London buses

I like buses. Especially the top deck. You have the choice of checking out the odd bunch on board or the passing humanity down below; or a combination of both.


The downside to bus travel is attempting a new route or destination. How do you know where to get off?

There is an answer.

(As I discovered about thirteen years ago in Berlin). I've experienced my first talking London bus. The "2-0-5 to Mile End". The next stop is announced shortly before you arrive. Simple...but so useful.

Just a shame I knew where I was going.

Cameron and his bike

I do consider myself a cyclist now (which is fortunate given I depart for the C2C tomorrow) so I do feel qualified to mention Cameron and his blessed bike.

C. has had two stolen over the past couple of years. I am lucky enough not to have suffered the same fate.

The Sunday Mirror recovered Cameron's bike and reunited it with its rightful owner.

There are, I believe, two lessons to be learned here:

1. you need to exercise a certain amount of common sense when deciding where to secure your bike (twat)

2. it still helps to be Somebody (even if that it is the leader of the Tories) than a Nobody (my bike would surely not be returned).

Leake Street. Waterloo.

Street art allowed; tags and names not.

Three teenagers are approached by two police officers.

"Where's the spray can, lads?".

One of the boys stutters, "Our teacher's got it".

All eyes turn to me.

Finding out just how reslient you are

Two funerals in ten days.

Fourteen year-old pupil. Police investigation on-going.

Father of four, mid-thirties. Completely avoidable.



"Miss, do you wonder sometimes if your heart is too big?".