On the buses...

I've been sans car for a few weeks now. It is rather liberating and has reminded me that we don't need that shit that outside forces are always convincing us we do. Yet, as it gets colder, walking around the city has less and less appeal. So, tonight, I turned to public transport, specifically buses. Which, in this city, appear, on my scant experience, to be appallingly smelly and unreliable. Nobody in their right mind would choose to travel this way - such is the stench of urine that they're like a public (in)convenience on wheels. But there you go. Maybe I do need a car after all. Tonight, we went to the cinema, and watched inconsistent man-munching, splatter-happy, scare-flick Jennifer's Body. We were out of the cinema by 8.20pm - not late enough to think that there'd be any trouble hopping immediately on a bus home. I didn't realise how shockingly sparse buses were at that time of night. It's as if Hull had shut down. What's the deal, transport bosses? Rather than loiter in the loon-infested interchange (described, no doubt, in tourism literature as another 'jewel in the crown' for the city) until the bus came we hopped inside the Royal Station Hotel, where drinks are expensive and tables are frequented by bald men with Blackberries.