First trip on night bus

A rainy Saturday night. I'm struggling down the Gloucester Road in a downpour, trying to hold my umbrella in place with one arm in a gale while simultaneously eating a bag of chips. It's not easy. One minute I'm alert and focussed, avoiding puddles, drunken teenagers and other obstacles, sidestepping obstructions with a dexterity that belies the four pints slopping around inside my nervous system. A moment later I'm in a daze, miles away inside a little coccoon - just my chips and my umbrella. The outside world is a different planet.

I get to the Centre in good time for my first experience of the Night Bus, the first one at midnight. It's on time. I expect a vehicle full of rowdy yobs shouting abuse, threatening each other and puking on the floor. But there's just a handful of people like me - tired, sedate, and looking forward to getting home. At the front are two massive black guys, each the size of a house. Big round beaming faces with wide toothy grins. They're wearing fluorescent yellow tabards emblazoned with the words "Bus Marshal". They have nothing to do but pull each other's leg. I'm surprised to find the fare has gone up to £2.50 and I wonder if it might still have been £2.00 if we only had one marshal.

The nearest stop to my house is still a couple of miles away and I'm only vaguely aware of the route. As I contemplate the soggy trek, the beaming black grins both wish me good night and I leave the bus with a pleasant warm feeling inside. I've saved myself £16 compared to the taxi fare. I'm glad the night buses run. As I think of some of the drunkards I sidestepped on the way to the bus stop, I'm glad about the two marshals too.