Ding Ding - All Change Please
Can someone please explain why I have an irrational fear of Red London Buses? To be clear, I don’t mean that I’m worried that an evil red bus is stalking me and will jump out from the shadows with a massive knife. No, I obviously mean that I’m terrified about using them. (For those of you hoping for a deep and meaningful post following a 6 month blog hiatus - sorry to disappoint you, this post is pretty much totally inconsequential!)
Let’s be clear, I don’t have a fear of all buses. They aren’t my favourite mode of transport but when I first moved to St Albans, I did rely on a local bus to get me to the train station (shamefully so - as it was only a 20 minute walk away - but I was recovering from two slipped discs - so move along with your judgey eyes please). I hated having to find enough change for my ticket each day because the bus driver didn’t really appreciate you paying with a tenner first thing in the morning (this was pre covid when tap-in/tap-out was still making its way to the ‘burbs). And I was continually frustrated by the fact that the bastard thing would never EVER run on time. Or that they seemed to run at the frequency that Haley’s Comet passes by earth. But at least I was getting on it.
But in London? Hell no. I’d rather walk 3 miles than contemplate getting a bus (a walk I did actually do several times, from Mayfair to Liverpool Street when all the lines went down for some ludicrous reason that escapes me now). Don’t get me wrong, I don’t feel like this because buses were an integral part of my usual commute. In fact quite the opposite - buses weren’t a necessary mode of transport for me at all. Instead I’d whizz around on the tube at the drop of a hat; Overground, DLR, Elizabeth line - I have no issues whatsoever traversing the capital in those metal tubes (well - apart from the overheating on the central line). I’m also entirely comfortable flagging down a black cab (sometimes in fact, I’m too quick to jump to this option, without really thinking about the exact distance, amount of traffic we’ll inevitably encounter or how my bank account is going to hate me for my 1 mile journey in a cab. But you know, heels and long walks aren’t great bed fellows, so what’s a girl to do?). And let’s not forget good old, healthy walking. When I’m in London tourist mode, I can walk for hours, ambling about exploring tiny side streets, figuring out where quirky pieces of London lore originate from, all whilst passing incredible architecture and a feast of places to drop in for a coffee, cake or beer (ahem, did I say “healthy” earlier…). But buses, well I guess they give me an option when I’m in a difficult situation - but it’s an option I flatly refuse to entertain.
For instance life would have been SO much easier if I had just jumped on the night bus the time when I was stranded at the Comedy Club in Covent Garden at 2am in the morning, with no way to get back home to Earls Court. Or the in-numerous times the tubes were down or packed or just down right horrendous just because there was a “a” in the day of the week and I really needed to get to work. Or the many times when friends want to see ALL the city in the space of an hour but not by walking or getting a sightseeing bus. And to be frank, just the many times when Google or TFL tell you that the most efficient route incorporates a bus ride.
I worry about knowing where the bus stop is - and if I’m allowed to put my hand out for the particular metal monster I’m after. And if I do get on, I’m going to be worrying about whether I’m on the right bus and whether I will end up in some depot in the middle of nowhere for the night. I worry that I won’t know the etiquette of tapping in or when the right time to ring the bell is or what door to get off at. And I’ll be highly sceptical of my fellow travellers, who I will assume are all ominous murderers (when in actual fact, they just want to ignore me and have a nap).
Just writing this down has made me realise how ludicrous I sound. Good god woman, you’ve travelled (solo or otherwise) to a bazillion different countries over the years and have managed to navigate their transport systems with relative aplomb (including the Japanese subway - immaculate but bonkers).
Maybe it’s time I woman up - and purposefully stride towards the nearest bus stop when I next get to St Pancras. It might help if I know where my final destination* is of course. And let’s not be too churlish about discarding the tube - there are of course 6 underground lines running through that station and I’m sure that each one would be more efficient…
No - I need to grasp this fear by its big red shoulders, look deep into those dirty old headlights and take back the power. I might do that in my head of course - not sure the driver would let me on if he had me grappling with his bonnet on a wet Tuesday morning.
And with that, my musing is done. Though I may go away and have a think about why this topic has randomly entered my brain. I haven’t had a close encounter with a bus for ages, so this has probably been a complete waste of yours and my time. Sorry about that.
*like most people of a certain age, even just typing those two words brings back memories of dying in horrific logging induced car crashes. But that’s a blog for another day
Comments