The Night Bus

I had a rollicking night last night. I became, to all intents and purposes, bladdered. I also went to the Phoenix Club for the first time. That's a peculiar place, I can tell thee.

So I had a marvellous night, spent much of it talking nonsense at some wonderful people who graced me with their own nonsense in return and we lauded ourselves as the saviours of our fields and generally, on a very basic level, had fun.

Now, as wonderful as any night in London can be, it can always be dampened heartily by the Night Bus.

Stumbling forth after being ousted from the Phoenix I bid adieu to my chums and sought out the N207. It came after about 6 minutes of cold-induced knee knocking and I scaled the dizzy heights of the top deck of the double decker.

Bonza! thought I, as the front seat was free and I could treat myself to pretending that I was powering the bus along by the power of thought alone. (surely everyone enjoys this?)

I sat happily for some time, bumbling past the corporate sponsored Christmas lights, thinking about how soon I would be in bed.....

BLEURGH

Oh god, what on earth was that?

BLERUGH

I looked in the window to see the inverse image of some rascal sporadically vomiting on the floor of the bus.

BLUERGH

Everything was going so well. And now there was a trigger sicker. It wouldn't have been so bad if he'd just had a good crack at it and had it done with, but it was now intermittent. And with no care at all for the public space he was defiling. I would have to walk past it on my way down. What a shame to end an evening with skipping over vomit.

But I suppose that's the joy of the night bus, and at least there were no youths being aggresive. Just one inebriated man sharing his food.