The me on the bus goes blog blog blog

I was on a bus today!

I thought that needed calling out, because I haven't been on a bus in ages. I remember, especially back in the 1990s, I loved buses. You couldn't keep me off them, well, apart from when I got to my destination - it would have been stupid to stay on any longer than that. Yep, it was all great indie music, dreaming of the year 2000 (will we have jetpacs?) and bus travel back then.

Since I made the switch to a car over a decade ago, my daily bus journeys have almost disappeared. But today, due to the weather, I decided to meet the missus at her workplace, so I could make sure she'd get home safely. Ah, how sweet eh? Well, that and I didn't want her wrecking the car, it's insured in my name for god's sake. Anyway, that meant hopping on a local bus.

First up I checked the details on my phone. None of that back in the 1990s, it was all about having the local knowledge, knowing that the number 2 from Broadpark Road, would always appear at between six to seven minutes past the hour. Nowadays the internet told me where, when and how many teeth the bus driver would have (not many, but that's the state of bus drivers in Leeds.) I wandered down to the stop, where my true bus adventure began...

Hailing a bus
I last hailed a bus (signalled for it to stop, not applauded and cheered it for it's recent performances) about 15 years ago. Was it still the same? Do you stick your hand out, slightly raised? Was that something now from the Victorian age, and people would think I was trying to get a Hansom carriage to stop? Maybe the bus would just smash into my arm, mistaking my actions for some sort of gang sign, such are the mean streets these days. Thankfully, it was still the case, and the bus stopped with my hand very much intact. Either that, or I showed the right gang sign.

The cost
As the bus approached, I suddenly thought - have I actually got enough money? Now, I had about £5 in change in my pocket, but no frame of reference on cost. Like stamps, had buses now quadrupled in value? Would my £5 have got me to the end of the road? Did I need the right change? I used to get on the bus and say things like "75p please" and the bus driver would know that I knew the cost of my journey, but that he didn't need to know exactly where I was going - it was an unspoken respect between traveller and service provider. But today? No idea. The answer, rather undramatically, was £2.50.

The driver
Good, they haven't changed. Always a little strange, usually covered in tattoos and with an odd beard. And that was just the lady drivers (I did live in Devon). Anyway, this driver said something quite bizarre. Unsure of what stop I needed, I asked him "What's the best stop for the railway station?" to which he replied "Well, the bus...it goes down from the high street, then it heads down the hill, then it stops on Old Road". Why was he talking in the third person all the time, saying 'It' when referring to his bus? Surely he was in charge, but the way he talked sounded like the bus just went on its own and he was just a helpless passenger, only sitting right at the front. Maybe this was what buses were like now, sentient beings? No, it just turned out he had a strange turn of phrase. Shame. I thought it might have been something from the future we were all promised when we were young, and that it would have hovered as well.

The facilities
Buses were buses back then. Seats, the driver, windows, that was it really, and wheels of course (nearly forgot them). Nowadays it's like Minority Report. Flashing screens, priority seating for the elderly, fold up seats to store buggies, a mini bar, a robot butler, yep things have changed. What hasn't though is that great sign behind the driver that says "Do not distract the driver's attention and do not stand forward of this sign." Lovely, you can't improve on a classic like that, can you? And it still had wheels too (that song doesn't lie.)

The memories
Anyway, as I whiled away the 25 minutes on the bus, I remembered some of my favourite bus moments. The school bus, where people would get on, hand the return ticket out the window to a friend - who would then get on and show the same ticket. I'm pretty sure we bankrupted a few local bus firms in Devon. Or the rather bizarre phrase, that people sitting at the back of the bus would declare, stating "Back seat boys, make all the noise." Never really got to the bottom of that. And, as we pulled away from another bus stop, I remembered the time that having enjoyed a lunchtime pizza buffet with a girl, and waiting for a bus to arrive, I accidentally hugged her a little too tightly causing her to heimlich her entire lunch back up and onto the wall of the bus stop. Oh yeah, I was quite the smooth operator.

Anyway, I got to my destination and met up with the missus. She was delighted to see me (I didn't cause her to vomit, so I've clearly moved on since then) and she was even more impressed that I had got on a bus. So was I, I thought, I must write a blog about that I said.

So I did. And you just read it.

Three things I noticed at lunch today

I had lunch today. Blimey, that's a thrilling start to a blog isn't it? Never mind your "Call me Ishmael" or "The sweat was lashing off of Sick Boy" nope, "I had lunch today" is the way to go.

I only bring it up, the point - not the lunch, because I rarely get away from my desk for lunchtime. I've taken to bringing in crackers and cheese recently and reading the internet, so I don't tend to walk round the office building. Today I did, and thank goodness for that, because three different things happened that I could then tell you about (beckons the reader closer with hand in comedy 'let me share a secret' mime).

1. Men. This is a fact. If you use your mobile phone while standing at a urinal, you just look like you are trying to take a picture of your own penis. Fact. Businessman in suit today, happily 'multi-tasking' next to me, just looks like a perv. I'm not the perv, by the way - in case it looks like that.

I'm sure it's very innocent, but doing what you do also implies that you only need one hand to - as it were - steady the ship. If there were women in the toilet, you wouldn't be impressing them. Actually, if there were women in the toilet, you're probably in the wrong toilet.

2. Women. Get your purse ready. Queing to buy a newspaper, so I could have something to read at lunchtime, the woman in front took about 60 seconds to get the 47p she needed to pay for the transaction.

Now, I know purses/wallets can be a bit tricky, but it was the fact the woman had to wait to be told how much her purchase was, before she then decided to get her purse out of the bag, opened, coins rattled through and selected, before she actually paid. To be honest, most shops to tend to expect you to pay at the end, so don't appear to be surprised - as if they would chalk it up on a tab for you. Bartering for goods, using livestock as capital, isn't the done thing anymore.

3.Everyone. Doesn't matter who you are, you cannot fail to be intrigued by one of the greatest statements I've ever heard. Passing people having a clearly very important meeting, one chap said - with the straightest of all faces, and with utter seriousness - "In this climate, sausages are more important than ever." Single-handledly the funniest and most intriguging thing I've heard in ages. Financial climate? Cold climate? Why are they so important? What are they NOT telling us about sausages, that makes them so darned crucial. I expect a full ITV1 expose before the week is out. Either that or a lovely hot-dog.

Anyway, that was my lunchtime, thank you random people I saw - you were delicious.

Thank you. Idiots.

Just for clarification, the title refers to two seperate things.

First up, the thank you bit. Thank you to the many people who got in touch about the return of this blog (I sound like Points of View) and said such nice things as:

- You've spelt something wrong
- That really wasn't about anything that blog, was it?
- Yeah, what the second bullet said

Still, it did the job. Like slipping your extremities into a hot bath first (toes, in case you were worried) it's got me acclimatised to writing again.

It also inspired me to blag a blogging gig with www.whatculture.com - a rather splendid website covering film, tv, gaming, music, memory loss, sport and memory loss. The startling news was that the first blog I posted there got just over 10,000 hits in two days. I even got nice comments from strangers, not a single mention of a lack of content or speelling errurs.

I'd love to show you more, but as I write the entire site appears to have gone down. I have that effect on websites.

Now, the idiots bit. Principally dealing with idiots on the phone. I was inspired by a brilliant story today that someone told me about working on a customer service line and getting a call from a customer complaining that the disposable barbecue they had bought had no meat with it. When it was explained that the picture of meat on the front was for illustration purposes the caller said "That explains why it was so cheap. I'd better go and take the other one out of the freezer."

Lovely stuff, I was surprised they didn't complain that the fire wasn't actually included either

The phone is a wonderful way of introducing you to idiots. In the past I've told you how we used to get phonecalls at home asking if we were 'The Chicken Cafe' (we weren't) but recently I've been getting a lot of phonecalls from a company desperate to offer me 'Gas Futures' - which I believe are a nonsense financial investment.

Now, were it the other way round, offering me 'Future Gases' I'd be interested (perhaps a gas that can make your eyes go spirally, and reverse gravity - I'd be up for that.) but I'm led to believe that these people - shock - just want my money. At first, I was slightly angry, but then I decided that if they thought I was a fool who could be parted from his money, I'd get some fun out of it. So far I've dealt with the calls in the following manner:

1st call - I hung up, wasn't falling for that

2nd call - Half recognising the number, I did my usual way of screening calls - I pretended to be my own answer phone (I'm very convincing at this, I even dothe beep). They hung up.

3rd call - Now knowing the number I put on a high-pitched voice and pretended to be my own secretary. This time they talked for a while asking if I could call them back.

4th call - Secretary again. Mr Colman was in a meeting and then playing backgammon (I genuinely said that without laughing) they left the message again.

5th call - Answered in the poshest voice I could manage and kept using the phrase 'This is splendid, you must tell me more' before pretending the phone wasn't working by saying "I am not receving you. Can you hear me?" three times before hanging up on them.

6th call - Secretary. Mr Colman in another meeting, then his weekly game of of Yahtzee.

7th call - I pretended the phone was cutting out, by missing out every third word when I talked to them. The bloke manfully tried to give me info, but we both knew it wasn't going to work

That's as far as I got. I'm eagerly awaiting the next call because I might tell them that I'm dead, and that - ironically - it was in an explosion involving a future gas.

I do hope they call soon. Idiots.

Who the hell are you and what are you doing here?

And we're back.

Yes, a brief look at the site history will confirm I haven't written anything here since May. There're are plenty of reasons. For one, I've been doing stuff elsewhere that I'm not able to post online at the mo (that sounded exciting and mysterious in my head, written down I sound like I've been recording a martyrdom tape).

Another reason, soppy as it is, was that whenever I've had a mo to visit this site I see the last blog about the dearly departed Mr Seth and don't want to go any further. Yes, it's just a cat, but if my absence on this page tells you anything, it's just how much that bundle of love meant to me.

And I assumed that, as I wasn't coming here then no-one else was. Until I stumbled across the stats page of the site, that I didn't even know existed. Someone's been here. Quite a few different someones in fact. This blog has had about 300 hits in the last few months. Different users it seems too. Who the ruddy hell is that? Have people run out of internet to read? Someone suggested it was 'internet robots' which either means (a) automated search engines or (b) ACTUAL ROBOTS, PROBABLY TIME TRAVELLING ONES.

I'm sure I should feel honoured, but instead It's quite disconcerting to find people on my turf when they've no reason to be.

So the only remedy is to start writing again, which I will, that and welcome anyone to the site who hasn't come along before. Seriously, pop your shoes off, pull up a chair, here's a Tabboo and Lemonade. And if you need somewhere to start then, according to the stats, some of the most popular blogs on the site include

Roger Moore and the IKEA tiger - Particularly enjoyable when compared with the recent genius of Skyfall

Sausages don't say Phwoar - The stupidity of self proclaimed ideal Christmas presents

Farewell friends - How not to feel bad about defriending people on facebook

Beating a bit of bully - Advice on dealing with idiots, which involves the use of anvils

Timolsky in need - If just to look at my legs in tights

See you soon, whoever you are.

A cat's life

The day after your birthday is always a bit of a downer, and when you also have to say goodbye to one of your best friends too…well, you can mark that down in your diary with a massive colon + left hand bracket. Put it in 1000pt font in fact.

That was what happened today, as our beloved eldest cat Seth finally had to admit defeat against illness. For you non-animal lovers, you might as well log off now, as I come to praise our furry friend in this blog post.

Cats have risen to prominence on the internet over the last few years. Amusing LOL-captions and the ability to play keyboards are great. But Seth didn’t need that – because he was too busy cuddling and spreading love.

This was a cat who we met over four years ago, when he was picked up by the RSPCA wandering the streets with a dodgy hip and nasty skin complaint on his back. No-one knew where he had come from, but he knew where he wanted to be. His first act was to bound up to me, climb on my shoulder, and grab hold for dear life - and from then on he was family.

Given the fact he had been on his own he could have been forgiven for dis-trusting humans, but he clearly had a better nature than most of us ever could. From day one he wanted to cuddle and to be cuddled. He would follow you from room to room, rarely savaging carpets or sofas when he could spend his energy climbing up higher so he could get you to rub his head, chin, back or belly.

When he was happy, you could hear it. Seth had something in his throat that gently rasped – the happier he was, the more he rasped and coo-ed, sounding like a high-pitched pigeon (ask anyone who met him) – when you heard that noise, you knew he was totally happy.

And he was happy a lot. Whether it was hiding behind the hot water tank, stealing slices of ham bigger than his own head, levering doors open with his paw, grasping a catnip-filled banana, or just meeting new people, he purred like his life depended on it. And if you ever worried he would miss you if you were away, you could be sure it’d be worth it for when you came back – as he charged towards you on a one-cat mission of headbutting/headrubs.

And all this with a myriad of illnesses. A wonky hip that sometimes meant he could hardly move one of his legs. A skin complaint that brought dozens of little scabs to his back and neck. Asthma (yes, cats get Asthma – but no little blue inhaler) that saw him rushed to the emergency vets. A thyroid operation that would have finished many cats off.

It was kidney disease that eventually did for him, but even up to his last day he didn’t complain – he took the myriad tablets and the prescription food, he enjoyed his ‘spa’ days when he was given fluid and attention by some of the nicest vets you could meet, and even when it turned out he was about five years older than we first thought he just shrugged it off. And then did a poo in one of my slippers.

You can think a lot about the day a friend dies, but it’s better to remember the many more days that they lived, and we’ll be doing that a lot from today, and probably forever. There are too many to talk about here – the night he stayed out and how we drove around the estate at 3am trying to find him only for him to arrive home at 6am and give us a row for not letting him in earlier; or the day we had a visit from the RSPCA to check we were nice people to get another cat – to which Seth walked into the room with the inspector, looked at her, and immediately just rolled around on his back to say how much he loved living with us; or when a supposedly old and fragile cat was spotted about a mile from his home climbing up a sheer rock face like a veteran Sherpa.

For all those moments, and thousands more, we shall always be grateful - even if we’re sad along with it.

So, if you’ve made it this far, thank you. And if you want to do something in honour of our furry friend, stick your loose change in an RSPCA collection tin and make sure that the other Seths out there get picked up, re-homed, and spread the love.

Seth Colman, thank you for everything.