Ah, the replacement bus. This is where the real adventure begins. The bus is usually a battered coach that smells faintly of crisps and damp dog. The driver has the charisma of a postal worker who has lost his favourite pen.
He will tell you, with a straight face, that the bus takes an hour and forty minutes to do what the train does in twenty-five. There’s always one passenger who asks, "But can we just wait for the next train?" Everyone glares at them. We know the truth: there is no next train. Only the bus.
Virgin Trains cancels bank holiday services ahead of strikes - BBC News
When Your Plan Falls Apart
You start to question your life choices. Why didn’t you just drive? Why did you promise your mate you’d meet them for a "quick pint" in the city centre? Bank Holiday Monday is a trap for the overconfident planner.
I once saw a woman in a full linen suit trying to read a book while the bus veered down a single-lane country road. She had the look of a hostage in a very slow, very beige action movie. We made eye contact. We both knew. This was the plan now.
