Living on the buses

Sir, – I live on a bus. I say I live on a bus but I actually live in a house, four walls, roof, that type of thing, but I feel like I live on a bus.

Me and my 80 housemates furiously careering up and down the N11 in our double decker chariot at the speed of light. I say speed of light but actually it’s more like the speed at which the last bit of ketchup descends the side of an upturned bottle.

I consider myself lucky, near enough to the start of the route to be granted access to this house on wheels. As we get to Newtownmountkennedy and Kilpedder wretched groaning silhouettes grope at the bus in desperation as the bean an tí tells them there’s no room at the inn. They’ll have to stand in the dark until the next one comes along to also leave them standing in the dark.

Speaking of houses, if the Government would just get some more buses and create a little bit more traffic there would be no need for me and my legion of housemates to have actual houses. We could file out of work, clamber aboard and bumble down the road to wherever we used to live before turning around and hopefully completing the return journey just in time for work the next morning. – Yours, etc,