I've never had groupies massing outside my house before. There were scores of them yesterday, hanging around on the steps beside the takeaway, skulking outside Bow Church gates and lurking on the traffic island by the disused public conveniences. But they weren't here to see some famous celebrity, they were here to bid farewell to the Routemaster bus in east London. Yesterday was the very last day that these much-loved red workhorses were to be used on route 8 between Bow and Victoria. And what a show the local bus garage put on, with lots of extra old buses scheduled alongside the usual service. Enthusiasts came to ride, to photograph and just to experience this omnibus extravaganza. Some even bought commemorative t-shirts, mugs and yo-yos from the makeshift stall outside Bow Garage, but I resisted.
I stood at my local bus stop for over an hour waiting for a number 8 to come along. Actually loads of number 8s came along, just not the number 8 I was waiting for. The general travelling public hopped on the first bus that turned up (approx every 6 minutes), the assembled bus fans climbed on the first antique that turned up (approx every 20 minutes), but I hung on. The young conductor who'd checked my ticket earlier in the week wandered past on his way down to McDonalds for lunch. He'll probably be out of a job tomorrow. A traditional East End funeral dray crept past, which seemed kind of appropriate.
Finally I boarded RM1(pictured right) - the very first Routemaster to be built, exactly 50 years ago. It'll form the centrepiece of the Routemaster's Golden Jubilee celebrations in Finsbury Park next month, should you be tempted to attend. Three stops along the route, at an obscure request stop in Old Ford, a phalanx of 16 photographers were waiting to take our picture. A series of classic buses trundled past in the opposite direction, surprisingly full for a Friday afternoon (did everyone else take the day off work too?). There may be quicker ways to get to central London, but few ways are more fun. And there can't be many 50 year-old vehicles that could still earn a day's living in heavy London traffic, so it's all the sadder that these fine machines are being taken off the road for politically correct reasons. Make the most of the remaining Routemasters while you can, because one day they'll be confined to a twee heritage route for tourists, probably charging £9.50 a ticket. Yesterday that heritage came for a quid. Priceless.
I stood at my local bus stop for over an hour waiting for a number 8 to come along. Actually loads of number 8s came along, just not the number 8 I was waiting for. The general travelling public hopped on the first bus that turned up (approx every 6 minutes), the assembled bus fans climbed on the first antique that turned up (approx every 20 minutes), but I hung on. The young conductor who'd checked my ticket earlier in the week wandered past on his way down to McDonalds for lunch. He'll probably be out of a job tomorrow. A traditional East End funeral dray crept past, which seemed kind of appropriate.
Finally I boarded RM1 (pictured right) - the very first Routemaster to be built, exactly 50 years ago. It'll form the centrepiece of the Routemaster's Golden Jubilee celebrations in Finsbury Park next month, should you be tempted to attend. Three stops along the route, at an obscure request stop in Old Ford, a phalanx of 16 photographers were waiting to take our picture. A series of classic buses trundled past in the opposite direction, surprisingly full for a Friday afternoon (did everyone else take the day off work too?). There may be quicker ways to get to central London, but few ways are more fun. And there can't be many 50 year-old vehicles that could still earn a day's living in heavy London traffic, so it's all the sadder that these fine machines are being taken off the road for politically correct reasons. Make the most of the remaining Routemasters while you can, because one day they'll be confined to a twee heritage route for tourists, probably charging £9.50 a ticket. Yesterday that heritage came for a quid. Priceless.
