The Hamfist Bus Company which provides public transport in Norfolk and Suffolk is trialing a new ‘door-to-door’ service to assist the old, infirm, and downright lazy.
The pilot scheme, which began last Thursday in Lowestoft, Suffolk, got off to a somewhat shaky start when the first bus, the 102 to Oulton Village smashed into the front window of 31 Melrose Close, where OAP, Veronica Bacon (76) was waiting to be collected. Fortunately, Mrs Bacon, who visits her older sister, Beatrice, in nearby Woods Meadow every Thursday, was having a pre-travel wee in her accessible downstairs loo when the collision occurred.
This reporter, who was first on the scene for the SUFFOLK GAZETTE, spoke to a shaken Mrs Bacon through the lavvy door while she was still on the pot. I asked her if she knew what had happened…
“Who’s that? Who’s that out there?”
“My name’s Brian. I’m a reporter from the Suffolk Gazette.”
“Brian. From the Suffolk Gazette. Are you OK?”
“Yes, dear. What are you doing in my house?”
“A bus has crashed into your sitting room. The entire front of your house is destroyed.”
“You what? Are you fucking winding me up?”
“Sorry, no. Are you OK in there?”
“Well, I’m having a shit. Should I get up? Is the house on fire?”
“No. No. There’s no fire. The police are on their way. Do you want me to call someone?”
“Yes. Yes. Call my sister, Beatrice. The number’s in the address book by the phone. Tell her I’ll get an Uber, but that I’ll be a bit late. Oh, and say that I want the chilli fried beef, and special fried rice.”
“Erm? Actually yes. Can I have prawn balls, seaweed, and a can of Coke as well? Ta, love. Right I’m going to wipe up now. Tell the police I’ll be out in about 5 minutes.”
After leaving Veronica to finish up, I ventured back outside to the scene of the crash where several passengers were lying prostrate on the front lawn. One of woman appeared to have a large shard of glass protruding from the top of her head. Another man was lying across the crazy pathing path, smouldering in the moonlight.
In an attempt to locate the bus driver, I clambered over the shattered remains of the front window and into the sitting room. I found him with his head buried inbetween the sofa cushions and his trousers down around his ankles. Mrs Sandy’s cat, Petunia was sniffing at his arse crack as I attempted help him up. As I was doing so, the blue lights and sirens descended on the property and I was ushered outside by a policeman who looked about twelve years old.
The cause of the crash is still unknown.