10 Feb 2010, Posted by admin in Aba,Thoughts, No Comments. Tagged Aba, anecdotal, london, politics, Thoughts
Boris The Bus Wrecker
Photography by Vincent Barre
Written by Aba
With the dawn of 2010 came one certain truth: the death of bendy buses. When Boris first announced his intentions for these red bendy wagons of impending cyclist doom I, like many other non-cyclists, was far from happy.
Bendy buses in London are an institution. If you do not agree with me then I must ask you this – without bendy buses, where will skint students and cheapskates across the capital score free bus rides? Now more than ever, firmly in the grip of economic demise, people living in one of the world’s most expensive cities need to cut costs where they can.
And what about the fun in the free ride? Gone is the thrill of looking ahead out the bus window for TFL agents, oyster card at the ready to tap on the reader should they appear. There were even undercover TFL agents. That was the closest I ever got to feeling like Jack Bauer. There I was, sitting on my seat, when a passenger, dressed in plain clothes and a backpack, whipped out his TFL badge and oyster reader and started checking tickets and oysters. My heart raced, the adrenaline pumped. He came to me,
‘Can I see your oyster please?’
Hesitating, I prayed for divine intervention – a lightning bolt! A heat attack! Anything! Fate failing to be on my side, I handed it over.
He touched it to his reader, which beeped red. Not good.
He looked at me, I looked back, feigning surprise with eyebrows lifted.
‘There’s no money on your oyster card and you haven’t paid for this journey, you’ll have to come with me…’
Did I learn my lesson after being escorted off the bus? No. I gave a fake name and address, denied having ID and got on the next 38 five minutes later. But the risk of travelling ‘free’ is the only natural high us kids have left. Don’t blame me if crack addiction rises as a result of your policy, Boris.
And it’s not just the kids and the cheapos who miss out. Where will homeless people on a cold winter’s night find solace? As far as I know, tramps from Oxford circus to Mile End spend their winter nights hibernating at the back of the 25, filling the air with a sweaty, cider-y scent.
Drunken chavs will no longer have a moving vehicle in which to unleash their pent up aggression. Commuters not wearing earphones will no longer enjoy the cacophony that is the collective voice of immigrant Londoners – bendy buses are one of the few places in London where English is not the first language! And how else will I find amusement after a long day at work, if I cannot laugh at the people trying to keep their balance on the silver spinny thing where the bus bends?
Sorry cyclists, but I stand firmly by my view. A London without bendy buses is a London without a heart.
