the fact that in the same week, I waited for over half an hour for a bus that didnt turn up, the knock-on effects of which meant I lost income to the tune of £40. Add to that the late morning debacle, which cost me £35 in lost earnings, and maybe you`re beginning to get an idea of the mayhem, nay, incipient poverty involved in going anywhere without my very own transport. Green? My arse.

I dont really want much. A bus that comes within 10 minutes either way of it`s appointed time. A seat, though I`ll stand if needs be. A cheery smile, or failing that just plain old courtesy. (It`s called Customer Service nowadays, apparently.) Why is this so FXXXXXX DIFFICULT???

Muse Musing

Muse are playing in Teignmouth tonight - fifteen years ago ( fifteen years ago!) that would have been a regular gig I suppose. The band`s two home town concerts have filled Teignmouth with fans, which is now overflowing and will rake in a lot of cash. One local hotelier said he could have sold the rooms he had on offer ten times over, but being useless at maths I didnt understand what he meant. ("John goes to Blackpool, Susan goes at five miles an hour -which of them has ten pence left after buying six pairs of plimsolls aboard the Orient Express?" - that ).

Anyway, as the summer`s been so awful, the Teignmouth Chamber of Commerce, out of clumsily expressed gratitude for the influx of dosh, have decided to erect a statue in the square, in honour of its musical saviours, most of whom had never heard of Muse before last week. It will be a black, guitar-shaped hole, surrounded by air.

Quite obviously what`s missing from Plymouth`s decaying identity/economy is a MASSIVE SUPER GROUP . Why havent we got a Muse of our own? Who comes from Plymouth that`s famous? I mean, in the music world? Is there anyone? Has there ever been anyone? Has Plymouth got a problem when it comes the The Arts? I did think we could swap Tom Daley for Muse, but it`d be cheating and I doubt this is a popular answer to anything. Tom may come in handy after the Olympics, if he brings home the gold medal (to Plymouth I mean. I realise Plymouth isnt that far from London, but then again, in many ways, it`s on another planet). Will he bring in money to the city though? Tom Daley souvenir dolls. Tom Daley swimwear range. Tom Daley Instant Athlete Tan. (That`s actually a good idea!) But it`s not like having a world class band playing back in their home town.

little red arrows

The Red Arrows just seared over the house. I rushed (I ambled) out to take photos and ended up with half a cloud heart pierced by half a cloud arrow, a weird rainbow, and lots of blue. The jets I did manage to pin down on camera look silly. Static and silent rather than screaming fast enough to break your neck looking. And tiny. You dont really see the Red Arrows as tiny, when watching a display.

This was a thing on Plymouth Hoe, to commemorate the start of WW2. I dont really get this. The End, yeah. The Start? It`s a Thursady afternoon. People here are either off their heads in a variety of difficult fashions, or at work. The majority of witnesses to this air display were pensioners, and why not. Although I watched it, kind of. And my neighbour two doors down, who actually has a regular job, but is obviously on her day off today. She said, as we stood out the front, gazing skyward across the playing fields, the Red Arrows havent been here for about six years. I didnt know that. I`m not sure it made any difference to my enjoyment. I got excited by the noise and speed, but did I think about the start of WW2 enough, or in the right way?
What a difficult thing it is to watch jets, especially ones with red, white and blue smoke falling out of their guts. I could whoop , and cry a bit, and shrug. There.