I told you Ho...

Last week, I did something I've always wanted to do.

I commanded a bus.

Yup - in charge; leading from the front; conducting the war effort!

Well, it wasn't quite like that, but this is what actually happened. Every month, I go to a business lunch club near Liverpool Street, and some serious networking in property and building goes on for several hours. The best time to arrive is around 12.00 noon, so there can be some serious discussion before the inevitable Davy's No 1 takes over...

And so it was, we had two formal meetings which were potentially useful, and thereafter, it was a free for all. A chum was retiring that day, and he generously funded the comestibles, and the Davy's No 1 flowed...

As is usually the case, I lose track of the time, and as I travel by public transport on days like this, I have to catch a certain train, or all hell lets loose when I arrive at The Turrets two hours late. So, leaving with just a fighting chance of making London Bridge by 4.15, I ran (yes ran), across to Moorgate, and jumped on a 141 bus, which is the quickest way to the station, as Merms knows well of course.

When we got to Bank, there was a sea of Plod, and yellow jackets were in abundance. I think there were a few protestors somewhere, but as they're all shorter than City coppers, we couldn't see them. But, the roads were empty, except for our bus, and the driver, who was the spitting image of Mr Ho in 'Mash' (the guy who gets Henry's desk in exchange for the drugs he's pinched from Hawkeye) started grinning, and fiddling with a radio. By this time I was up in front at the window, and he slammed on the brakes and told me that they'd been advised not to proceed, as it was too dangerous. But he had a big grin on his face!

So I kept telling him 'Oh sod that, we're OK, let's keep going, you'll be alright, trust me...'! (Davy's No 1 has this effect) and I'm afraid from there on, he believed me, and we sailed through the empty streets, with me cheering and waving my arms, and getting everyone in the bus to keep encouraging him. It was a great journey, we all clapped him, and his grin got even wider as we got over the bridge unscathed.

I caught my train with a minute to spare, so thanks to Mr Ho, it was a grand day!

Of course, I'll never ever be able to show my face on a 141 again, they're sure to start sniggering...

(Foot note, the title of this was first used in Private Eye back in the sixties, and was a sub heading in an early condemnation of the Viet Nam war. Some things don't really change...)