Glasgow's Alright for Fighting

Thankfully I no longer work in Maryhill. So that means that I don't need to get the number 40 bus. On Saturday however I found myself on a particularly packed 40. Unsurprisngly a rumpus started at the front. A passenger objected to having to push his way through the standees in order to get off. He made his objections known to the bus driver.

"Have I to just let folk wait on the next bus so you're not inconvenienced pal?"

"You're a prick of a bus driver."

"I'll come out this cab and punch your head in."

"Come on then get off the bus and I'll do you."

The passenger got off, closely followed by the bus driver.

"I'll fucking have you..."

He was then held back by another passenger.

"Leave it mate! He's not worth it."

You haven't ridden public transport until your driver's left the bus to assault a passenger.

Yesterday was of course St Patrick's Day. If there's one thing Glasgow doesn't need it's a night exclusively devoted to bams. I was walking up Argyle Street when I spotted a guy and a girl in a war of words with another guy.

The first guy getting ready for a scrap made to take off not his jacket, but his St Patrick's Day flag he was wearing over his back.

"Here haud ma flag."

He was told to step aside by the lassie who assured him that she was handling it. And handle it she did as she made for the terrified guy.

"This isnae aboot Catholics! This celebration's fur everybidy ya cunt."

Only 364 days until it next rolls around.

First Bus Do It Again

So, two months into full-time employment and I'm getting up in the morning joyful with the knowledge that death can only be a decade or two away...at most. The early morning journeys with First Bus will be one of the things I'll think of on my deathbed and be grateful I'll never have to experience ever again.

No matter how early I catch the bus to work it's always mobbed, packed to bursting with rucksack carrying office employees and schoolchildren. Routinely swelteringly hot I have to push my way through the crowd to get off at my stop each morning. But that's to be expected I suppose. At least I've got music to listen to on my mp3 player while I dread the day ahead.

Or have I? Today First Bus decided otherwise. This morning I was subjected to First TV, a screen up the front of the bus showing dull films about fun runs and architecture, trailers for films that have been and gone at the cinema and promos about Glasgow inexplicably set to pumping dance music. All at a deafening fucking volume. So loud that I just gave up trying to listen to my own music.

Now as far as I'm aware passengers on First Bus's services are not allowed to play any devices at a level that may irritate or annoy fellow passengers. It would appear that their own rules don't apply to the good people of First Bus. As I got on this morning I felt I was queuing up to get into a disco.

First Bus - constantly finding new ways to fuck off their passengers.

Simplified Day Fares

Has anyone else noticed that the day fare on First Bus has gone up to £3? It’s now £3 all day as opposed to £2.85 before 9.30am and £2.55 after.

First Bus portrays this as good news on their literature. They call it ‘simplified day fares’. Awful good of them cos it must have been bothering people how to break that £3 into £2.85/£2.55. Should they buy a newspaper, a bottle of water, a packet of chewing gum?

Problem solved say First Bus. We’ll just take it all. Nice and simple. £2 and £2.50 are also pretty simple to understand. Never thought of that First Bus, eh?

Of course the service will be improving by the same percentage…

I Tried to Stop it

When I left the house this morning I realised I was very early for my usual bus but probably too late for the 8.02 bus. However when I walked up the hill and saw it cross at the lights I thought I would make a run for it.

Nine times out of ten the bus moves off before or as I get to it, whether the driver has seen me or not, but I thought I’d give it a go anyway.

As I got closer to it I realised that a man who had just got off it was trying to get the driver to stop for me. To no avail it turned out as the bus drove off while I was still about 20 feet away.

I waved at the guy, who was roughly in his mid 50s, and said ‘Thanks anyway’.

The guy then walked straight toward me saying “I tried tae stoap it fur ye.” It was at this point that I realised he was out his tits on drink.

“Yeah, thanks,” I said.

“I tried tae stoap it fur ye,” he repeated still walking straight for me.

“I know I saw you,” I replied somewhat irritated now.

“It didnae stoap. I tried tae stop it fur ye.” He said as I manoeuvred out of his way.

I think I know why it didn’t stop.

8.04am. Out his breeks on swally.

The Life of a Comedian

All right, here’s why I don’t do stand-up very often. Now I’ve seen the Jerry Seinfeld documentary ‘Comedian’ more times than I can count and the life of a stand-up comic looks like quite good fun. Craft some material, perform it, rewrite it, and perform it again. Hang around in well-appointed clubs with your like-minded fellow comic pals. Stand around outside the comedy clubs on balmy summer evenings trying to pick up girls. It all looks quite appealing and better than the life of an office drone.

Some weeks ago I agreed to do a spot at Linsays monthly comedy club in Edinburgh. I intended to write a load of new material for it. I came up with a couple of bits, but of course didn’t spend enough time on them to really do them justice, so had to dig out the old stuff and incorporate a couple of new lines. But never mind it’ll be all right.

I headed off for Edinburgh at 5 in the afternoon, scored a double seat on a busy bus and all was well. On alighting in the capital I headed off for my tea. I had made my plans to go to Tempting Tattie on Jeffrey Street for Edinburgh’s best and biggest baked potatoes. However when I got there I discovered it was shut for Easter. Cracking.

A fair bit of hanging around on my own at the gig followed though Carly Baker and Gus Tawse were both happy to stand and chat. Both down from Aberdeen they both did really well. Carly especially. She went on third and to be honest the room hadn’t really taken to the first two acts, but Carly warmed the place up nicely with her tales of adjusting to life in Scotland as an American. Not only that but she was also nice enough to buy me a drink.

For my part I went over okay. My new stuff went down all right, but since I was saying a lot of it out loud for the first ever time, it wasn’t as good as it should have been. I also fumbled over a few of the words. But I think a 1-0 win was a fair assessment of the performance.

On after me was the undoubted star of the evening Jim Hobbit. It’s really hard to describe his act if you weren’t there. A lot of frantic rambling, some obscure music references and using a kazoo and a bendy guitar he closed his set by doing a lengthy Chuck Berry/Marty McFly impression.

I headed for the bus before the headliner, Aggie Elsdon, came on.

The bus was reasonably quiet with only a handful of folk onboard, though the driver did force several people, Jim Hobbit included, to either wolf down their hot food or put it in the luggage hold, before he would let them on.

Midway through the journey the Young Baillieston team up the back kicked off with some of their Buckfast fuelled hi-jinks. The bus driver made futile half-hearted attempts to get them to be quiet, but you knew he was never going to do any more than shout from his seat. He was just trying to get to Glasgow as fast as he could before anything major kicked off.

When they sauntered off in Baillieston, a girl came down to the driver to say that one of them had hit her and what could the driver do about it? Well love, not much. As she said herself, if he called for the Police they would be long gone. The driver said he’d have done something had the bawbag still been on the bus, but since he wasn’t there wasn’t much he could do. The lassie kept on for a bit as the young team banged the side of the bus. After the girl finished with her protestations the driver finally decided to take off though by this time one of the Young Team was dancing in front of the bus in the middle of the road. The driver had no real hesitation in aiming the bus at him as the bawbag jumped out of the way.

At Buchanan Street I said my goodbyes to Jim Hobbit and made for a late night bus home. My thought process was to find the quietest stop, but it made more sense to get the 62 on Hope Street and Gordon Street. Luck was in however as one turned up right away. I only had to put up with an old guy on a night out with his wife, shoving in to me as I got on.

Pretty much any bus that passes through the centre of town is liable to mental after midnight on a Saturday. In fact you have a high chance of a bam or two any time after about 8pm.

It didn’t take long for the Celtic sing along to start as two half-cut Celtic minded strangers joined forces to bang their feet and sing Sellik songs at the top of their lungs. They even decided to sit together, yes right behind me, arms round one another belting out some of their favourite tunes.

At the stop just before I was due to get off, in Partick, the bus filled up. It then bottle necked, with too many folk onboard, the driver shouting in a vain attempt to get people to move up the back of the bus. A shouting match broke out between two girls. This caused some impatience amongst the passengers, several of whom began shouting to the driver to get moving. The shouting match at the front then developed into a bit of hair pulling. Then some wee guy got involved which kicked off a mini riot at the front of the bus with the wee guy and one of the girls having a full blown fight.

“Pullin a lassie’s hair. Pullin a lassie’s hair. You’re a cunt. Pullin a lassie’s hair,” the lassie shouted.

One of the other passengers, a guy probably in his mid thirties grabbed the wee guy round the throat and pushed him off the bus. The wee guy seemed to be gasping for breath as he held himself up at the bus stop. The girl was screaming the place down as the driver attempted to restore some kind of order.

The wee guy pushed his way back on, which caused another scuffle as the lassie went for him. When that settled down and the girl got off, the wee guy was shouting that he couldn’t see cos he had lost his glasses. The guy who was earlier throttling him, got off the bus to retrieve them from the pavement and the bus slowly moved off.

When I got off the bus, about a hundred yards further down the road, pushing and squeezing my way past the crowd, the same guy got himself involved in another fight, this time he got off the bus for good. I walked away as the bus driver stood up behind his door shouting “This bus is going nowhere until people move further up the bus.”

Thankful that I was out of the riot on wheels I walked over to the 24-hour shop. In there was a guy, steaming drunk, staggering backwards periodically, chatting to the shopkeeper.

“You’re a Muslim eh? I’ll tell you what I don’t like about youse. Youse put yer women down eh?”

“No. No,” the guy behind the counter replied, trying to keep the discussion, such as it was, light.

“Aye youse dae. See ahm a Catholic. We’re no like that. See if any cunt said anything aboot ma Maw…” and at that I headed out the shop and along past the cricket ground to a quiet stroll back to the flat.

I don’t remember stand-up being quite like that in ‘Comedian’.

Another Bus Crash

Less than a week after I posted that pic of the bus on St. Vincent Street another one has crashed. This time into a garden in Knightswood.

Let a Smooth Operator Take You Home

As a late birthday treat, Jo took me out for dinner last night. We went to AdLib on Hope Street and it was really good. I had the Gumbo with prawns, chicken and vegetables.

Of course I got the bus into town. At Sauchiehall Street a young bam got on decked out in the good Celtic gear. He stood in the doorway winching his bird, who stayed outside on the pavement. This continued for several moments as if she was seeing him off to war. When the driver eventually shouted “Ho are you getting on?” the young bam broke off from his embrace, paid his fare and headed for his rightful seat up the back.

As he walked there, from out of his Celtic trackie he took a full pint glass of lager obviously half-inched from Campus or some other fine establishment. As I was getting off on Union Street, our hero got out his seat and wandered down the aisle. He was followed by the sound of a pint glass rolling along the floor then smashing into bits.

As I stepped off the driver had got out of his cab to inspect the mess as the bam pled innocence.

On the way home Jo got to experience the charm of the typical Glasgow bus driver, mid fifties, grey ‘tash, gruff voice… She asked how much it was to Finnieston.

“For you darlin’ 95 pence,” the driver mumbled.

“Pardon?”

“For you sweetheart, 95p.”

“Sorry, how much?”

“A poun’.”

After she put her fare in he gave her a big wink, which perturbed her more than slightly.

Ah to be a Glesca Bus Driver.

"I Need That Seat..."

Coming back from town last night I got on a 62 to Partick. Mobbed of course, I stood near the door. A character I recognised through reading about on this blog got on at Finnieston.

Dressed in workie gear, fluorescent yellow jacket, orange trousers and work boots, this was augmented with a wide selection of love beads and bangles, several large earrings including a 4 inch hoop and a court jester’s hat covered in what appeared to be pink rubber bands, I realised this guy was The Electric Scarecrow.

“Some big homosexual’s just tried to feel me up,” he told a guy who seemed to know him. “I’m just going up here for a cerry-oot then I’m goin’ back hame.”

When his pal left he resumed playing SOS by ABBA at full bung on his Walkman. He then began singing along. He wished the driver a fond farewell as he got off, then stopped a woman getting on the bus to ask “Am I looking awright?” before warmly greeting everyone else at the stop on his way into the offie.

A few stops further along the road a red faced middle aged wee guy with dark glasses got on. Looking like he’d just been beat up by Regan and Carter from The Sweeney, he chucked his money in the vault and said to the driver, “Just a poun’. I’m only goin’ up tae the cop shop.”

Walking up the bus he insisted that an older guy get up due to the fact “I need that seat. I’m oot ma cunt.” He then mumbled something about “Taking a load o’ they eccies.” For his next trick he took his bus ticket, licked it, reached across the girl beside him and attached it to the window. Finally he hassled a young girl to take his seat.

Ah First Bus, you see bams in the street and you gather them all up in one place.

On the Buses

Despite the harsh weather this week, the bus service has been no worse than usual. Oh, except for Monday when we all had to troop off, due to the bus being on fire. I couldn’t get a photograph of that, but I did notice this last night.