Twenty Three is the Magic Number, Yes it is...

I took a walk in the park with my friend Tony yesterday. As we neared the end of our stroll, Tony was surprised to see that a bus went directly from the park's exit to his neighbourhood, some way across the city. The bus, the number 19, was one he used frequently, but he had never followed the route this far, it being much further along than his regular commute. He was intrigued that it wound its way down to this park.

We got to talking about how you become oddly attached to 'your' bus. Mine is the number 23, I use it to travel to and from work most days. Even when I'm not at a bus stop, I always feel happy to see it when I'm out and about. If I'm ever watching the TV news, and I catch a glimpse of it in the background, I feel proud of it. If I'm on the other side of the city, and I see it far outside the realms of my usual journey, it's a bit like seeing a teacher in the supermarket, disconcertingly out of context, but strangely exciting.

I told Tony about how I think of my bus as a kind of friend, and then when I see it beyond the parameters of my bus stops, I think of it leading an exciting double-life, like a duplicitous cat who lives with several oblivious owners. Tony mentioned that he'd thought about buses having split personalities once they became night buses and added the 'N' prefix, taking strange detours and changing from single deckers to double deckers.

We said our goodbyes, and Tony crossed the road to catch his number 19. I waited for a number 52, as my beloved 23 didn't come this way, day or night. In a way, it had been a strange conversation, ascribing personalities to public transport, and sharing emotions felt for bus routes. And yet in having the courage to share these obscure and seemingly geeky thoughts, we'd enjoyed a lovely human connection. 

Later that evening, and I am in a basement club night where my friend Carolyn is playing some records. I am making small talk with some of her friends. I've never met them before and although they are friendly and affable company, I am a little intimidated because they are young and good-looking and play in a band and have good hair. The conversation is struggling to transcend platitudes and pleasantries. Then one of them mentions that he works for London Buses. I leap in:

'Don't you swell with pride when you see your usual bus when you're out and about?' I ask the group. 'And then when you see it on a completely different part of the route to the one you usually use, don't you think it's, like, having an affair or something?'

The nods of agreement and laughter of recognition don't come.