IT’S 8.30am on a Monday. I’m cold, tired and the last thing I want to do is wait at a miserable bus stop for a bus to come trundling along to take me home.
Yes, I am talking about public transport.
Living in town, I hardly use public transport at all, being able to reach practically everything on foot.
My less fortunate friends who live in villages nearby amuse me with their moans, groans and hilarious stories about incidents they have had with public transport.
One element which comes up every time is the wait.
Contrary to timetables in busy cities like London, which has buses whizzing down roads practically every minute, if you miss your bus here in Dorset then you’re in for a long sit in until the next one comes by.
Next is the journey itself, with complaints about how buses seem to go to every single village, hamlet and road in the whole county before finally arriving at their chosen stop. Finally, it’s the passengers themselves. Coughing in your face, sneezing all over your side or talking loudly on the phone – it’s a risk you take.
Now, if this seems like a rant to you, it’s not. No matter how much they complain, my friends repeatedly stress how much they love the bus system in Dorset.
Despite the time it takes, the buses here never fail to get you from A to B.
You grow to love the old ladies, you make friends with what you thought was the grumpy driver, and you end up improving your fitness through your daily sprints to catch the number 31 on time.
Who wants buses to arrive every minute of every day anyway? It would make life far too easy!