Introducing The Number 62 Bus

[Donna Moore]

Mary wanted a bus story (for some reason, Glasgow's buses are a magnet for the weird and wonderful and I have had more than my fair share of bizarre experiences on them), so here's one of my favourites. All true, and I was almost sober at the time.

Glasgow buses really come into their own at night. his particular night I was out at a party and when we left it was impossible to get a taxi home as they were all taken. So we decided to wait for a bus. Now, this was a pretty bad idea anyway because after 10pm, Glasgow buses become an alternate universe where people talk to each other (but you wish they wouldn't) and where no matter which bus you get on, where you're going, or what time after 10pm it is, you'll always be treated to a rendition of My Way, somebody will be lying in the aisle snoring, and the air will be heady with the smell of fish and chips and beery belches.

Now, not only did we get on a bus after 10pm, but what we got was The Last Bus - a Glasgow experience that ranks only with typhoid on the list of Things To Be Avoided At All Costs. But there you go. We got on it. It was really crowded, so we had to stand up. And we immediately discovered a pitched battle going on between the front of the bus and the back of the bus. The main reason for this as we understood it (given that no-one was in the remotest bit comprehensible) was that someone at the back of the bus was ringing the bell over and over.

It was like The Sharks and The Jets. At the back of the bus was a group of neds in flammable shellsuits, and at the front was a group of elderly ladies who appeared to have put on sequins to go to the bingo. Both groups had been drinking heavily. Light the blue shellsuit and retire. I thought I'd stepped into a particularly Scottish version of West Side Story.

The air was thick with quaint anglo-saxon terminology - most of it, it has to be said coming from the elderly bingo-goers. Most of the insults I couldn't repeat here, but there's one which is a typically Glaswegian one which sounds innocuous but, when delivered with the right amount of sneering venom, is like a red rag to a bull "Hey you, ya tube". I'll leave you to imagine the rest. The neds were more or less restricting themselves to "You're not ma maw", "Naw, she's yer granny", and "Gie yersel' peace Methuselah" (this particular one was followed by a few moments silence as everyone digested the name, until someone piped up "Was Methuselah no' that baldy-heeded bampot who used tae play fer Dundee United?")

By this time, everyone on the bus had joined in the slanging match. The bloke standing (I use the term advisedly since he was swaying all over the place) next to us, was shouting over and over again at the top of his voice "Shut the fuck up ya wee nyaffs". I wasn't quite sure whether he was talking to The Neds or The Sequins and I don't think he did either. I, on the other hand, just wanted to sing "I feel pretty, Oh so pretty, I feel pretty and witty and gay, And I pity any girl who isn't me today", and then see the two halves of the bus break out into spontaneous dancing, or at the very least, stand up without staggering. Meanwhile, in all this madness, the phantom belldinger of old Glasgow town was still at it.

The bus stopped and I looked out of the window. Hang on, this wasn't a scheduled bus stop. This was the police station. Excellent. Of all the crimes being committed all over Glasgow last night, we were in the middle of probably the most heinous. I can just see the headlines this morning "Glasgow Revellers in Bus Bell Drama".

Two policemen got on the bus (looking slightly bemused as the driver said "Someone's ringing the bell.") They made their way to the back of the bus to choruses of "Hey pal, someone back there's drunk in charge of a bell" and "Are ye no gonnae arrest that barstit fae farting in ma chips?" A man next to us who'd been pretty quiet up until then was carefully watching proceedings. The police were talking to the young neds, when this bloke shouted out "It's no the young team - it's that fat, grey-heeded erse in the yellow top. I've been watching him." Of course, everyone turned round to look at the culprit. It was so funny. By this time, the whole bus was in an uproar. Except me. I was mouthing the words to "Gee Officer Krupke" and thinking that the choreography in this scene was really crap. The only other person who was quiet in this whole mess was the grey heeded erse in the yellow top. He was sitting there looking positively angelic, as though butter wouldn't melt in his mouth. To look at him, you would never think that war had broken out around him and he was just about to be torn limb from limb.

Eventually, the police left without getting to the bottom of what had happened (well, that will screw up their crime figures won't it?) and the bus carried on its way - this time with a police escort - two police cars - one in front and one behind. What a gay cavalcade. By the time we got off the bus, sporadic fisticuffs had broken out in isolated pockets of the bus. However, on the optimistic side, one of The Sequins had made her way to the back of the bus and was now sitting on the knee of one of The Neds. Ah - true love will always find a way ...Tonight. Tonight. Won't be just any night.....

[Mary Reagan]

Yeah, the Number 62 bus. Ya gotta love it.

[Barbara Fister]

If I ever get to Glasgow (well, I did once, but nobody told me about the 62) I'm going to have to try for the last bus. To the tune of something or other.

Someone who works at STV will one day read one of your posts and a new television series will start. Lunatic fun, song and dance, a touch of Trainspotting, police - it's got it all. Soon to be the most downloaded clips on YouTube. Only I don't think any fictional version could approach the Donna experience.