Ride 'em cowboy

Being a little late leaving the house this morning, we jumped on the 86 bus on the High Road as a precaution. I think we could have made the trip to the station on foot, but just to be safe, the bus was handily coming up as we passed the stop, so we caught it.

I don’t know whether it was a mechanical thing, or just some idiosyncrasy in the driver’s technique, but there were some mournful and distressing sounds emanating from the bowels of the bus’s engine. Imagine the tones from Close Encounters of the Third Kind being played on the tuba by an untutored asthmatic and you’ll have the feel of it.

The ride was as smooth as it ever is on a London bus, with their rodeo trained Bronco Billy drivers (the sort who accelerate to a stop and take corners in fourth with their foot down), but something mechanical somewhere wasn’t enjoying itself.

Ride 'em cowboy

Being a little late leaving the house this morning, we jumped on the 86 bus on the High Road as a precaution. I think we could have made the trip to the station on foot, but just to be safe, the bus was handily coming up as we passed the stop, so we caught it.

I don’t know whether it was a mechanical thing, or just some idiosyncrasy in the driver’s technique, but there were some mournful and distressing sounds emanating from the bowels of the bus’s engine. Imagine the tones from Close Encounters of the Third Kind being played on the tuba by an untutored asthmatic and you’ll have the feel of it.

The ride was as smooth as it ever is on a London bus, with their rodeo trained Bronco Billy drivers (the sort who accelerate to a stop and take corners in fourth with their foot down), but something mechanical somewhere wasn’t enjoying itself.