Happy Monday one and all,
Today’s post title is taken from the lyrics of the song ‘Part Time Model,’ by The Wytches (whom I’m aptly supporting through my T-shirt in today’s photos). I’ve always found this lyric rather amusing considering the amount of time I’ve spent on the Megabus these last three years, I’ve started to wonder whether it’s some strange form of purgatory, or indeed my own personal hell. In ‘American Horror Story: Coven’, each of the qualifying witches experiences their own version of hell, based on past traumatic experiences, mine would definitely be a never-ending journey down the A1 on a Megabus that reeks of cat piss.
Keeping with the theme, I thought I’d share some anecdotes and general queries regarding public transport. I’m a big advocator of the latter; reduce my carbon footprint, support the railways etc. However, the whole thing certainly comes with its grievances. I mean, why get driven somewhere privately where you can relax, when you can have an old drunk literally piss himself next to you. It’s a difficult one.
The Murky Atmosphere
If the Megabus had it’s own weather forecast it would uncertainly be stuffy with a stench of sweat, covered rather nonchalantly with Lynx Africa. The worst journey heat-wise I’ve ever had, was last January on the way back from London, very late in the evening. Me and my mate Chloe were literally gasping for air, we’d forgotten to pack any drinks and on more than one occasion we had to seriously consider whipping our pants off.
The ‘interesting’ friends you make
Don’t get a gal wrong here, sometimes I enjoy nothing better than getting to know Doris and her life story on the Transpenine express. Get the piccies out of your Grandkids out, the lot, I don’t mind.
But when, let’s call him Wayne the Weirdo, plonks himself down next to you and starts quizzing you about your favourite type of toilet roll (this actually happened before), and why you can’t beat an Aldi quilted (He then goes on to mimic the motion he uses to wipe), I really can’t be arsed. Those are the days I long for the privacy of a walk.
The ridiculous prices
Take public transport they say, it’ll be cheap they say. Not in this economic climate pal. You have to take out a bank loan if you want the luxury of a Virgin train, Northern Rail is about your whack when you’re on a budget, and let’s be honest, the price is reflected in the poor quality.
This one is pretty self explanatory. Saying that, nothing quite brings feelings of sheer terror and anger like the sound of ‘The 13:15 Megabus to Manchester is running around 90mins late’. After which you precede to spend the duration of about six lifetimes in Leeds Bus Station, surrounded by pigeons and empty Greggs packets.
Public transport can be a right mare. Nonetheless, being a 21 year old girl who’s never had a driving lesson and certainly can’t afford to start them, It’s pretty much your sole option to get around, that is if you don’t want to spend an eternity going stir crazy in your bedroom looking at Gemma Collins memes (the majority of my evenings).