The Rail Replacement Bus

It's Sunday. I have to go to work. Normally this would be simple; turn up at the station, get on a train, arrive at destination.

But not today. Today engineering work closed a section of line, including my station, and so I had to get up half an hour earlier to then catch a bus that dropped me off at a station not quite in the middle of nowhere, but not far off. So much time had been allotted for our journey to the station that we ended up waiting another 20 minutes for the onward train to London. Luckily, given this journey took place at 7am on a Sunday morning traffic was not an issue, and neither was the amount of passengers.

And yet I don't mind rail replacement buses. I certainly don't have the level of vitriol some people reserve for them. Perhaps it's because I don't have to take them regularly, perhaps it's because I like taking buses in general, perhaps it's because it's a little bit of a break from the norm; whatever it is, I don't descend into frothing rage whenever I see my journey will be made partly by bus rather than train. Call me mad, call me odd, call me maybe (no wait don't do that); I like public transport too much to be angry at a bus.