The Journey Home

After finishing the meeting at 10.35pm (note the time – it’s important for later..) I headed for the bus stop at Stratford. This being a Sunday and there being ‘essential repairs’ to the tube etc. I got on the last bus at 11.35 only to be told that the bus driver did not know the way to London Bridge, tho it would be ok coz ‘you can show him the way.” I thought it was a windup, so smiled knowingly. HA.

When we left north Greenwich, the driver again asked if any amongst us (10 passengers all wanting, NEEDING to get to London Bridge) could help him. Up popped a very smartly dressed and polite young Japanese boy who nodded a lot at the mention of London Bridge and came up to sit with the driver, they exchanged a few words.

Thank god I thought, somebody has come to our rescue in the unlikely form of this visitor to our shores. As we pulled out of North Greenwich car park, barely 30 seconds later, the driver asked his enthusiastic guide:

Which way do I go now?”
The our hero said:
“London Bridge”. And nodded. We were screwed.

By the time we had gone through the Blackwall Tunnel and resurfaced near to Canary Wharf it was clear this was going to be a long night. As we pulled out of the Greenwich peninsula and the driver completely ignored the signs for “the City” - which at least is HEADING WEST – we proceeded to go round the roundabout FOUR TIMES. And then headed back towards the Blackwall Tunnel. Again. Oh dear God. We were going back the way we came.
I finally intervened:

“we are going back the way we came” I said.
“it’s the only way I know” said the driver.

He explained it was the long way round, but we will get there, we’ll go down.. (somewhere I couldn’t understand, followed by somewhere else I had never heard of..) and then we will be headed for Waterloo and then come back to London Bridge...

WATERLOO.... We were going to Waterloo first, THEN we were coming back to London Bridge? That was the plan...? I stayed upfront talking to the driver in the manner of a slightly helpless, but nevertheless publically-minded airline passenger, coaxing the pilot, who has had the fish on the dinner menu. You know, keeping him focused, making jokes, talking about families and what we were going to do when this was finally over.

We approached Whitechapel and tucked in behind another single Decker, because in the words of the driver:

“I’m ok once I see the buses, coz I know where they’re going...”

I swear I could hear the plaintive notes from a harmonica start up from the back of the bus accompanied by some humming from the other passengers.

We followed a number 25 until, rather unreasonably in my opinion, it stopped at a bus stop. We were forced to overtake it or cause a multiple bus pileup. We were on our own now.

We finally managed to find the signs for Tower Bridge and headed for it. As we approached the world famous landmark the driver let out a curse.

“Sod it”
What’s the matter”
“we’ve missed it”
‘what do you mean we’ve missed it, THIS is Tower Bridge”
“Oh is it, I’ve never driven over it before, I usually do Tottenham.”

I managed to steer him along Long Lane where I got off. The rest of the passengers applauded, but looked slightly nervous doing it. As the bus sped off into the night, I could see their faces pressed against the DUPLEX SAFETY GLASS signs. I especially remember the face of the harmonica player.

It was 1.00am. God knows where they are now.

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