Robert Hampton

This is the penultimate Oslo blog post. Yes, we’re up to Monday 29th June and my last day in Norway. I was bereft. Look at me, there, trying to put on a brave face. Oslo Pride indeed. Sob!

My flight wasn’t until 9pm, however, which left me most of the day to take in some more sights. I left my Ryanair-approved luggage with the concierge at the hotel, and headed back down to the pier in front of the City Hall, from where various ferries and sightseeing cruises depart.

Sunday had been marred by overcast conditions and the occasional shower. Now, however, the sunshine was back.

The Helena was waiting for me at the pier, ready to set off on a mini-cruise. This is a substantial vessel, complete with an on-board bar selling drinks and snacks. For this, the first trip of the day, there were only a handful of people on board, so I grabbed a table to myself and sat down.

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I need to start by apologising to Logan, the guy manning the catering trolley on the 8.30 train to Mallaig. Ian and I used that train on both Wednesday and Thursday morning. On the second day, you recognised us, and tried to engage us in friendly conversation. Unfortunately Ian and I were both so struck by your good looks that we got tongue-tied and could only babble the briefest pleasantries while you pumped your hot water urn. Sorry about that, Logan. If it makes you feel better, all you missed out on was some awkward and borderline inappropriate flirting from two men who are roughly a decade older than you. Don’t take it personally. You did a good job and your hot chocolate was very nice.

Where I was I? Oh yes, travelogue…

For the second day in a row, we were heading to Mallaig. This was the last time we would travel on the West Highland Line on this trip, but I already knew I’d be back. I want to visit Arisaig (most westerly station in Britain, fact fans) and Glenfinnan (home to that-viaduct-from-the-Harry-Potter-films and a small railway museum).

Our destination was, once more, Mallaig Harbour. No tiny Knoydart Seabridge this time, however. Instead, we were going to board the Caledonian MacBrayne ferry to Skye. As it was included in the validity of our Highland Rover ticket, it seemed rude not to.

Our plan for the day was audacious in its scope. When Ian first suggested it to me, I thought he was mad. MAD, I tell you. Of course, I went along with it, because I am quite mad too.

First, we would take the ferry to Armadale. From there, a bus would take us to the small settlement of Broadford, where we would change to a second bus to continue over the Skye Bridge to Kyle of Lochalsh. There, we would rejoin the rail network and take a train to Inverness, where we would spend Thursday evening.

There is, of course, a direct bus from Fort William to Inverness which takes a little under two hours, but where’s the fun in that?

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The Echo had a good piece recently investigating high bus fares, prompted by Arriva raising their fares yet again. A single journey within Liverpool now costs an eye-watering £2.10, even if you’re only travelling a few stops.

Compare with London, which is (we are always told) an expensive place to live. There, if you have an Oyster card, it costs just £1.40 for a single journey. Of course, London’s buses are controlled and priced by TfL, whereas the rest of the country have to make do with the free-for-all of deregulation.

Obviously the bus companies have to make their money somewhere, but there comes a point when it gets ridiculous. At those fares, a group of four people travelling together would pay £8.40 – they might be better off sharing a taxi. And of course, the people who suffer are the poorest members of society, who often have no alternative but to use the bus.

Arriva have introduced all sorts of gimmicks – free wi-fi, environmentally friendly hybrid buses and loads more, but if the fares keep increasing, there are going to be no passengers on the buses. If the bus companies were serious about getting people out of their cars, they would drop the fares and try to entice more people onto their services.

We’ve come to the end of my Berlin blogs. By way of a final flourish, here are some other things Andrew and I saw while we were there. They cannot justify a blog post on their own, but I’m bringing them here together for your enjoyment.

Berlin bears

Berlin’s symbol is a Bear (the animal, not a large hirsute homosexual gentleman, although there’s plenty of them around too) and these large statues, each uniquely decorated, are dotted around the city. Did the Liverpool Go Penguins team draw any inspiration from this?

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We finally have the answer to a question which has puzzled scientists for decades: what would happen if Boris Johnson invented a bus?

It’s only at the design stage, so it’s quite hard to judge, but I can’t see it achieving the same iconic status as the Routemaster. I’m also yet to be convinced that it is needed, other than to satisfy Boris’s anti-bendybus dogma.

In fact, watching the video I can’t help but think of that episode of The Simpsons where Homer is invited to design a car because he is allegedly in tune with what the average person wants… the resulting vehicle ends up being a hugely expensive flop.

Seriously, with three doors, two staircases and a wheelchair space, the lower deck is going to have room for approximately two passengers.

One postscript to the story is that about 20 ex-London bendybuses are heading to Liverpool to run services for Arriva, which caused the Echo to do a wonderful story about the DEATHTRAP BUS HORROR ON CITY STREETS (or words to that effect).

Today was the Woodvale Rally, and I was supposed to be there representing Friends of the 502 Group.

No car, but that’s no problem. Yours truly knows his way around public transport, even more so thanks to Merseytravel’s web site which has PDF timetables for every bus in Merseyside. Seriously, it’s a fantastic resource, because each timetable has a little map showing the full route, so even if you’re unfamiliar with the area, you know where you are.

So: train to Hillside, walk to home of person who had event tickets for me, then number 49 to Woodvale. Simples! I even bought my Saveaway the day before to save time.

Train arrived on time at Hillside (or “Bootle Oriel Road” as the automated announcer insisted on calling it). This was where things started to go a bit wrong.

As I got off the train, it started raining. Really heavily. I walked along the main road for a few minutes, getting soaked, before it dawned on me that my usually reliable sense of direction had deserted me and I had no idea where I was.

Stopping in a bus shelter a few minutes later to consult my map (something I should really have done before I started walking) I realised that I would need to go almost all the way back to the station. Bah.

Now on the right road I saw a corner shop and — having forgotten to bring any beverages with me, and forewarned that refreshments at Woodvale are expensive — I went in to buy a bottle of water. Having already been delayed, I was held up further by a man paying for his Daily Mail using 2p coins.

I left the shop and strolled along the road, putting my change in my pocket next to my Saveaway. Or rather, where my Saveaway had been until a few minutes ago. Where was it now?

Fuuuck.

I really didn’t want to lose my ticket now. I had two bus rides and another train journey ahead of me. I didn’t hold out much hope of finding it, but I decided to retrace my steps. Walking past the corner shop and back the way I came — hurrah! There it was on the ground near the bus shelter.

I picked up the now soggy ticket, sandwiched it between two sheets of card to try and flatten it out, and walked back, passing the same corner shop for the third time.

I finally arrived, late and damp, having learned the hard way to invest in clothes with zip-up pockets.

(worth it in the end though! Check out the Class 502 homepage for more info!)

The bus stop near my house is incredibly badly located. The pavement at this point is fairly wide, and the shelter is set well back from the edge of the road. Unfortunately there is a tree directly in front of the shelter, which blocks waiting passengers’ views of oncoming buses, and more importantly, blocks bus drivers’ views of waiting passengers. This means that the bus shelter cannot fulfil its primary function, as you have to keep stepping out from under it to see if a bus is coming. Also, the bus lay-by has a big pothole which quickly fills up with water every time it rains.

On Friday it was raining quite heavily. I was waiting for a bus and stepped out from under the shelter to see if one was coming. At that moment a car decided to pull into the lay-by to use the nearby cash machine.

SPLASH! All over me.

The driver got out. “Did I splash you then?” he asked.

When I responded in the affirmative, he was mortified and offered a profuse apology. I was genuinely taken aback. I don’t usually get apologies, and definitely not from car drivers where the general attitude seems to be that it’s entirely one’s own fault for getting in their way and deigning to use feet for something other than the accelerator or clutch.

I was so surprised at his contrition that I found myself going very over the top in the forgiveness stakes. “It’s OK, don’t worry about it,” I babbled repeatedly, even after he left, which must have alarmed the driver of the 82A when it eventually arrived and I climbed aboard.