Diaries of a (London) Bus Driver, Vol. 2.2 April 1st, 2004

Holes, holes everywhere! The annual hole digging orgy is approaching its end, and not before time! Every year, in the last couple of months of the financial year, local councils, frantic to spend their 'road improvement' budget, tear up everything in sight. The reason is probably, as with corporations, that if they don't spend out their budget one year, they'll get less the next. But why does everything other than emergency work have to wait until February! It is quite well publicised that Barnet council is removing many traffic bumps. ITN even sent a news team to film the traffic flow through Squires Lane, Friern Barnet, while workers were tearing up one of them. It does make it easier to drive my bus, but probably also makes it more dangerous. Local residents say that, before the bumps were put in, this road was treated like a race track. That was before a bus route used the road. Some moron overtaking on one of the many bends, at any sort of speed, is likely to cause serious mayhem. Last year, Leytonstone and Whipps Cross put speed bumps in

In Leyton, near the Town Hall, busy roads were reduced to single lane while they extended pavements a couple of feet into the road to produce parking bays. In Southgate, the Chase Side bus stop just before Osidge Lane has been out of action for a month, while they make the indentation a couple of feet shallower. Will this help anyone At Finchley Central, there was absolute chaos for weeks while they replaced the traffic lights and made the one lane that can go straight onto the Station approach road or right onto Regents Park Road from Nether Street, into two. This was a balls-up of monumental proportions. 99% of cars using this particular filter turn right - onto a single lane. The one lane of Nether Street becomes two for about 15 yards, only to have to merge back into a single lane immediately on turning into an already too crowded stretch of road. What they did with the lights was even worse! I had hoped to see a right filter light, which could cut a couple or more minutes off my wait in the traffic, from Ballards Lane onto Nether Street. That would have been too sensible. Instead, during the morning rush hour, they have filter arrows for traffic turning left (perhaps 1%), and going straight, which last 20-30 seconds. The filters are then turned off, to be replaced by a green light. Elsewhere in London, this would signify that vehicles could turn in any direction, unimpeded by oncoming traffic. I saw one car make this presumption and get lucky. Someone soon won't be so lucky, and there will be fatalities if this folly isn't corrected soon. And for all of this money being spent, the roads with potholes haven't been touched!

On my first day back at Edmonton Garage, they asked me to route learn the 149, which, for now at least, goes from Ponders End, Enfield to London Bridge. I knew most of it already, as it goes through Hackney, where I lived throughout my childhood. The route is moving over to 'bendy buses' on April 24th, being slightly shortened, and moved to the newly expanded Edmonton Depot. I was actually pressed into emergency service on this route a couple of weeks ago, while the existing drivers learn how to drive the new bus. In the rush hour, it took over 1 ½ hours each way. My first time into London Bridge, I couldn't remember the correct bus lane to use, and asked a passenger for help. He tried to direct me, but "they usually go in that one there" wasn't quite specific enough for me, and I caused a few raised eyebrows as I pulled into lane 2 instead of lane 4.

I had heard stories about the 149, including one driver who was threatened with a gun. I had an interesting moment of my own. At Ridley Road Market (on which, it is reputed, Walford Market in Eastenders, was based), several people got on. All but one showed me passes that I believed to be OK. One man had a couple of shopping bags which he needed to put down before he could show me his pass. Just before pulling away, I turned to see if this man was ready, but a different person took offence. He started calling me names, punched the screen and got off the bus muttering. I looked at him with a mystified expression, and he seemed ready to come back for more - so I shut the doors sharpish, and drove off. I asked the passengers near my cab if anyone had any clue what that was all about. One man suggested that he didn't want to pay his fare. But I had let him on, and wasn't looking at him! Guilty conscience or not all there

An interesting thing about that day is that I had been told by some drivers that we are anonymous on this route - passengers just walk straight past without so much as a glance at the driver. On the reverse side, someone near and dear had long ago told me that nobody looks at the driver when they board any bus. But guess what. I turned my body partially towards the boarding passengers, as I almost always do, and they nearly all looked at me, most returned my smile and greeting or thanks. Draw your own conclusions.

I can always tell when there will be a full moon by the way people drive. These 'lunatics' may not bay at the moon, but it certainly has some mysterious affect on them. It was suggested to me, purely in conjecture, that it could have something to do with our water content. Whatever! It gets wild out there! Every form of craziness happens. The worst on this day came on Homerton Road. Leyton-bound, as you pass the old Lesney toy factory at the end of the High Road, the road widens a little and there are no shops or flats - just the Hackney Marshes. I was topping 40mph and still losing ground on the car in front of me, when a psychopath went clear onto the other side of the road, not in itself a rare occurrence, at well over 50mph, heading straight for a row of cars all handsomely exceeding the limit. It could have been very nasty. The man cuts barely in front of my bus, then realises he is about to miss the entrance to the marshes, so immediately slams on his brakes, forcing a swift evasive manoeuvre from me. Had he stayed behind me, he would have arrived at his destination safely, but all of a couple of seconds later. The roads are full of arseholes who would rather die than sit behind a bus. Problem is, they will most often take innocent people with them. Their disregard for others is astonishing!

Never a day will go past without people driving onto the other side of the road without first checking for oncoming traffic. Few of them actually tuck back behind the bus. Only days ago, while pulling away from the stop before Arnos Grove Station, heading away from Betstyle Circus on Bowes Road, I had let several cars pass me, but you can't just sit and sit! I have the right of way (that's a bloody laugh!), was signalling and nudging slowly into the traffic. The last of the stream passed me. There was another car about 30 yards away - surely he would stay behind me, however reluctantly. Then again, maybe not! Instead, he floored it! There he was, clean on the wrong side of the road, facing oncoming traffic, blowing a fuse, honking his horn incessantly. In his warped mind, I was in the wrong! He drove on the horn for some time, and as I pulled into the station, he blew it again for good measure. I couldn't resist giving him the finger!

This brings me to White Van Man - a curious anomaly of evolution, who exists purely on testosterone fuelled impulses. As casually as fashion editors so regular and ridiculously reveal to us this years' black (in reality, last year, this year, next year and indeed every year until hell freezes over, it has been, is and will be black), an article in the Evening Standard, obviously short of copy that day, declared him a thing of the past. If only that were true! He may sometimes disguise himself by driving a red van, but he's definitely alive and definitely kicking! He believes that road rules are for others. He still habitually talks on his mobile. He is still second only to teens in convertibles as the most dangerous and rude driver on the road, but his numbers are far greater. He is still the only person on the road that bus driving instructors teach us to give extra leeway to. Beware this man! He is a bull who sees a red bus as his rag. As with every rule, there are exceptions, but for the most part, he is the anarchist of the road. And as with all arseholes (my current favourite word, I think), he can do no wrong and becomes abusive when a suggestion to the contrary is made, and he expects a considerably higher standard of driving from his fellow road users than he holds himself to.

With regard to mobile phones and the new law - another joke - I have noticed only one change, which is that far fewer women are now using them. They used to be in a clear majority, but no longer. Lorry, van and convertible drivers, and people of North African type skin hues (maybe not politically correct, but true nevertheless) have entirely ignored the law. Apart from the obvious problem of divided attention, most people hold the phone with their right hand, then develop tunnel vision. The law is good, or would be if it was made stricter and actually enforced. That would be a good use for speed cameras. Talking of which, I was done for driving my car 40 on a 30mph road at 1:30am. I wasn't driving recklessly and was the only car on the road. I had simply 'forgotten myself', having not long beforehand been on a 50mph limit road. I will have to take my lumps, but can't help feeling aggrieved.

On Sunday, March 28th, I was driving the 34 towards Walthamstow. At the Silver Street intersection with Fore Street, a worried looking woman told me her sister seemed to be losing consciousness, and asked if there was anything I could do. I 'went code red', calling for an ambulance. When I was finished speaking with centrecomm and my garage, and informing the other passengers about the delay, I went back to see her. Her eyes were open, but vacant looking. She wasn't speaking. The ambulance arrived and she didn't co-operate. She twice threw herself to the floor rather than get on the chair they wanted to help her onto. Her sister was becoming more distressed and the lead ambulance worker was becoming peeved: "I know you can hear me. I know you can talk. If you can throw yourself on the floor, you're capable of getting on this chair, which is much more comfortable. And the more you do this, the more upset your sister is becoming."

I was a little shaken by the whole thing, and called my nameless social worker friend, who coincidentally works for the asylum service. "Where's she from" "Well she looks Turkish, but her name isn't Turkish." I told her the name, which I had to take for my incident report. "She's Iranian. Was she unsteady on her legs" "Yes." "She's been refused her case. This happens all the time in my office. They feign illness and get taken to hospital. While they're under hospital care, they can't be thrown out of the country." The woman was 34 years old and seemed fine when she got on at the first stop in Barnet. I'll not rush to judgement, but the hypothesis was thought-provoking.

My friend has told me other things aswell, but won't whistle-blow, as she'd never work in her field again. A recent suicide had been claiming asylum and the related benefits for years. He was claiming to be Iraqi. His mother died when he was 5, and his father, 2 years ago. In truth, he was Turkish, part owner of the restaurant where he torched himself, and his mother was his chief mourner. Also, a significant percentage of people celebrate being given indefinite leave to remain by visiting relatives in the country which they have just fled from in fear of their lives. How they must laugh at the ease with which their lies are accepted!

The best one is a disgusting scandal. Asylum seekers get less money than DSS claimants. However, they don't pay rent, utilities or council tax, so they actually end up a little better off. But due to a loophole, when they are given indefinite leave to remain, they can claim the difference in the cash payments between the two services, back-dated to their date of entry - sometimes quite a few years. She has seen payments of £7,000-20,000 authorised. With the new policy of clearing the backlog of cases by granting just about every pending request, this is set to cost tens of millions. People who have never worked, suddenly have businesses or fancy cars or house down-payments. No wonder government ministers don't want the beans spilled from within!

Almost immediately after Tony Blair's purely diplomatic handshake with Muamar Qadaffi, the price of a barrel of Brent Crude dropped $2, since largely recouped. (Next they'll be expecting us to believe that invading Iraq was a purely humanitarian effort to rid a poor down-trodden people of an evil dictator! I'll believe the former when our Tone shakes hands with Fidel Castro, and the latter when we go into Zimbabwe and North Korea.) I note with interest, that forecourt petrol prices have not reflected this decline. Indeed, the only movement is up. Big surprise! The media is to blame for this one. They talk of soaring oil prices without mentioning the counter-effect of the plummeting dollar. My letters to newspapers pointing out this fact have so far been ignored. They also seem unaware that prices are in fact a little lower than they were a month ago. This gives oil companies a green light to raise their prices willy-nilly, and lessens the chances of consumer revolt. It doesn't, however, excuse people who insist on going to the most expensive outlets. Nothing makes that green light shine brighter than consumer acceptance. Shop around people, or else I have to pay more also. Maybe you don't mind, but I do!

I visited Ray in hospital. His broken left leg has healed. His right leg, which was shattered, is in a frame and he lost 2 toes. But he's in great spirits and will be leaving in 2 weeks for 6 months of rehab, during which time he hopes to put finishing touches on his photographic display: '2001 - A face odyssey', portraits of colleagues and passengers, for which he has had much interest. He's determined to come back to the buses.

That's all for now.

Love,

Andy

About the Author

I am an Englishman who has spent most of his adult life in the United States. In 2001, I moved back to London, thinking I would remain there for the rest of my life. But things didn't go as planned. And instead of finding a job in IT, I became a bus driver. This is my memoir, written from 2003 to 2005.

Now back in Brooklyn, I have a blog I currently enjoy writing: sceneandheardinny.blogspot.com

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