Public Transport

“A return to Hull please,” I said to the bus driver.

“£9.45,” he barked in reply.

Surely a mistake?

“No, I don’t want a season ticket; just a return.”

“That is the price of just a return.”

Bloody hell.

That’s what it costs to sit next to a grubby stranger who has no concept of personal space and the pointiest elbows known to man, which will catch you in the ribs every time the bus turns a corner.

Still it’s faster than walking. Or is it?

Trying to get into Hull on a Saturday afternoon by road is like trying to get into your own home with a key made of jelly. Traffic jams soon curtailed the speedy arrival and I was forced to listen to the two young lads who sat behind me talk absolute shite for an additional twenty minutes.

The good people at EYMS run a decent service, as long as you don’t need to travel to York between 7:30am and 10am, or after 5pm.

On a journey to York once, the bus I was on broke down.

“You wouldn’t expect that of such modern buses,” I said to the driver as we took the opportunity to have a smoke while waiting for a replacement bus to turn up.

“These buses aren’t modern!” she laughed. “They’re at least twenty years old. They just paint them regularly so they look new.”

It’s good to see the money they rake in being invested back into the business.

If you think bus travel is bad, then you should go somewhere by rail.

Suddenly you find that you need to get to London, for instance, and turn up at your local station.

The helpful person in the ticket office will tell you something like this: “If you’d booked last week, you could have had a ticket for £20. However, as you’re turning up on the day, a mere hour before it leaves, the cost is £160. That exorbitant fee won’t get you a seat, so you’ll have to stand for two and a half hours in a vestibule, next to a toilet. The door on the toilet will be broken and will keep opening and closing at random intervals throughout your journey. Also the toilet will be blocked after someone dropped an unflushable brown trout in there, so the area in which you’re standing will smell like a septic tank. Have a nice trip.”

During your hellish journey, you’ll also be treated to more things to enhance the experience.

You can expect to have your foot run over by a catering trolley at least twice. Why not take this opportunity to pay £4 for a hot chocolate which you can pour all over your shirt while the train lurches around a bend?

Someone will try and start a conversation with you, but no matter how disinterested you try to appear they just won’t stop. I seem to be a magnet for people who want to tell me where they’re going. “Oh, you’re going to a foot fungus convention in Bury St Edmunds? How fascinating.” Guns should definitely be allowed.

If only a small child could ruin the quiet atmosphere. Well, luckily there’s bound to be one watching Frozen on a tablet, without headphones and with the sound turned right up. They’ll probably sing along too, just to make your day that little bit better.

At least I ended up ahead after a recent journey to Bridlington. Due to the laziness of the train staff, I wasn’t asked to produce a ticket in either direction, so I robbed them of £7.60. That’ll show ‘em.