So to pinch a line from the Inbetweeners I'm a 'bus w***er'. Sad or not I really enjoy getting the bus. I know alot of people 'don't do' public transport but hey I live in a city and would rather let someone else worry about what lane to be in or whether to go on the amber light. I don't even mind taking the bus with my kids. Its far easier in my mind than wrestling them in and out of car seats and worrying about parking. Plus bus travel always provides interesting topics of conversationslike the time that my son spotted some a students in tribly hats and decided they were One Direction.
After many years sat at traffic lights I now commute to work by bus and have to say its my favourite time of the day. With child no 2 dropped at nursery and husband on the school run I skip to the nearest stop 'city single' in hand and happy. Now a word about city singles (a pre paid single ticket which avoids the necessity to dip husbands wallet or raid the kids piggy banks to find change for the exact fare). I find them the most handy thing ever but hate the name. I think asking for a 'city single' sounds like I'm off speed dating with the hope that my gsoh will find me a mate to drink wine and go on city breaks with. So anyway why do I love 'bussing it' so much? Because I know from that moment I step on I have twentyish minutes of absolute peace where I will not be required to clean/feed/tidy anything and I have nothing to do except stare out of the window and daydream
Yes I know I could read, listen to music or file my nails but staring out the window is better especially on a route which initially passes through a very well to do suburb. I love to look at all the posh houses and wonder about what they look like inside. I ponder whether they have nice soft furnishings, original features or in the case of the larger ones how on earth the owners keep them clean (I can't manage it in a three bed semi never mind a three storey Victorian)
As I travel closer to town there are loads of lovely shops to look at and indulge in a bit of light fantasy of a contemporary urban lifestyle I do not have. 'Fantasy - 'New bistro must check out the menu' (reality- breakfast in a supermarket cafe). Fantasy - That designer lampshade would look good in the hall (reality - get a paper one from IKEA ), Fantasy - must sample something from the artisan bakers (reality - a belgian bun from Greggs). There is even one 'occasionwear' boutique where I play a weekly game of 'what dress would I pick if I lost seven stone and was going to the Oscars?' It may be a shallow little world that I live in but it takes me to a happy place which makes the transition from home to office and back again a little easier.
Recently however my LRT chill out zone has been spoiled by some very unwelcome interruptions. I'm not talking folk chatting, the buzz from someones music player or noisy children (this usually delights me as for once they aren't mine). These big time annoyances that have as my mother would say 'spoiled it for everyone' especially me. There is a pattern to this that it generally occurs on the day that I finish work at lunchtime and head home in the middle of the day when spread of passengers a bit wider than schoolkids and office workers.
The first was thanks to an older lady reading the Metro and giving her husband (and the whole top deck) an opinion for every article. Justin Bieber, Lily Allen, Johnny Depp's girlfriend, the films of the Coen Brothers (the man who wasn't there - 'poor, poor, poor') all got a roasting from her. Strangely enough her husband seemed quite chilled about the whole thing and didn't even try to disagree - maybe he was just used to it and it meant she wasn't getting onto him for once. I however was very hacked off. I just couldn't get my thoughts back onto original art deco features while I was biting my tongue not tell her it was Steve Buschemi in Fargo not Tommy Lee Jones.
The next spoiled journey was thanks to an overheard conversation by a group of teenage girls from the local high school. Now I'm not easily shocked (I was an engineering student for four years and heard every filthy joke going) and I was a secondary school teacher for ten years. But this was a total eye opener. From their cigarette consumption (20 a day) to who was arrested at the weekend (Lisa - up town drunk at 4 in the morning) to which body parts one of the them had been flashing on skype to a guy from Manchester she'd met online. Never mind looking at nice boots in the expensive shoe shop. I was now in a panic about my children's future moral welfare and ready to jump off the bus and build a six foot barricade round my house so they couldn't go out alone until they were 35.
For the final one should have predicted that a trip from hell was about to commence when a couple lumbered past my seat with an animal on a lead that could only be described as a 'dug' and a distinctive chink from their shopping bags. From their conversation which seemed to include numerous entries for the 'most sweary words used in one sentence' competition. I deduced that the ladies name was Natalie and she had been done wrong by some other party who was not present at that time (there were all the elements of a good country and western song about her story - I wished at the time I'd had a banjo on me). Her bold and chivalrous companion promised on several occasions to give this party 'a good doing' but she still was still unhappy so selected a small refreshment from her bag to cheer herself up. Another pal briefly joined them and they ran through a list of what invigorating substances they had enjoyed that morning. It was quite a list and bear in mind that it was only half twelve and I hadn't even had time for lunch yet. Towards my stop it became clear that the day had taken its toll on poor Natalie and she had decided to have a wee lie down on the back seat. Not before dropping her drink leaving its contents to slosh out and fill the bus with the smell of beer (I don't think she planned to recycle the bottle either). At this point I was about to get off and did what any responsible Edinburgh housewife would do - Told the driver and then ran off quickly before they realised it was me.
So there you have it - things are not always perfect on the numbers 11- 15 and sometimes other peoples lives can intrude and burst into my little commuter bubble. I will keep enjoying my journeys though and the wee patches of me carved out my busy day. I've run out of city singles though so am off to check the down the back of the sofa see if I can find a spare 20p.
After many years sat at traffic lights I now commute to work by bus and have to say its my favourite time of the day. With child no 2 dropped at nursery and husband on the school run I skip to the nearest stop 'city single' in hand and happy. Now a word about city singles (a pre paid single ticket which avoids the necessity to dip husbands wallet or raid the kids piggy banks to find change for the exact fare). I find them the most handy thing ever but hate the name. I think asking for a 'city single' sounds like I'm off speed dating with the hope that my gsoh will find me a mate to drink wine and go on city breaks with. So anyway why do I love 'bussing it' so much? Because I know from that moment I step on I have twentyish minutes of absolute peace where I will not be required to clean/feed/tidy anything and I have nothing to do except stare out of the window and daydream
Yes I know I could read, listen to music or file my nails but staring out the window is better especially on a route which initially passes through a very well to do suburb. I love to look at all the posh houses and wonder about what they look like inside. I ponder whether they have nice soft furnishings, original features or in the case of the larger ones how on earth the owners keep them clean (I can't manage it in a three bed semi never mind a three storey Victorian)
As I travel closer to town there are loads of lovely shops to look at and indulge in a bit of light fantasy of a contemporary urban lifestyle I do not have. 'Fantasy - 'New bistro must check out the menu' (reality- breakfast in a supermarket cafe). Fantasy - That designer lampshade would look good in the hall (reality - get a paper one from IKEA ), Fantasy - must sample something from the artisan bakers (reality - a belgian bun from Greggs). There is even one 'occasionwear' boutique where I play a weekly game of 'what dress would I pick if I lost seven stone and was going to the Oscars?' It may be a shallow little world that I live in but it takes me to a happy place which makes the transition from home to office and back again a little easier.
Recently however my LRT chill out zone has been spoiled by some very unwelcome interruptions. I'm not talking folk chatting, the buzz from someones music player or noisy children (this usually delights me as for once they aren't mine). These big time annoyances that have as my mother would say 'spoiled it for everyone' especially me. There is a pattern to this that it generally occurs on the day that I finish work at lunchtime and head home in the middle of the day when spread of passengers a bit wider than schoolkids and office workers.
The first was thanks to an older lady reading the Metro and giving her husband (and the whole top deck) an opinion for every article. Justin Bieber, Lily Allen, Johnny Depp's girlfriend, the films of the Coen Brothers (the man who wasn't there - 'poor, poor, poor') all got a roasting from her. Strangely enough her husband seemed quite chilled about the whole thing and didn't even try to disagree - maybe he was just used to it and it meant she wasn't getting onto him for once. I however was very hacked off. I just couldn't get my thoughts back onto original art deco features while I was biting my tongue not tell her it was Steve Buschemi in Fargo not Tommy Lee Jones.
The next spoiled journey was thanks to an overheard conversation by a group of teenage girls from the local high school. Now I'm not easily shocked (I was an engineering student for four years and heard every filthy joke going) and I was a secondary school teacher for ten years. But this was a total eye opener. From their cigarette consumption (20 a day) to who was arrested at the weekend (Lisa - up town drunk at 4 in the morning) to which body parts one of the them had been flashing on skype to a guy from Manchester she'd met online. Never mind looking at nice boots in the expensive shoe shop. I was now in a panic about my children's future moral welfare and ready to jump off the bus and build a six foot barricade round my house so they couldn't go out alone until they were 35.
For the final one should have predicted that a trip from hell was about to commence when a couple lumbered past my seat with an animal on a lead that could only be described as a 'dug' and a distinctive chink from their shopping bags. From their conversation which seemed to include numerous entries for the 'most sweary words used in one sentence' competition. I deduced that the ladies name was Natalie and she had been done wrong by some other party who was not present at that time (there were all the elements of a good country and western song about her story - I wished at the time I'd had a banjo on me). Her bold and chivalrous companion promised on several occasions to give this party 'a good doing' but she still was still unhappy so selected a small refreshment from her bag to cheer herself up. Another pal briefly joined them and they ran through a list of what invigorating substances they had enjoyed that morning. It was quite a list and bear in mind that it was only half twelve and I hadn't even had time for lunch yet. Towards my stop it became clear that the day had taken its toll on poor Natalie and she had decided to have a wee lie down on the back seat. Not before dropping her drink leaving its contents to slosh out and fill the bus with the smell of beer (I don't think she planned to recycle the bottle either). At this point I was about to get off and did what any responsible Edinburgh housewife would do - Told the driver and then ran off quickly before they realised it was me.
So there you have it - things are not always perfect on the numbers 11- 15 and sometimes other peoples lives can intrude and burst into my little commuter bubble. I will keep enjoying my journeys though and the wee patches of me carved out my busy day. I've run out of city singles though so am off to check the down the back of the sofa see if I can find a spare 20p.