Wolverhampton Bus Diaries

In Wolverhampton, the buses roll through
With numbers, there’s stories
Each one tried and true
The 2, the 11, the 529
Each ride’s a new chapter
I’ll share some of mine
From laughter to grumbles
The faces we see
A mix of the strangers who share the journey
With every stop taken, new lives intertwine
On the winding routes of the Midlands, where stories align

I’ve flew down the aisle of the 529
Stood and took a fall
Like the driver had hit a wall
Face red like a tomato
I laughed it off quick
Just another day of this bus riding trick

Sometimes on the 1
The kids are a nause
Blasting shit tunes, never pressing pause
Bluetooth speaker vs me
Wishing it would die
Don’t wanna be ‘’that woman’’
So I just let out a sigh
Hopefully that’ll do it
Now they’ll turn it down
And if that doesn’t work
When they get off
I’ll look through the window
And give them a frown

Jumped on the 11
Thought I’d get some space
But on gets an old lady
Crumbs on her face
Cheese and onion pasties
The smell clings to her like glue
A hundred empty seats
But right next to me you choose
I can’t be rude and move away
So I just have to endure
This 15 minute journey
Smelling like Greggs is on board
Nice weather we’re having
I’ve nothing else to say
I try not to gag, in a polite, friendly way
She smiles and chats
Blissfully unaware
That I’m really pissed off
About the smell in the air

The 530 in Bilston
It’s got it’s characters too
You know the Banga buses
Built with one screw
One of their drivers smokes fags whilst he’s driving
While passengers cling onto the bars
Just about surviving
Spins round the rocket pool
Like it’s formula one
One wrong move and that’s it
We’re all gone
It comes every 30 minutes
We stand for some time
You’ve got Keith moaning next to me
As if lateness was a crime
‘’This bus is a joke, they’re always doing this’’
‘’Watch me tell the driver that he’s taking the piss’’
I don’t know why he’s telling me
Like I’m customer care
Chill out Keith, keep on your hair
He gets on the bus
Says nothing to the driver
Smiles politely as he boards
Another waiting time survivor

If you see something unusual
Tell the British Transport Police
There’s always something unusual to tell
About these funny patterned seats
You’ve got the bloke with a dodgy bus pass
Who the driver boots off
You’ve got biological warfare
Please cover your mouth when you cough!
The ones who sit, engrossed on their phone
While a pregnant lady, stands and groans
The chatter of friends who reunite once more
Faces light up as someone boards through the door
Months have passed, stories to share
The number 2 becomes a haven, a retreat for repair

A young artist sitting with a sketchbook in hand
Someone f’ing and blinding because their day didn’t go as planned
A cat in a basket on the way to the vets
A 4 year old asking if the cat’s okay to pet

You can’t text these tales to 101
There’s novels upon novels
About the trips been and gone
In Wolverhampton, the buses hold more
Than just seats and stops, they open a door
To the unusually wonderful, vibrant lives
Of people like Keith and his little white lies