Originally published October 23rd, 2008 on thezig.co.uk
- Part 1

Eventually we stopped again, as it began dusking on day two. We joined a queue. Well at least I think it was a queue. Does a queue have to move, to technically be a queue? If so it wasn’t a queue, but a collection of equally stuck people, huddling together in motor vehicles, perhaps for warmth. I had no idea what we were queuing for, and an attempt to get information from John Wayne’s crew had just resulted in bemused looks, and lots of laughter. So resigned to having no idea what was happening and absolutely no power to change it we settled in for another night in the queue. This time there seemed to be a realization that we weren’t going anywhere soon, so we could get on and off the bus for toilet breaks as we pleased. Alongside the bus was a sheer drop to the left and the right, leaving no choice but to just pee on the road, next to the bus, or someone else’s bus, or truck, or car. The choice was yours; I switched each time, just to keep it fresh (the variation not the road). Annett could now pee in the open public, so that part was no problem and she had acquired what would no doubt be a valuable transferable skill, even if it probably wouldn’t make it onto her CV.

Photo: Kammie Xo

As the hours drifted by, and the evening became the night I think I drifted in and out of sanity. I’m guessing it was the potent cocktail of frustration, hunger, futility, cramp, tiredness and cold that caused it. I started wondering if maybe we’d been kidnapped. No one on the bus appeared in the slightest bit concerned that we got on the bus one day and instead of getting off it the next day were we just going to disappear for another day at least. No one called his or her wife, husband, family, work. No-one had a phone; the girl at the back got off just a few hours after getting on, perhaps tipped off by the dentists, sneaky dentists. Surely our fellow captives must have been worried about us? If so, why did they not look more worried? Maybe we’d been kidnapped? I thought maybe there were news reports announcing our kidnapping being shown on the BBC, threats of executions if John Wayne didn’t receive a large PayPal payment or some distant comrades weren’t released from a prison in Cuba. They weren’t able to politely inform us that we’d been kidnapped as no-one spoke English, so they’d just put us on the bus and driven us to the middle of nowhere, where our resolve and fight would be destroyed through humiliating bouts of sleep deprivation, involuntary hunger strike and public urination torture.

I also thought about what would happen if this had occurred in the UK. We were now twenty-six hours into this trip, in the middle of our second night and there was no bus mutiny, not even a hint of dissent. No complaints, no challenges to the driving crews’ authority. Everyone just sat there, barely saying a word to each other. In the UK if the bus had stopped moving without explanation I guess it would have been about four minutes before someone went to the front to ask:

Photo: Morning Theft

(Four-minute delay) “What’s going on, driver?”

“The bridge is closed. Because of the bad weather” the driver would say.

The message would ripple back through the bus amid a chorus of ‘oh no, you must be joking, you’re ‘avin a laugh’

A few minutes would pass, someone else would approach the driver…

(Fifteen-minute delay) “Driver, this simply will not do. Eastenders will be on in 60 minutes and I must get home to see whose turn it is to kill their husband and bury him under the stairs.”

(Twenty-five minute delay) Mobile phones would be produced; friends would be called “You’re not going to believe this! They’ve closed the bridge.”

“No way?” They would exclaim.

“Yeah I know, utterly ridiculous isn’t it, unbelievable, I mean what do we pay taxes for?! The government can’t even keep a simple bridge in operation.”

(Thirty-minute delay) Someone would approach the driver with a plan. “I called a friend of mine and he suggested that if we just turn around, take a left, left, second right, straight over at the lights, take a right passed the fish and chip shop we can join the A421 passed cragglyhead-upon-tyne which will take us around this bridge and we’ll be home in time for tea and biscuits.”

“Erm, no, I know that road and its usually congested, and it’s a long de-tour” the driver would reply. “I’m sure if we just stay put we can wait this out, it will probably re-open again in a few minutes.”

“A few minutes?! Do you think I have a few minutes to spare? Do you have any idea how important I am?! I work in the city you know, yes that’s right the city! I don’t have time to spend idling here in this elongated coffin on the road to nowhere with riff raff like you.”

“Which city?” the driver says, puzzled

“The city! As*%ole!” he would reply, bluntly, as if there were more than one.

(Forty-minute delay) The Sun is called, prepares a front page exposes “Broken Britain is BUST - Public transport meltdown!!”

(Forty-five minute delay) “Sorry driver, but the passengers and I have taken a vote and found you to be incompetent and no longer fit for service. Hunger levels have reached a dangerous new high, fast approaching what could only be described as ‘peckish’.” So we will now kill and eat you. Sorry about that, no hard feelings though old chap there really is no other choice. Rule Britannia.”

(One-hour delay) Driver is eaten. People give up, get off and walk home….

For part 3 of this miserable bus ride stay tuned for next time!!

To see this post by Adam Fletcher in its original form on the zig.co.uk click here.

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