mostly david ephgrave

When I pressed the bell on the bus today, only the last four letters of the 'STOPPING' sign lit up to spell 'PING', which was a small victory for happy accidents. It was beautiful in its appropriateness; so much so, I was tempted to point it out to the other passengers, except that would mean breaking the official bus vow of silence, and you should never do that. Instead, I laughed to myself and made a note in my ideas pad so I didn't forget it; a pad that's fast resembling a very odd shopping list. It's always pleasing when these little things happen; it's like someone 'Up There' is cracking a joke. It's like the time I watched three people press the buzzer bathroom at exactly at the moment and I thought we might get thrust into another dimension; well, if The Doctor can travel through time in a converted police box then anything's possible; I've just remembered Doctor Who is fiction.

When three people on the bus pressed the bell at exactly the same time today, I expected us to be thrown into another dimension. At the very least I thought something excitingly untoward would happen, but it wasn't to be; instead, we just ground to a halt at the next stop. It has to be the biggest anticlimax experienced on public transport since a megabus customer took the company name too literally (although their decision to stylise their brand-name completely lowercase is a bit of a clue). I wasn't even going into town for anything thrilling; I was there to collect a parcel and buy some dog wipes. So the promise of a three-person button-press was the ultimate damp squib. It didn't even result in a special bell-ring; next time, I think I'll walk.

Today, my mood was sufficiently lightened by an exceptionally well-behaved dog on the bus. He was so quiet I hadn’t even realised he was there, despite being right next to me. His owner was on his mobile for the duration of the journey, but played with his dog’s ears and gave him a general fuss throughout; he clearly doted on him. It was just the thing to see on a dreary day. It never ceases to surprise me how much animals lift my mood, almost instantly. Even now as I write, my cat’s having a scratch and a stretch on my lap, having been there for hours. She’s such good company, particularly when I’m writing; she'll occasionally look at me strangely as I talk through my material, but having her there makes it feel less like work; they should put pets on the National Health. My cat knows my wife’s and my daily routine inside out, often picking up on signals we're barely aware we're giving. She’s an expert on what we do and al...

My meditation teacher has an alarming aptitude for explaining things clearly and succinctly. Seldom will a class go by without him making an excellent point or analogy illustrating the message he’s trying to get across. He makes you stop and think, which is great, as this constant reiteration of what’s important is vital, as it can be easily forgotten in the hustle and bustle of everyday life. Far better to take stock of where you’re at from time to time, than let your plans run away with you. He’s very wise, that man. I nearly didn’t go to tonight’s lesson, as the weather was uninspiring, but I’m glad I did. I missed the beginning, due to public transport, and had to leave before the end as the class had overrun, but what I did take part in was worth being brave enough to venture out of the house. The only thing I didn’t appreciate was the journey there, as there were a handful of teenagers on the bus, being low-level threatening and unpleasant....

The man listening to Phil Collins on the bus today should invest in better headphones. I’m not referring to their durability, as they looked like they were built to last. I’m talking about their insufficient soundproofing. If I can identify the artist I'm hearing from the other side of the aisle of a noisy bus then there’s something amiss; particularly when it’s the balding ex-drummer of Genesis. The track in question was Collins’ cover of A Groovy Kind of Love, so I suppose it could have been worse. It was like being subjected to the middle-aged equivalent of a teenager listening to music on public transport using their phone as a loudspeaker. In complaining now, I sound like an old man myself; it’s the circle of life (which was Elton John and not Phil Collins, who did the soundtrack for Tarzan). A Groovy Kind of Love brings back memories for me. It was one of the songs I sang to get into drama school. Years later, like everyone else ...

A woman on the bus today had Happy Birthday as her ringtone. I’m referring to the original, rather than Stevie Wonder’s 1981 UK Top Ten hit. That would have been a less unusual choice. When her mobile went off, everybody turned around to look. We probably all thought the same thing: “Is it your birthday today?”; if it was, did she need to signpost it to total strangers? There is, of course, a more depressing scenario. Perhaps it was meant to remind to her friends and family. Had she spent all morning hoping for a card or some acknowledgement, then changed her ringtone in a last ditch attempt? Imagine the guilt felt by her nearest and dearest when the penny dropped. It's possible that someone sneakily changed it as a birthday surprise. I prefer that thought. Or maybe she just likes the tune. If so, that's just weird.

There was a man on the bus today whose sneeze sounded exactly like a police radio. Now that I’ve piqued your interest, I thought I’d share some of the things I’ve tweeted about buses in the past (because this transition was obvious). You’re in for a riveting ride, but feel free to press the buzzer if you want to get off. Someone on the back of the bus just made a noise like they were dying. I like a bus with a stop bell that perforates your eardrum. This isn't a bus, it's a kiln. Hot Topic on the Bus: "Do you like Murray Mints?" Sat on a bus passing another bus on a very tight corner. "That's poor timetabling", I muttered to myself. #DullestThingEverSaid Boy on the bus, drinking from a family-sized bottle of Coke. Bye bye teeth. Clean up cat sick. Run for the bus. My life is non-stop glamour. I'm waiting for a bus. See: I'm just like you. Hoping to fit on a bus while surrounde...

As I waited to board the bus today, a man alighted eating chicken and chips. It seems we’ve reached the nadir of human existence. The passenger gnawing on a bone as he stepped off the 100 to Baldock unwittingly sounded the death knell. Antisocial behavior is the way forward. It’s each man for himself. The bus driver was too perplexed to do anything about it. It was so far past the realms of decency, it left him powerless. We shared a moment of disdain for the chicken-eater as I got on. I then walked down the gangway and straight into the aroma of fried food from the past. There’s nothing like sitting in a hermetically sealed environment that reeks of non-specific chicken limbs to put you off the foodstuff for life (...so speaks the vegetarian.) I was once told off for trying to bring a cup of tea onto the bus. The driver spoke to me like I was about to commit a cardinal sin. What would he have made of today’s KFC incident? I've been top trumped.

 I do like a bus with a stop bell that perforates your eardrum.  Some might say it's a niche way to find enjoyment. These people are notable in their absence. That said, I'm currently solely in the company of my wife and cat (two separate beings) and, so far, we haven't discussed the subject. I travelled on such a vehicle tonight. I was on my way to Letchworth for my weekly meditation class. Public transport is scarce to my destination in the evening; the only option is the 535, which gives me just five minutes to walk from my alighting stop to my class. That's if the bus is on time. Last week it was ten minutes early and I missed it. Tonight it was fifteen minutes late.   The only way to guarantee transportation on the 535 is to drive it. I don't want to do that. If I did, I wouldn't be able to get off until we reached the depot. The bus snuck up on me. The outside display was off. For all I knew, it could have been an elaborate kidnapping ploy by ...

There was a brief moment yesterday when I was worried I might look like a paedophile. Before you sharpen your pitchforks, let me explain*. If it had happened, it wouldn’t have been by choice. There was no sinister intention on my part. I know: they all say that. I was on a bus full of secondary school kids. There was one sitting next to me, and they were all down the aisle. A couple of girls stood by my seat, chatting. One of them was leaning on the rail that had the bell button on it – and I was concerned that if I went to press it, I’d look like I was reaching for her chest. This is what the Daily Mail does. It makes you consider each action with a guilty conscience. If I hadn’t been white and born in the UK, I’d have headed to the nearest port to hand myself into passport control. I must be up to something shifty without knowing it. As my stop approached, I panicked. I started overthinking it. What would be the correct speed and direction to take to suggest innocenc...

Listening to conversations on the bus this morning made me think of the Beach Boys song 'I Just Wasn't Made for These Times'.  You could argue that it's my fault for eavesdropping. These interactions were none of my business. To be honest, I can't help myself. I always do it; something I've covered here before. It's often a good source for material.  It was the unnecessary aggression that got me. One couple were swearing at each other under their breath while discussing vegetable oil. The man had bought the wrong brand and the woman was furious. The hissing curses batted back and forth suggested it wasn't about the oil at all, but something much more deep-seated. He’d probably also bought the wrong butter.  A couple of seventeen-year-old schoolgirls chatted animatedly about how the majority of their friends either had children or were pregnant. This didn't shock me. If anything, I was more concerned about...

While on the bus today, I spotted a small black plastic bag on the seat opposite with the top tied up, and was worried that it might contain a poo.  Nobody laid claim to it. No-one wanted to sit next to it either, though the bus was almost full. Each time we stopped, the people boarding would make a beeline for the empty seat, then shun it when they saw its ominous luggage. Or should that be “loggage”? A poo bag is the ultimate space-saver.  It was the tied-up top that made it suspicious. It was too small to contain a bomb, yet big enough for bum-product. The colour of the bag only added to its sinister atmosphere; black polythene can mask a multitude of sins.  No-one picked it up by the time I got off. It sat there, enjoying the benefits of an empty double seat. If I catch the same bus back and it’s still there, I may be tempted to loosen the knot.  UPDATE:   There was no sign of the excretal sack on the journey back. It was just full of teen...

Yesterday, I watched a boy down a family-sized bottle of Coke on the bus. Seeing it made my teeth itch. I dread to think what damage it was doing to his . This sweet tooth couldn't be satiated by fizzy drinks alone. He was also working through a bumper pack of pink wafers. This is what happens when you let kids make their own way to school. They use the time to speed up the onset of type 2 diabetes. I watched him savour each pink wafery bite. He was clearly enjoying himself.   He’d lean over the seat in front as his teeth sunk into each biscuit, to prevent his school uniform from being coated with a telltale layer of pinkish dust. Any throat-clogs were cleared with another glug of Coke. This clearly wasn’t an isolated event. This was his daily routine. He was on the bus to Letchworth Garden City via obesity.   (Mars and Crawford’s must be raking it in.)

I find the name of this bus company a little bit aggressive. It's certainly very blunt . I think the exclamation mark was meant to take the sting off. It doesn't; they may as well have called themselves ‘GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY FACE’ .   (Though they’d need a bigger bus.) I can't understand why so many businesses don't take their own names out of context. Doing this could save a lot of embarrassment (not to mention the cost of signage. ) It’s also worth considering how your brand will read in situ. My favourite example of this is the Hungry Horse in Letchworth.  I f I ran a pub next to a crematorium, I’d call it the Two Chimneys too. Now, that’s inspired .

I’d forgotten how awkward flagging down a bus makes me feel until today. I always worry that they won't see me. I’m the sort of person who is likely to be missed. My eyes flit between the driver and the indicator, hoping for the best. I sometimes think they might be playing chicken; seeing how long they can leave it before looking my way. Perhaps they see stopping as an inconvenience - and any would-be passenger as a potential barrier to getting to their destination on time. Either that, or they had a bad experience in a bus stop and don't want to be reminded about it. I should try to flag them down more confidently. Holding out a limp and non-committal arm just makes me look like a bit of a dick.