Schedule Schmedule

The other curious thing about the evening bus service to and from town, I discovered, is the strange timing that it seems to operate on.

There are a number of buses that can be caught from here that will take me to and from work, but from a purely frugal point of view I, of course, favour the one which requires the least amount of money. It takes slightly longer, but it’s only £3 there and back as opposed to what would amount to about a fiver on the other route.

But once I’ve bought my ticket I’m tied to that particular bus, unless I want to fly in the face of frugality and splash out more money for a ride home on a different bus.

So I generally put my faith in the one-an-hour evening service. And, to be fair, it’s not let me down yet. I mean, it will now I have expressed my opinions in text format, but hey ho. So the bus switches to one an hour from about 8pm. It then runs on the hour. It’s pretty simple. There’s one at eight, nine and eleven.

But what about ten, I hear you ask.

Yeah, there isn’t one at ten.

The ten o’clock bus – as you would assume (and as I did assume) – actually runs at ten past ten. There’s no reasoning behind this whatsoever. It makes no sense. It runs the same route as the others, so it can’t be a timing issue. It’s just the most illogical bus timetabling I’ve ever seen. It can’t have anything to do with journey times because the eight and nine manage perfectly well with an hour gap, and the eleven manages with a mere fifty minutes between itself and the unaligned oddball of the schedule.

I mean, as I think I covered yesterday, I’m not planning on catching this one too often anyway – generally I’ll find myself on an odd-houred bus because of the way the rooms are scheduled at work. And, of course, the last bus at eleven has not exposed me – in many weeks of catching it – to anyone who growls.

Clearly the ten-ten bus is the weird one. It’s like the Knight Bus from Harry Potter but without any of the cool stuff like magic talking shrunken heads or the ability to change size at whim.

Just with a man who growls, and a timetable that makes little-to-no sense.