The Number 27!

It was a dark and slightly dismal evening when I needed to travel to somewhere in Toxteth.
The wonderful www.transportdirect.info told me to travel on the, gulp, the number 27. This is a ‘circular route’ that involves going through Liverpool’s Sheil Road. Buses only go one way. The 26 goes anti-clockwise around Liverpool and through the Sheil Road, whilst clockwise journeys are undertaken by the, shudder, the, the number 27.

There have been comedy films during which the poor hard done by yet lovable characters on buses have been beset by a sequence of horrendous mishaps and mistakes, and yet all they wanted to do was just get home. I am that lovable character, and all I wanted to do was to get to my destination.

The bus arrived on time, no problem. After a few stops it seemed to fill.

Then from the back seat came the first act of intimidation. Yep, the highly trebly tinny sound of rap music coming from some yob’s mobile phone. For some reason they always assume that everybody sitting on the bus wants to hear their selection of distorting music. I guess they confuse the fact that nobody challenges them because they fear for their safety, with a unanimous vote of approval from every other passenger they are forcing to listen.

A bit further on, and it was time for the second act of intimidation. One of the many unmuzzled attack dogs dragged its owner onto the bus. Leaving the usual trail of drool from the heavy panting as it was self-choking on its chain, it dragged its man to a seat near the back.

What is it with the people of Liverpool? Why don’t they ever pick pretty dogs? Every dog they own has to be one of the breeds that regularly kills and eats babies. As these killer dogs come onto the buses people move away, squeezing themselves lower into their seats, clenching and praying that they’ll get to leave the bus at their destination stop rather than in the back of an ambulance. Yet, nobody ever says anything. Shouldn’t they be banned from the buses?

A further stop and on clambered another unmuzzled attack dog and act three of intimidation. This killing machine was dragging with it a very young woman. As well as the drool and the panting from the self-choking this attack dog came with the additional noise of its claws skidding across the metal floor of the bus.

Suddenly the two dogs spied each other. Reacting in the way they’ve been trained to by their owners, they instantly hated each other and urgently needed to kill. Really kill.

So, now there was a terrifying noise that drowned out the rap music – the sound of two very angry dogs barking and snarling at each other on the top of their voices. Within the confines of a bus, this is loud. Very loud. Very frightening. A scary fourth act of intimidation. A child in a buggy near the front started screaming and crying uncontrollably and remained so doing for the rest of the journey despite the desperate attempts by its mother to comfort it.

The bus was stuck in traffic for most of this. Unable to take any more, some people asked to get off, leaving the remainder braving it as they cowered and watched the two blood hungry dogs just about being held apart by their respective owners.

Liverpudlian attack dog owners never wash them, so the smell of filthy dog filled the air for the passengers that remained. Each of the owners was being ignored by their respective dogs, as they were being held on separate seats but still trying to get at each other. The driver did ask that the dogs were taken off the seats, but as with any other authority figure in Liverpool, he was ignored. Pity the next poor unsuspecting passengers choosing to sit on the drool covered seats and getting that all over their clothes. Yuck!

The girl’s dog continued its loud and constant ear-splitting barking until she eventually dragged it off at her stop. At last there was silence, and a small timid looking woman who had been sitting in front of the seat the dog had been drooling on finally looked relieved from the terrifying ordeal.
No sooner had she started to relax than “thunk” onto the window right next to her broke an egg. “Egging” is the hilarious act of intimidation that the feral teenagers subject Liverpudlian vehicles to when they’ve run out of bricks or stones. Whilst the majority of the egg had splattered and dribbled back down the outside of the glass, splashes from it had worked their way in through an open window and landed on the woman’s clothes. She looked terrified.

The bus travelled and turned down a further road only to be met by a second “thunk”, but on the other side. Yes, a second egg, but the fifth act of intimidation.

Eventually the bus emptied of the man with the dog, the teenager with the music, the crying child, and for two stops all was silent. Cue the singing drunks.

Yes, four very drunk, but, strangely for Scousers, not aggressive men got on. They took it upon themselves to insist that passengers join them in a sing-a-long. Those that refused were subjected to cajoling and, albeit light-hearted, insistence that should definitely join in and “stop being so fooking miserable like”.

Mid singing one of them took a phone call.

For whatever reason it might be, most Liverpudlians must be hard of hearing. Nearly all of them will shout when on the phone. Drunks even more so. Thus, at the top of his voice one of the ‘entertainers’ on the bus was holding a very drunken conversation by phone, whilst the others were still leading the singing on the top of theirs.

However much I would have liked to stay on board, I eventually found myself getting off at my destination. This was my first ever journey on the, shudder, the number 27. Please please please don’t make me do it again.