Bristol Bus plans go CRAZY

Picture this: it's a glorious Sunday morning, you are feeling energised and suggest to your kids/partner/friend that it would be the perfect day for a bike ride along the charming Bristol and Bath cycle lane. But wait. Have you not heard? Those eco-minded people at Bristol City Council hope to scupper your plans for a leisurely bike ride by building a hoofing great Bus Rapid Transit route on part of it under the thinly veiled guise of easing traffic congestion.
If you have never been, the path is a 13 mile route connecting the two cities and is a hub of activity, from walkers and kids playing to cyclists and nature lovers.

According to the council the new "high quality, low emission vehicles" would run on a specially build road alongside the cycle track, which would widened and improved as part of the scheme.
Councillor Mark Bradshaw, Bristol City Council's Executive Member for Access and Environment has said that something needs to be done to ease the traffic problem. Hmmm, has anyone at the council heard of the Showcase Bus Route?

Ok so that may not be the best example, but as loathed as I am to say it, I can see a marginal difference in the amount of time it takes me to get to work of a morning. However, I have another suggestion: Why not introduce a congestion charge as in London? I was down on a course recently and the taxi driver said that it's just part of the fabric of the place now, you see, we humans can get used to anything, that's why we have stayed around for so long.

Another thought was bringing back the old tram system. They have recently done this in Dublin and, again, it appears to be a success. Now, I must admit, I am not a frequent user of the B2B Cycle track and it is very easy for those who like the 'idea' of such a path to get on their high horses and say it's a bad thing, but maybe it will highlight the fact that we have such a pleasent space and get out there and USE IT!!! I know I'll be dusting off the old penny farthing, digging out me calipers and getting bikey with it.

Goodness, how time flies....

Woah! It's 2008 - where have I been for the past three months? Gosh I can hardly believe that my last rant about buses was waaaaaaaaaay back in October. I am ashamed that I have been slack. Ah well, there, you go. My New Year's resolution - make sure I keep on top of my blog.

Well, as luck would have it, I returned from the family Christmas up in the Welsh borders to find that we had a leak which had been secretly dripping away for weeks and has in fact caused the adjoining wall between the kitchen and sitting room to become, as the plumber put it, "like putty". There is, however, a silver lining to the old cloud of doom. Thank god for insurance!!!! So now we are getting a nice new living room and totally re-decorated kitchen. Big phews!

In addition, I have another res to add to the list: positivity. Yes. P.O.S.I.T.I.V.I.T.Y. I have realised that it is only me that can shape my future. It is moi that makes my own luck. Now I know this, I feel really excited about how I can now plan my life and live as I want to.

OK, so it all sounds a bit obvious, but hey, the best things often are. Either which way, 2008 is going to be a stonker of a year...I can feel it in my waters.

Bristol Bus saga - Part deux

Following on from my last rant, I must say, things have quietened down on the old bus front - well fractionally.
For example, this week has been relatively hitch-free - by that I still mean that the buses were late/over crowded/stuck in horrendous traffic - but at least they weren't quite as bad as last week.
Apart from today....(there had to be a but!)
So, this morning. I was up bright and early and even missed breakie to make sure I got down to the bus on time. Made it there for 7.50. There were only a scattering of queuers waiting which was a relief as sometimes you can be a bit apprehensive about getting on the bus if there are too many folks waiting. All seemed A-OK. Along tootles the bus - thankfully, it's the one I want (41) and take my place in the queue behind the people who were there first (apart from a couple of loiterers who could just be there by default.) Being the sweetheart I am, I let this beefy lady on before me. The queue goes down painfully slowly as people faff about for change. Finally, just as I am about to step on the bus (the step of safety I call it cuz once you are on there, you are guaranteed to be able to stay on!) divine intervention as usual prohibits me from alighting the bus. Of course, God wouldn't want me to actually be ON TIME for work now would he?
"Sorry. Full up" grunts the driver and with the flick of his sausage finger, the door 'Schhoooops' in my face and the bus scoots off. I was the only person left in the queue (apart from the aforementioned loiterers ). I am left smarting and feeling personally insulted.
Fortunately, another bus is soon along and I finally get underway.

But my luck doesn't last for long. For some unfathomable reason, the bus corporation is loathed to put on a extra bus and as a result the number 8 to Clifton is so jam-packed that I fear we may be breaching some kind of human rights standard. With the elbows of the perfectly coiffured beauty therapist students who each have to lug the equivalent of a small elephant of kit with them, firmly jabbed in my ribs , we chug off. The bends and hills of the terrain, coupled with the driver's propensity for driving like he's at SilverStone, helps the bruises on my ribs to form nicely. Finally the door wheezes open (or is is the cumulative exhalation of the entire busload of sardined passengers?) and I am spat out into the daylight like some unholy creature of the night. Aching and sore, I stumble off to work. It is now 9am.
We'll see what the journey home has in store for me...
More later...

Buses in Bristol - don't get me started!!!

Right, I have decided to take action about the dire state of the buses in Bristol. I'm so affronted by the sheer crass awfulness of the First Bus Group that I have decided to make a stand. Am I not a journalist? Can I not make a difference through words? Well, I'm certainly going to have a good crack at it. I will be kicking myself if I don't.
So why the harsh thoughts directed at the pitiful bus service in Bristol?
Well my story starts last week (it goes back further than that but my brain is a bit fuzzy today and besides I'm riled from a week of tormented commutes to work so that is when my evidence was collated).
Let's start on Monday. OK, not the best day in the week as we all know, still, I wasn't dreading work, just a bit indifferent to it. All the same, I was tired and breakfast was a rushed affair. Off I trot to the bus stop. Bus is meant to arrive at 8.10. At 8.30 still no buses had passed only a little tootler of a bus that is sooo slow that you would probably be quicker travelling by pogo stick in stilettos. Still, I digress. There is a fair crowd gathering by this time which adds to the pressure 'will i get on? Will they push in and I'll be left looking like a mug? Will it even stop if the driver spots our bus conga?' Well, it was the latter. Old drive takes one look at us, and whizzes past, all the passengers cloudy-looking and packed in like sardines. Another bus whizzes past. And a third. I think sod this, and start walking towards the centre. The bus I was going to get stops just before I get to the next stop, its little indicator eye winks at me teasingly as it pulls out, me breathless and unkempt behind, running as fast as my little legs can carry me. I draw pitiful looks off my ex bus queue associates who are now warm on the bus, flicking open their copies of the Metro. Dammit. No 7 comes past thankfully and I manage to get on. So the rest of the journey is OK and when it gets to the time to swap buses, luck is on my side as the 8 is waiting patiently for me. However, something doesn't feel right. The driver looks perturbed. Scratching his head. Passengers start to exchange worried glances. Bus conks out. We are chivvied onto another bus which thankfully gets me to work nearly an hour late.
Tuesday. Similar to above except we wait at the traffic lights for 25 minutes. Word is there's been an accident. I later learn that there was roadworks. At rushour. Roadworks? Rushour? Who okayed that one? Anyway. Late again, but only by 20 mins.
Wednesday - get lift off the boyfriend and I get to work early!!
Thursday. Now this was the worst. Two buses neglect to stop. Third does and breaks down. Bus number two breaks down too. Then I go and get on the wrong bus (I blame the stress of the journey) and end up on White Ladies Rd, about half hour's walk from work. I'm late again.
Now the return journey on Thursday was a j-o-k-e. For some reason they stop running my bus at around 7pm so after a trip to the gym for a swim, I miss my allotted bus-catching time by about a minute. I walk to the centre where several buses should be. I'm wrong. Silly me! Thinking that the bus will turn up on time. Finally the 45 swings around. We all look hopefully at the driver. He, however, is in no rush and makes us wait half an hour before he drags his sorry ass onto the bus and begrudgingly drives us home. The journey was extra jerky and I spilled the contents of my bag everywhere. I think he did it on purpose.
Friday. Accident. Stress. Traffic jam. Frantic texts to work to pave the way for my tardy entrance. I don't recall much about the journey other than I remember watching the traffic lights turn from red to green 12 times without the bus going anywhere. Now it's the weekend and I'll be damned if I'm getting on one of those godforsaken buses. I'm gathering my evidence. I might get a petition together. I mean this isn't normal is it? I am paying for my ticket right? I do deserve so level of service? Well, I have plenty more to say on the subject and I have yet to tell you about the train. That's something to look forward to now, isn't it.

Inspiration comes....finally!

Wow, they say a holiday is as good as a change, or a haircut or something. Whatever the adage is, I have just got back from two glorious weeks in Cyprus and boy do I feel better for it! I was actually excited about coming home as I had so many ideas for things I want to do when I got back.
OK, so you expect that first flush of inspiration to wane slightly when the reality hits home that the UK has not had a summer, is not hot and lovely like Cyprus, is not full of friendly faces and is not, I repeat not somewhere that I can kick back, laze on the beach or by the pool and sip mojitos. In short, it is back to reality and reality bites!
Having said that, for some unknown reason, I am still on the holiday high. I have been swimming at the gym, I have been helping out with the local community (yes indeed!) and I have made sure that every night, me and the old fella sit down at the table to eat (a la Cyprus and most Euro families - it really is just us coach potato Brits who lounge in front of Eastenders gawping while our pie and chips grown cold) and amazingly, we have also managed to squeeze in a salad with every meal. Not bad.
I was wondering what was the source of my inspiration? What kicked my hiney into action? Then I realised. I had spend a good deal of my hol with my nose in a raft of women's mags. I now know the best 10 ways to keep my man from straying, how to perfect Cat Deely's skincare routine and get that LA glow. Bah!
It's all lies...How can I maintain this perfection? How can one as flustery and spontaneous as me - someone who cannot decide on anything and when I do, I instantly regret said decision - ever keep up such a facade?
So now, as I talk myself out of my inspired mood, and the lettuce grows floppy in the fridge, I realise, in that moment. I'm British, not Cypriot. Not a Euro lovely. Sod it, I'm off to put my pie in the oven.

Back to the grind

I think that must be the most ungrateful person in the world. No sooner do I have a job (after all that IS what I wanted) then I start to feel trapped into the working world again. I mean, come on! Fickle doesn't even cover it. A bit of time off really gives you space to reflect and I realise the life of a freelancer - while it has its stresses and strains - does give you the 'down time' so painfully lacking the the realms of the nine to fiver. Not able to go for a lovely swim at 11am, not able to meet friends for coffee and cakes in the hazy afternoon sun. Not able to make doctor's appointments, not able to shop, not able to do anything other than work.
OK, there are positives: earning a wage for a start. And meeting new people. And working in a nice location. That would normally be great except, almost instinctively, the flying ants knew that I was flagging in my struggle to remain upbeat and have come out in force to chase me back inside to the confines of the office. Like a bird with its wings clipped. Ah well, at least I can pay the mortgage. But is it worth my sanity?

There is a Job-God

Well, well, well. And me the consummate non-believer. I should have had more faith in myself for exactly one month since losing my job, I have been blessed with another one.
My prayers have been answered! I have to say though, this has been the most stressful month in living memory. I suppose we can all learn things from such experiences and I for one realise one thing - I need to work. I was totally sick of cleaning, sick of playing with the cat because I had nothing better to do, sick of applying for jobs and sick, sick, sick of feeling miserable. Finally, the house can go back to being comfortably messy, the washing can pile up again and I can rejoin the rat race!
Here's to employment. Ah, I couldn't exist without you!