City Bus Driver

These days, most of my journeys involve a bus, a timetable and a destination. Back then, a journey could mean a motorcycle, a camera and absolutely no idea who I might end up talking to. Sometimes, the best part of going somewhere isn't what you find through the viewfinder, but who happens to wander into the frame. What I had my eye on that day... Two pieces of industrial infrastructure, seen from a slightly different angle at the Port of Leith. There are some days when you head out with no particular plan other than to get out. Back then, it was often the bike and the camera. No great agenda, no deadline, no particular photograph that had to be taken. Just a day out, a bit of fresh air, somewhere with a decent view, and enough time to stand around and see what happened. And sometimes, what happens has very little to do with the photograph. You can spend a surprising amount of time simply minding your own business, watching the world go by, when someone starts a conversation. Perh...

 A day off from driving today, although apparently that doesn't mean I can completely escape the city. I went looking for the perfect photograph. The pigeons had other ideas, but the coffee and conversation weren't a bad substitute. I was heading into town to catch up with family, with the added bonus of a lovely lunch at one of the city's better viewing points. It's always interesting seeing the place from above rather than from behind a steering wheel, where the view tends to involve considerably more traffic, bus stops and people stepping out in front of you. After lunch, I thought I'd take the camera out for a wander and see what turned up. The Knife Angel has been a feature of the city for a while now. I believe the plan was for it to stay for around a month, and having driven past it more times than I care to remember, I had a feeling its stay must be coming towards an end. So, with a bit of time to spare, I decided it was probably time I actually stopped and ...

Sometimes the most important person on a bus isn't the person driving it. Sometimes it's the stranger standing outside who decides they aren't going anywhere. Kymberlee Daley There are plenty of stories about buses that go wrong. Drivers being assaulted. Passengers behaving badly. Traffic chaos. Arguments. Delays. The occasional incident that becomes tomorrow's headline and yesterday's social-media argument. And then, every so often, something happens that reminds you that buses aren't just machines carrying people around a city. They're places where strangers cross paths. And sometimes, when something goes badly wrong, one of those strangers does something extraordinary. This is one of those stories. I don't want to spend too much time on the incident itself. The details are already out there, and they make uncomfortable reading. A bus driver was attacked. A situation developed rapidly. The driver eventually managed to escape from the vehicle, while the...

There are things you expect to encounter while driving a city bus. Traffic, roadworks, cyclists, pedestrians ... and, apparently, the occasional dragon. There are certain sentences you hear during a working day that simply refuse to leave your head. A dragon, rendered with rather more restraint than the subject traditionally demands. Not because they're particularly profound. Not because they're funny. And certainly not because they make any immediate sense. Sometimes it's just the combination of words. I was going about my business when, somewhere in the background, I heard: “Would you like me to hold your Dragon?” And that was it. No announcement. No explanation. No helpful follow-up sentence to put the whole thing into context. Just those seven words, floating through the air as casually as if asking someone whether they'd like a cup of tea. Would you like me to hold your Dragon? Now, perhaps I'm overthinking this. But there are questions that immediately present...

It started with a simple question. It ended with me wondering if I had somehow been driving around the city all day without knowing where I was. When one missing direction is enough to make a bus driver question everything he thought he knew. There are certain moments in bus driving when you think: "I've got this." You know where you are. You know where you're going. You've got the route. You've got the bus. You've even got a vague idea of what day it is. And then somebody asks you one simple question and, within about three minutes, you're questioning your entire existence. This was one of those moments. I pulled into a bus stop and stopped to pick up a passenger. Doors open. I'm ready. Except they don't get on. Instead, they start asking me questions. Now, that's not unusual. Bus drivers are basically public transport's version of Google. People ask us everything. "Does this go to...?" "Where do I get off for...?" ...

A cough from the back of an apparently empty bus led to a rather unexpected discovery. What followed involved a slavering dug, a 999 call, a passenger who'd been completely sparkled out, and the most bizarre missed-stop excuse I've ever encountered. I blamed the dug for the mysterious coughing from the back of the bus. Turns out the poor thing was innocent, its owner was sparkled out on the back seats. There are days driving a bus when you genuinely wonder if you've somehow wandered onto the set of a comedy programme without anyone telling you. This was one of those days. I'd had a busy run, the sort where you've barely had time to scratch yourself, never mind contemplate the meaning of life, and things had finally quietened down. The bus was empty. Or so I thought. A quick glance in the interior mirror. Nothing. Another look. Still nothing. A check upstairs on the CCTV. Not a soul. Brilliant. Just me and the bus. Then I heard it. Cough. I looked in the mirror. Noth...

It started with one empty seat. One passenger sat between two people who were travelling together. I knew nothing about it... until there was a knock on my cab door. "Driver... I'm being verbally abused." Five minutes later, I'd somehow gone from driving a double decker to hosting The Jeremy Kyle Show on wheels. One Empty Seat... and My Double Decker Became The Jeremy Kyle Show There's an unwritten rule on public transport. If two people are travelling together and there's an empty seat between them, most people instinctively leave it alone. This morning... ...someone didn't. And that's how my quiet commuter run turned into The Jeremy Kyle Show on wheels. The irony is, I didn't see any of it happen. From my seat behind the wheel, it looked like every other weekday morning. Commuters climbing aboard, coffees in hand, headphones on, minds already in the office before they'd even got there. At the rear of the lower deck sat two passengers who had ...