On The Buses

The classic Nottingham bus

As a quasi-social experiment I decided to write about the happenings on all the different buses in Nottingham, akin to Time Out’s version of the London buses (which, if you’re interested, are infinitely more interesting than what I experienced). So, wasting £3 and about 5 hours of my day off, I set about a challenge that would take me to the very heart of the Victoria Centre and back. People gave me strange looks but I continued, noting down the annoying accents of old ladies and hungover screeches of young girls.

Number 36 Lenton – Victoria Centre

Ever wondered where all those buses outside the Victoria Centre go? Ever cared? Neither really have I. If you are one of the two or three that do, read on and see just how far into the ‘burbs these insipid coloured vehicles go.
I begin my bizarre journey on the number 36, from Savoy Cinema in Lenton to the Victoria Centre. Little to report: a couple of gothy looking boys at the back are playing gothy type music from their mobiles. There’s a Chinese couple in front of me that are arguing about what they want to see in Nottingham. We go up Derby Road and back down again, where the goth boys get off. I peer out of the window and watch them tie their laces. So far so good…the bus is nice and warm but is fairly tame.

Number 41 - St Anns

Get turfed off the bus outside Gap and look wildly around for any bus to get on. Jump on a number 41 heading to St. Ann’s (which for a student is wildcard territory), get caught behind a number 28 and err, that’s it. Head down Lower Parliament Street, past Gala Bingo and lots of kids get on. A cute boy sitting behind me cries that he wants ‘pizza and chips’ for his dinner while his mother tells him that they’re going to have spaghetti Bolognese. Doesn’t sound like he’s going to get one of his five a day from that.
So it’s just me and a silent boy on the bus. Sack this off. Go along St. Anns Well Road and get off at Botany Avenue, cross the road and wait for a bus the other way. Woman with weird hybrid Nottingham/Northern Irish accent asks me when the next bus is due. I’ve just crossed from one side to the other, do I look like I know? Peer at bus posters but have been vandalised with some purple spray paint…turns out they’re meant to come every ten minutes but I wait for fifteen.

Number 40 – St Ann’s – Victoria Centre

An hour into my day and I’m beginning to think that buses are just a little bit boring. Nothing exciting has happened and I’ve had to listen to mundane conversations and shopping and the East Midlands weather ‘awful weather innit’ ‘aaawww yeah I know’. Bus stops every ten metres along the road and rattles over about a million speed bumps. Two girls with apparent hangovers and bad cases of halitosis sit behind me talk about how annoying it is to be woken up early when you need to sleep off your hangover, this continues all the way into town. Oh wait! A lopsided snowman in a garden. How cute. Someone else chats about how busy town is on Saturday. This stimulating conversation takes me up until the Victoria Centre, where I gratefully get off.

Nottingham buses - going round and round

Number 70 – Victoria Centre – Arnold

Up Mansfield Road, for a change. The only interesting conversation I overhear comes from one guy with HATE tattooed on his knuckles, who appears to terrify the recipient of the phone call by saying ‘I love you with the bottom of my heart’. Love overcomes syntax, evidently. Go up past the cemetery and up and down a few roads and then past some nameless clothing manufacturer. Literally no one else speaks on the bus, I get bored. I get off at Percy Street in the middle of Nottingham nowhere.

Number 71 Percy Street – Victoria Centre

I haven’t spoken to anyone for about an hour, unless you count a drunk who crushed his Carlsberg can in my face and called me ‘duck’. I just love the Nottingham accent. I've decided that buses on Saturday afternoon are tame. I nearly fall off my seat going back up Mansfield Road due to erratic driving and am subjected to fifteen minutes of fast-Nottingham speak in the seat behind me. The driver nearly runs over a jogger just past Berridge Road, where loads of people get on and then get off a stop later….

Tram from Market Square to Wilkinson Street

Just for kicks, I get on the tram to Hucknall from the Market Square. I try to get on the one before, but got my hands stuck in the door while some kind woman tells me to push on the button that says ‘open’. Yeah, that makes sense. Instead, I look like a twat whilst I desperately try to prise open the doors (it leaves regardless). I look proper lost as same woman points out that the next tram comes in six minutes, and do I want to go to Phoenix Park or Hucknall? I don’t quite have the heart to tell her that I don’t know where either is and I’m joy-riding. Riding for joy. Geddit? The tram is proper boring though, I recognise Asda but then get scared when I see what appears to be a giant coal mining plant so jump off in earnest.

Number 88 Parliament Street – Rise Park

I have absolutely no idea where Rise Park is but the bus is nice and warm and the bus driver is easily the friendliest person I’ve met all day. He doesn’t even look up from his copy of The Mirror when I get on and wave my all day ticket in his face, so I sit upstairs with two other loners like myself. Where exactly is Rise Park and why do only 3 people want to go there?! Mr Friendly eventually leaves the stop and we go up Mansfield Road again. I can hear music playing downstairs and crying babies (for a change). Past the cemetery again: I really can’t understand how bus drivers do it all day, I’ve only been on a bus for no good reason for four hours yet I’m bored shitless. I go past a restaurant advertising ‘beat the credit crunch: Valentine’s dinner for £9.99!’ I’m definitely heading Sherwood way in the future.

Number 88 Sherwood – City Centre

The last route of the day! Several teenagers smirk at me when I get on: chances are they’ve seen me get off across the road and then get on one approximately thirty seconds later. I push the boat out, sit right at the front on the top and put my feet on the plastic bit in anarchic fashion. I might actually be able to see where I’m going from here… Loud Spanish woman speaks on her mobile phone to her boyfriend, who (assuming is said boyfriend) gets on a few stops on and they eat each other’s face in the seat next to mine. Don’t they know that they can eat dinner at Credit Crunch restaurant up the road?

Number 35 Victoria Centre – Lenton

Classic way to end the day: a pair of Chinese tourists assume that bus travel is free so try and board without paying. Chaos ensues as the bus driver demands payment from the bemused pair, who eventually cough up and throw some coins into the box. Being a savvy student like myself, I’d timed my weekly shop so I could get on the bus home with bags of shopping, a great idea in theory. As the bus creeks up Derby Road gravity wins out; my bag breaks and tins roll up and down the aisle to the pitying looks of old ladies. I scramble about trying to pick up unidentified tins of meat, and then gratefully get off the stop before mine due to pure embarrassment. Who knew buses could be such fun??

The conclusion: I never want to see a bus again! And when is it acceptable to write about peoples’ conversations and demented phonecalls? Answers on a bus ticket please...


 

Share this article