Consistent Travel

Science is littered with laws and constants.

Whether it’s the Second Law of Thermodynamics or Avagadro’s Number you know what you’re getting going into it. In fact, on top of that there’s also a law that there will not be a chemistry student anywhere who hasn’t referred to Avagadro’s Number as Avocado’s Number at some point. Science Fact.

But there is one law missing.

Arriva’s Law.

Arriva’s Law states that if you try to catch a bus to Huddersfield after 5pm, the one you are hoping to catch will not show up for some reason.

It’s good to know that 371 days since I last needed to do just that – catch an Arriva bus in the direction of Huddersfield – that you can still expect the same results. It doesn’t take long, either, for the roaring fires of resentment to start blazing away in your chest as you stand in the pissing rain, hands numb from the cold, watching the bus get seemingly further away before it sails past with “Sorry Not In Service” written on the front.

I am catching the bus from closer to Huddersfield now. In fact, I’m catching it – when the need arises, as it did this evening – from the stop that I used to get off at when coming from Leeds. So what I have done is moved my travel further down the food chain. I now get all the consequences of things that I would normally have experienced at the Leeds end of the journey – buses going out of service and swapping passengers onto other buses, buses going out of service but still carrying passengers, buses not even making it as far as the stop I want to use. All of that. And, in much the same way as it used to be when I caught it from Leeds, there is a sea of Arriva buses heading in the opposite direction.

I think my reaction today was born purely of the fact that I was cold and wet. But still, you would expect better. It’s 2017, the bus service is still shit and the digital display boards and helpful text updates are bollocks because buses go backwards. The bus that eventually sailed past not in service was six minutes away, then three, then four.

And then it vanished.

And I called it a rude name.

I think this is probably how people who have Vietnam flashbacks feel.