Oh Number 9

Hullo.

Sorry I haven’t been blogging of late. I have just been really busy with stuff, that and a touch of writers block. However, there’s nothing like a birthday to cure writers block, especially if it’s mine. Later on, I’ll be writing about the utterly magnificent meal that we had a week past Saturday. However, I have a little something to get off my chest.

Those of you who have looked at my Blogroll will have noticed a blog called Bloodbus, which is the factual account of a Glasgow bus driver. It is factual because dear reader, and I would plump your cushions up before I start, I have seen things as bad as those chronicled on Bloodbus.

Myself an my partner had got to Glasgow Central, thinking that we were living in a modern society when we found out that the trains had finished for the night at quarter past 12, half an hour earlier than they finish on Thursday’s and Fridays (go figure that one!). This meant a trip on the No#9 to Paisley, the “catch the dafties in the one net and put them all on the same bus” special. I don’t think the 14th was a full moon, but what we were about to experience, a full moon was the only explanation.

After we got on, the next stop was at Curry’s on Jamaica Street, where about 20 people tried to get on. There was no room for them, so the bus doors stayed shut. Someone on the outside tried to open the doors, and a crown of people tried to get on. The driver tried to get them off.. We didn’t move for a couple of minutes until everyone who had tried to get on, was back off. Not the only hold up of the night.

We got to Cessnock and the bus stopped again. This time it didn’t move. We were seated so couldn’t see why we had stopped. I thought that the bus had broken down because we had begun to move slowly. Then word spread, someone was standing in front of the bus. Sure enough we got confirmation that indeed there was someone, who wanted on, standing in front of the bus, not letting it go past until he got on. I believe there were people taking pictures on their camara phones for posterity (go on, try and search for in on you-tube, its bound to be there).

After about 5 minutes we were let go, either because the guy was too drunk, realising that he had no chance of getting on the bus, or that he heard that the police might be on their way. Either way we were on our way home. All we needed was a quick taxi once we got back to Paisley, which we got thanks to the Purple Rhino’s new pal Claire.

See you next time!