But the second most traumatic thing to happen last week featured a bus.
I'd downloaded the app, checked the timetable and I knew we could arrive in town at 12:15pm and catch a return bus at 2:30pm. That would drop us back in the village just in time to collect my son from school.
Thursday was the last day of the heatwave and there was a chance of storms as the heat broke, so I almost reconsidered. I didn't really want to carry rain paraphernalia with us—I'd rather be as light as possible for this trial run and had already decided that I would only bring swimming stuff for my daughter. But cancelling because of a low risk of storms felt like making excuses, so we chanced it without our rain gear.
Catching the bus into Bude went beautifully! It arrived on time, and from the top deck, we enjoyed stunning views of the countryside—and over the hedge into the allotment of an elderly gentleman who was beating the heat by gardening in skimpy underwear. It was mesmerising.
Once in Bude, we crossed the river to the quay and recklessly had ice cream for lunch, before hitting the beach. This was busy, but not packed like the recent news pictures of Bournemouth and Dorset. We soon discovered that the sea pool had re-opened after some construction work, so my daughter spent about half an hour swimming there while I watched in raging jealousy.
We left at 1:30 so that she could dry off before the bus trip back and wandered around town for a bit, did some impromptu parkour and watched the trout in the river, but she was keen on getting back to the bus-stop early so that we wouldn't miss the bus.
Ten minutes ahead of our departure time, the incoming bus rolled up and dropped off the passengers for Bude. All of them stepped down with due care for the glass all over the step: the bus door had shattered en route.
The bus driver was making some phone calls, and the five of us who were waiting for the return trip came to the conclusion that he wasn't going to be allowed to take on passengers in that condition. Nor were we going to see some roadside assistance man turn up with a replacement door.
Eventually, we got the information that a replacement bus would be coming, although as it had just left Launceston, we didn't expect to see it for at least half an hour.
Crisis Number One: My son would need picking up from school in half an hour.
I sent a frantic text to my parents as a backup plan and then called the school, asking if they could let my son take himself home. After a bit of checking around, it was agreed that we were all fine with that.
Although I lock the front door, I usually don't bother with the back: it's pretty safe in our part of the world anyway, and the builders see everybody coming and going. As soon as my son got home, he went round the building, over the wall into our garden... and found that the back door was locked.
He doesn't have a phone, but luckily for him, around the same time, it suddenly hit me that for once I'd actually locked the back door before going out. More frantic text messages went out: to my landlord and to a neighbour who worked with the builders on site. About twenty minutes after my son got home, half a dozen people turned up to open the door for him. That night, the landlord ordered me a spare set of keys.
Meanwhile, back in Bude....
Crisis Number Two: The Mysterious Case of the Cloned Buses
As well as the replacement 2:30 bus, there was a 3:20 bus. It had the same number, but it was the 'school run' bus and took a different route through different villages. You can see where this is going...
Ten minutes ahead of our departure time, the incoming bus rolled up and dropped off the passengers for Bude. All of them stepped down with due care for the glass all over the step: the bus door had shattered en route.
The bus driver was making some phone calls, and the five of us who were waiting for the return trip came to the conclusion that he wasn't going to be allowed to take on passengers in that condition. Nor were we going to see some roadside assistance man turn up with a replacement door.
Eventually, we got the information that a replacement bus would be coming, although as it had just left Launceston, we didn't expect to see it for at least half an hour.
Crisis Number One: My son would need picking up from school in half an hour.
I sent a frantic text to my parents as a backup plan and then called the school, asking if they could let my son take himself home. After a bit of checking around, it was agreed that we were all fine with that.
Although I lock the front door, I usually don't bother with the back: it's pretty safe in our part of the world anyway, and the builders see everybody coming and going. As soon as my son got home, he went round the building, over the wall into our garden... and found that the back door was locked.
He doesn't have a phone, but luckily for him, around the same time, it suddenly hit me that for once I'd actually locked the back door before going out. More frantic text messages went out: to my landlord and to a neighbour who worked with the builders on site. About twenty minutes after my son got home, half a dozen people turned up to open the door for him. That night, the landlord ordered me a spare set of keys.
Meanwhile, back in Bude....
Crisis Number Two: The Mysterious Case of the Cloned Buses
As well as the replacement 2:30 bus, there was a 3:20 bus. It had the same number, but it was the 'school run' bus and took a different route through different villages. You can see where this is going...
The 3:20 arrived before the replacement bus. I did say the name of our village, as I gave the bus driver my ticket, but I was wearing my face-mask and perhaps that muffled my voice. Certainly, the bus driver later assured me that I never told him where I was going.
I didn't worry at first when we took a different route... I know the local roads well enough to know that there are plenty of other routes back to the main road before our village. But then we got to the "I can see my house from here!" mark. We were across the valley from our flat, we could see the building on the hill top and we were most definitely going past it.
When we finally got back onto the main road, I had my brief altercation with the bus driver, but my main goal was to get us off the bus before it drove any further away from our village. Instead of arguing the point, I let the bus driver feel the full weight of my displeasure by disembarking without a "Thank-you!"
He said we should catch the return bus when that came along, but we weren't at a bus stop and I had no idea where the nearest one was. I also didn't know exactly when the next bus would be, but I did know we had either just missed it or it was almost an hour away. I toyed with the idea of getting a taxi, but according to my phone, we were three miles from home. I decided we'd walk.
My daughter was horrified. She was hot and tired already from our day out and was utterly convinced that a three mile walk in this heat (in flip flops, no less!) was beyond human endurance. She didn't specifically protest, but she wept for the first mile. After we survived that without heatstroke—it was still warm but the sky had clouded over—she got over it and abruptly started playing "I spy."
I didn't worry at first when we took a different route... I know the local roads well enough to know that there are plenty of other routes back to the main road before our village. But then we got to the "I can see my house from here!" mark. We were across the valley from our flat, we could see the building on the hill top and we were most definitely going past it.
When we finally got back onto the main road, I had my brief altercation with the bus driver, but my main goal was to get us off the bus before it drove any further away from our village. Instead of arguing the point, I let the bus driver feel the full weight of my displeasure by disembarking without a "Thank-you!"
He said we should catch the return bus when that came along, but we weren't at a bus stop and I had no idea where the nearest one was. I also didn't know exactly when the next bus would be, but I did know we had either just missed it or it was almost an hour away. I toyed with the idea of getting a taxi, but according to my phone, we were three miles from home. I decided we'd walk.
My daughter was horrified. She was hot and tired already from our day out and was utterly convinced that a three mile walk in this heat (in flip flops, no less!) was beyond human endurance. She didn't specifically protest, but she wept for the first mile. After we survived that without heatstroke—it was still warm but the sky had clouded over—she got over it and abruptly started playing "I spy."
My main concern was that we would be run over since we had to walk directly on a twisty road where cars weren't expecting pedestrians. Fortunately, all we got were funny looks, both from cars and from cows and sheep who weren't used to seeing passers by. (My daughter had quite the conversation with one sheep behind a hedge who couldn't figure out who the mystery bleater was.)
The threatening storms never broke either, although the clouds continued to gather. We went slowly due to the heat, so it took us longer than I expected, but we were able to call my son en route and let him know what had happened—my daughter particularly enjoyed that round of sibling one-up-man-ship. "You were locked out? Try walking three miles home!"
In just under an hour, we crested a hill to look down at our village; the bus passed us a few minutes later. We stopped at the corner shop for some drinks and then pushed on home, finding the energy to break into a run for the last 100 or so metres.
Anyway, it's not the first time I've been caught out by a bus and it won't be the last. In some ways I think it was quite a good lesson for my daughter on recovering from public transport mistakes. Of course, it was also a good way to put her off the bus altogether, and every mention of taking a second trip into town has been met with a certain Look.
Luckily, my son is more interested in giving it a try, so we'll do it again... with a little more due caution for the return journey.
The threatening storms never broke either, although the clouds continued to gather. We went slowly due to the heat, so it took us longer than I expected, but we were able to call my son en route and let him know what had happened—my daughter particularly enjoyed that round of sibling one-up-man-ship. "You were locked out? Try walking three miles home!"
In just under an hour, we crested a hill to look down at our village; the bus passed us a few minutes later. We stopped at the corner shop for some drinks and then pushed on home, finding the energy to break into a run for the last 100 or so metres.
Anyway, it's not the first time I've been caught out by a bus and it won't be the last. In some ways I think it was quite a good lesson for my daughter on recovering from public transport mistakes. Of course, it was also a good way to put her off the bus altogether, and every mention of taking a second trip into town has been met with a certain Look.
Luckily, my son is more interested in giving it a try, so we'll do it again... with a little more due caution for the return journey.
No comments:
Post a Comment