Two nights ago I left work at 5.40 pm knowing I was likely to have already missed the closest bus to my actual finish time so I wasn’t in any great hurry – until I turned the corner of the street and saw my bus coming down the high street – running really isn’t my thing (those of you that haven’t read “My Boyfriend Thinks I’m Fat” please do so now) and yet the thought of being stood waiting for the next bus for an indefinite length of time forced me to commence an attempt at a run. I watched the bus stop as I ran (slow mo) down the high street towards it and I then watched as it closed its doors and started to drive off. But no, I’d already run this far I was NOT going to miss it, and then, hurrah; the traffic lights at the end of the road turned red as the bus pulled up to them so I continued my panting - flailing run (I definitely was not a gazelle in a past life) right up to where the bus had stopped at the traffic lights and knocked on the bus door (no need: the driver had clearly already seen me)…unfortunately this was not the end of my plight as, when he looked at me the bus driver merely shook his head and refused to let me on his bus.

So there I stood; gasping for breath in the freezing night air fit to collapse from the running, and there he sat in his nice warm bus for several minutes while he waited for the traffic lights to change. As I walked back up the street to the bus stop I must have seemed like I had developed Tourettes Syndrome; cursing and swearing to myself as I was. I then had the pleasure of waiting over twenty minutes in the cold for the next bus, at risk of losing a hand because I left my gloves in my locker at work. Excellent.

The following night I was determined not to get caught out again and so left work five minutes earlier than on the previous night: no need for running that way I’d be in perfect time for their perfectly made up time table. And yet once more as I turned the corner I found myself lurching and flailing towards the bus stop. Thankfully there were a lot of passengers getting on at that stop that evening so he only just got the doors closed as I got there. He reopened the doors for me and took my ticket then looked at me and said “that was lucky”. This was the same bus driver that had refused me getting onto the bus the previous night. And I was still M.A.D. really mad. My response verged on the hysterical and there were definitely symptoms of bus rage apparent “LUCKY?! LUCKY?!” definitely tending towards the hysterical, does this man have a death wish, I mean, REALLY! Lucky indeed, privileged in fact to have obtained the service for which I pay considerable sums of money each week. My response? “Oh yes, very lucky…Not like last night though” accompanied by a not subtle at all “death stare” which earned me the explanation of: “Well I could have lost my job for letting you on” I believe I snatched my ticket and snarled at him while stomping my feet as the red mist came down. Lost your job? Listen, losing your job is the least of your worries given the slow a painful death I had planned for you, I can assure you!

Bus rage is not simply limited to buses though, dear readers, it is also transferrable to every other method of transport but most especially the dreaded Public Transport.

There is an excellent reason for people choking up the roads and the atmosphere with their cars and their respective world destroying fumes: Bus Rage Syndrome. Now, this illness, and I shall call it an illness - because the triggers for such instances are such that they cause such an intense level of distress to one’s psychological well being that one temporarily (not so temporarily if you bear grudges) becomes slightly unbalanced (read: homicidal). What I am referring to is likely to be a situation you are familiar with being placed into - against your will - and I suspect you will recognise some of the symptoms.

Triggers:

Bus Timetables – the layout of the timetable itself and its incomprehensible symbols and logic, the inability of bus company to inform of changes to said time table, the inability of bus drivers to stick to said time table which leads us to;

Bus drivers -  their demeanour is either a, far too overtly cheery for the pre work bus ride or b, they are cantankerous and, in some cases, plain old rude, as mentioned previously they appear to be unable to maintain any sort of regimented time table, they have a fictional time table of their own which they anticipate you will figure out and adhere to, the inability to wait for anyone to sit down before they use an excessive amount of accelerator and then stamp on the brakes so that you weave and lurch like a drunkard (note to self: do not attempt a bus journey hung over) hoping not to land in the lap of the pervy over middle aged man that tries to make conversation with you at the bus stop instead grabbing the boob of an older lady that shrugs you off as “the youth of today” and eventually headbutting the hand rail and collapsing in a heap on the floor where you shall remain for the rest of the journey (what IS that smell?)

Bus stops – the illogical placement of these fixtures so that you still need to walk a considerable distance in the pouring rain in non waterproof shoes with no umbrella because the wind turned it inside out as soon as you stepped off of the bus, the fact that most bus stops now are literally just a post with no information on it: no details of which buses stop here and what the bus times are (because they are made up), there no longer appears to be any need for the great British public to have somewhere to sit out of the rain/wind/Siberian temperatures/snow and wait for an eternity for the next bus. Which leads us into the so called “Park and Ride”;

Park and Ride facilities – drive for miles to get a bus because the town wasn’t made big enough for anyone to actually park in it oh and I hope you brought your ice skates because we made sure the surface was multi use: any sign of frost and you’ll be sliding all over the place. And if there’s snow, well you can forget walking and just crawl to the bus from your car. Oh and feel free to guess where the spaces are because we haven’t factored in your need to see the lines to bay park.

Buses as vehicles – they make screechy noises when you are trying to have a little pre work nap (because you had to get up so very early to ensure you actually caught one of these miracle buses in time to attend work), they smell like urine and faeces which always brings good cheer to the pre work journey and the heating is never sufficient for having been stood out in the rain/wind/Siberian temperatures/snow for an indeterminable amount of time.

Symptoms:

Symptoms can vary from case to case and vary in intensity and expression but can include any number of the following:

Homicidal thoughts, steam coming out of ears, the silent “death stare”, stamping of feet, rocking backwards and forwards (although this can also just be an attempt at not turning into a living ice sculpture), muttering under one’s breath, screaming a stream of incomprehensible obscenities (which the other passengers politely overlook and refuse to make eye contact with you ever again, and they’re definitely not sitting next to you on the next journey), snarling, snapping, maniacal laughing

[the above list is not limited to just these behaviours alone, there are many more]

That’s correct, I live in Ghetto Ville. Apparently. This is according to the 17 year old boy in our household who discourses with his friends in the “hood” style. Because they is well 'ard innit yeah, you get me? No, it’s alright, I don’t expect you to “get me” because “you don’t even know me bruv”, oh how I wish this were so. If you haven’t heard any of this ghetto speak and wish me to decode it for you I am afraid I cannot: I am no more able to speak “ghetto” (aka R.I.D.I.C.U.L.O.U.S) than you are.

Perhaps I should paint a picture for you of the Ghetto in which the “Village Massive” live. Our Village and the surrounding villages are much like any other countryside village really, everyone says good morning and good afternoon, walks their dogs on a Sunday morning, they all trade their garden produce and there is a “healing” retreat up the road. The closest high street is three miles up the road and holds a tiny police station that’s only open limited hours for lost cats and such. There are a handful of shops including an antiques shop, several hairdressers, a handful of country gentleman type pubs, a clock shop, a florist and a jeweller. Of course there is also the Ghetto Ville Mecca: Tesco. “I’m a bad man, you get me?” Indeed, bad at spelling, bad at grammar and BAAAAD  attitude but don’t worry you all get to spend Mummy and Daddy’s hard earned cash on Tesco sandwiches, kebabs and taxis to the high street because walking there is just “long man, innit”.  And no, I don’t get you, because, unlike you of course, I haven’t been raised in the “hood”.

The Ghetto kids were mostly raised in a suburban bubble surrounded by rolling countryside and farm land. They went to the little village schools and spent Sundays at Farmers markets with their parents. Now they have identical matching missing eyebrows, pants on display (that’s not just the boys) and somehow manage to have shiny new trainers every few weeks, despite having had a “deprived” childhood that we don’t understand and have got issues, yeah?

Our Christmas entertainment this year was the board game “CHAV” as a tongue in cheek poke at the attempt to “Ghetto – up” our village. We figured it would be interesting to see who would actually come out as king or queen of the chavs in our house: surely it would be the actual “gangsta” in our midst?  There was considerable mirth around the table as we battled to keep hold of Ayia Napa, Alco pops, a belly bar and a box of Super kings.  Much to his own irritation Ghetto Boy was the first to be eliminated and he stomped out of the house to go and “hang” with his “homeboys” in the bus shelter up the high street (no, I have no idea what this actually entails either).

So, who eventually won the chav crown? Well, if you hadn’t already guessed, me of course.

I was soaking up the sun in the Eastern Desert last week when the scale of the impact of Britain's summer of discontent became clear.

Earlier in the day my wife and I had watched the BBC World Service showing the scenes in Croydon, Tottenham and various other London locations a couple of days before we were due to fly home.

Now Egyptians from our hotel were concerned that we were about to return to "lawless Britain" risking life and limb. It was, for them, a matter of major concern.

Never mind that in Cairo and elsewhere that thousands of Egyptians have been forcefully demonstrating against the old Mubarak regime and the replacement arrmy government.

Nor that Coptic (Christian) churches were regularly being bombed and burned by militants.

All are symptoms of Northern Hemisphere 2011.

Watching from 2,500 miles away, it appeared to us there was little action by the police. It bore a striking resemblance to that which greeted the Egyptians when they decided to end the Mubarak regime.

The holidaymakers were more concerned about relaxing than rioting.

What strikes me as different is that this time there were incidents in dozens of places.

And politicians seemed to have their own ways of explaining it.

To the BNP it was race riots.

To David Cameron and the Lib Dems it was a sign of a sick society.

To Labour it was - well, something with which to beat the Tory smoothies with their featherduster of vitriol.

To the police it was an opportunity to demonstrate that cuts in funding were having a detrimental impact.

To the public? - well, it was a chance to voice their own preferences (and in some cases to misbehave).

Of course for the courts it was an opportunity to demonstrate they are not under the thumb of the politicians - just give 'em back the power to use the birch.

Now I have returned home, and having seen that across our green and pleasant land trouble seems to have broken out everywhere ranging from Manchester and Liverpool through the Midlands to London's destruction and the bonfires in Rainham, it was somewhat unsurprising to this scribe.

Every 15 years or so there is some sort of misbehaviour in Britain. Tottenham, Handsworth, Merseyside .... the list goes on.

Regrettably, it will go on in future years.

Hose reels, evictions, arming the police, bussing them into London from South Wales to provide mobs of bobbies on every corner, kicking the police authorities because in a few months there were be elected police commissioners  ....

It's largely playing to the gallery.

What is needed is firmness, fairness and fast action when problems break out.

There is one lesson that can be learned from August 2011's thefts, firebombings and destruction.: leave them alone for a few hours and the mobs will always get the upper hand.

***

The last thing I thought when we visited El Gouna was that we would be constantly reminded of the Member of Parliament for Gillingham and Rainham.

But it was impossible to escape Mr Chishti - or at least echoes of him.

It was all caused by two Pakistani buses that had joined a small fleet of Egyptian saloons to provide the public transport around the holiday resort.

Flamboyant in the extreme, the buses had rockets on their roofs, mirrors on the inside coving and numerous images of plants, stars and symbols.

Why was Mr Chishti constantly brought to mind?

Because both buses had been built in Karachi by a bodybuilder named G N Chishti.

One thing I have to concede was that they were considerably more comfortable than the locally-built buses. They had upholstered seats. The locals had wooden slats...

Well, 2011 has been a busy one and my blog has suffered. I apologise for not keeping up with it but now I am back and so is my next interviewee.

This is Gabriela Margarita Houlgraves or 'Gabby', 34 from Sittingbourne.  Gabby works as a Customer Support Assistant at Maidstone Library.

Our beloved county is the reason I write this blog.  It is the best!

Gabby loves our county to because it is 'so green!'

"This surprises a lot of the people here when I say it.  You all [Kent residents] think it's very, very urbanised, but I just look at the vast fields and meadows.  Always so close and forests everywhere, and think 'Dude, this is the Shire!"

As you can tell from the last part of that quote, Gabby is a Lord of the Rings fan. Everyone needs to have a hobbit!

As part of my 2011 revamp, I have added a question to all my new interviewees which has been instated to find out if the people of Kent have interesting facts or information to share with me.  I always like to learn new things about Kent!

Gabby has selected to inform us about the history of Dover Castle, commissioned to be built by Henry II in the 12th century.

"The tunnels were first dug for the Napoleonic Wars, and then used as a command centre for Operation Dynamo which was the operation set up for rescuing soldiers from Dunkirk.  This is all well known."

This can be found on the English National Heritage website: http://www.english-heritage.org.uk

What was more intriguing was what Gabby relayed next.

"There was also a lower level call 'Dumpy' which was the command centre during the Cold War and it was going to be opened to the public after the Freedom of Information (FOI) Act made it legal to do so.  But English Heritage went under there and found a lot of subsidence and were not as sturdy as the Napoleonic ones and also left in a hurry when the level got decommissioned, so they're not structurally sound. Lovely chalk!"

"And that is why the public won't be allowed down there!"

Gabby feels it is a shame as she would love to go down there and see them.  I would love to see it as well, it sounds fascinating.

We moved on to one of my favourite subjects: FOOD!

Gabby likes to dine at Maggie's cafe on Week Street.  I agree Maggie, whoever she is, does a blinding fried breakfast!

"The wholemeal baguettes and fillings are wonderful, not to mention the salads, the chilli, the cakes and pastries (all home-made) and the staff are the friendliest in town."

Also, Gab enjoys eating at Kitsu, a Tunbridge Wells based place that has, in her words 'The best sushi and teriyaki beef I've ever had."

Equally, Gabby likes an Indian at the Royal Tandoori in Chatham, traditional chips from a chippy in Lenham and her favourite pub is the Ringlestone nr Harrietsham.

We definitely have something in common here!

I always like to be a little bit nosey and find out what my interviewees get up to in their free time.  It feels like I can relate to them if they have something in common with me (in addition to food of course).

"Reading, reading, reading. I can't get enough of books!" Gabby says. "Guess it's lucky I work in a library!"

"I also love visiting English Heritage sites, you see something new every time.  And spending time with family and friends.  Nothing beats a house full of the people you love, all having fun and laughing, sharing life and food & drink."

I think Gabby is a great person, who lives life to the full.  That's the kind of people we need more of in this county to keep up its awesomeness.

This is always my favourite part of the interview: hearing a short story that sums the interviewee up.  I have heard some whoppers since I have been writing this blog - waking up half naked on a beach, buying items such as a bouncy castle on impulse, walking into walls or buying 'Chillis' when you are supposed to buy 'Jelly'.

"I was born in Puerto Rico (in the Caribbean), and I moved to New Orleans to my master's degree.  I still miss New Orleans, every day I'm not there, though I wouldn't live anywhere else in the world but here, in Kent."

That's what I like to hear!

"My first apartment burnt down, soon thereafter, I met Mark (now my husband- he's English, of course), and moved into a lovely shotgun house in New Orleans (For all who are not familiar, it is a narrow, rectangular building)."

"Mark and I got engaged, and i started getting my paperwork for the visa to come here to live and get married. There was a rumour that someone burned down their house near my house to collect the insurance money. The whole block of houses, including mine, burnt down.  I barely had time to grab my cat and laptop and run out of the house.  When I came back to see what was left, almost everything was burnt, except my visa papers and my winter clothes, and a crocheted Afghan my gran had sent me from Puerto Rico."

I want it noted now that Gabby has done fantastically to bounce back from this ordeal where others probably would have rolled over and given up.

"I took that as a sign from God and the Universe that I needed to go with my heart, to Mark and England.  And I didn't look back."

"Do I miss my family and friends from the other side of the Atlantic?  Oh yes!"

"Would I change anything? Not really. I only wish I'd met Mark before so we could have stated our life together sooner and that I had the power to teleport so I could visit my gran and my friends as often as I liked."

What a great story with both highs and lows but an overall outcome that is justly deserved.

It is always important to evolve and progress over time. That is true in both people, nature and our much loved county.  Gabby has some interesting suggestions on how to achieve this.

"I think we should have a better public transport network and it should be more realistically priced, so that people are seen to be quite foolish to take their cars out.  

I agree as I walk every where and think they should pump more money into transportation.

"If the buses and trains took us to where we wanted to go, frequently and cheaply enough, I swear people would give up cars quicker than you can say 'petrol'.  This is particularly true for people in rural locations, who are often quite isolated if they don't have a car.  But even between town centres, the service provision seems almost random!"

I think Gabby talks absolute sense and is valid in that our services are at times extortionate and something needs to be done to preserve the environment for the future generations.

And now to the finale.  My random question of the week.

You hear the four minute warning, you know it will only take you 10 seconds to get into a safe place, what would you do with the other 3 minutes and 50 seconds?

"That's a hash one!  Wow. I wasn't expecting that."

I like this reaction as it is meant to be surprising and awkward to answer.  It is my unique thing!

"I am close to Mark and Sebastian (my son) so I can make sure they're safe with me but even if not, the same applies.  Get as many people as I can into the safe place, hold them close and send a prayer up for the rest of my loved ones and the world!"

Sounds depressing but a nice answer and a good way to round off this sensational lady's interview.

Thank you Gabby for your time and I wish you all the best for the future. This interview has been a pleasure!

Well that's all folks for this week, check in again soon to see who will be my next victi... interviewee!

So the old magician, Alan Jarrett, did wield his wand, and produce a couple of big rabbits from his hat at last week's budget meeting.

But don't be deceived.

The offer of a Freedom Pass for children to use on local buses may not be as good an offer as some would hope.

The county set have been eagerly lowering their sights to allow their children to discover what life is like without a car.

They've forked out £50 a year to then get unlimited travel on buses before 9am - and then right through the day and the weekend.

Not that there will be that many buses operating after April if KCC are chopping away at the many services it supports as I hear they are.

Medway is throwing £250,000 into a pot to provide "easy and affordable" travel on Medway's buses.

A check with the council this morning revealed that they are not sure how the scheme will operate - or whether there will be charges for the pass or the journeys.

If it is free, if the services are maintained (and that is a big imponderable), then it could help not just the scholars to get about, but also give a greater assurance to the bus operators - which would be a carrot to increased services.

The big problem for many youngsters, however, is that there are virtually no evening buses after 6pm on the peninsula (where the transport portfolio holder, Phil Filmer, is a local councillor). In the more densely populated areas of Medway there are scarcely that many more buses running.

The community needs more public transport: buses that it can rely on, at prices that are reasonable, that are quick and priced at sensible (not hyper-inflated) fares.

It may be a commercial operation, but it is still a public service that needs public support.

Meanwhile, I am delighted to learn the council is going to fund free swimming for kids and codgers once again. Not that I got my toes wet when the previous scheme was operating, but maybe I shall this time around.

***

Spare a thought for the many friends of Bob Wade, whose funeral takes place today.

The union rep was a Green Ambassador of the highest order, and the moves to commemorate him around North Kent with trees, vines and signs highlighting his work have been staggering.

They'll see him off in the way he wanted: all dressed in rugby shirts... and enjoying a last pint on him into the process.

***

Eric Pickles, the local government minister, really should wake up to the real world.

While he is eagerly expecting bloggers, tweeters and video camera crews to attend council meetings and encourage openness, he should visit Allhallows Parish Council.

It formally banned all recordings of discussions except those by its clerk.

Mind, I would have loved to have seen how the cameras would have recorded the screaming, the shouting and the stupidity that peppered the meeting.

There were some performances that would have earned Oscars if they had been on film!

Openness is not the name of the game in that area of the borough.

Roll on their next meeting.

THE amount of vitriol spilled in Gillingham by its Liberal Democrat councillors (past and present) has taken on tsunami proprtions.

As a West Countryman I might have substituted the word bore - a tidal wave that sweeps up some rivers against the natural flow. But it would have been misunderstood.

There is nothing boring about the vehemence and the anger which has been let loose in the row about their former deputy leader and parliamentary candidate, Andy Stamp.

It has hit personal levels such as I have never known in the 20 years I have worked in Gillingham's political arena.

Stamp is a sensitive man with a strong sense of moral right.

He reported his two ward colleagues to the Standards Board after one of them - Cathy Sutton - was forced to leave her home and sought help.

They are still under investigation by the council's standards committee.

Since he resigned from the group and later the party, and stands as an Independent, Cllr Stamp has raised the stakes by going public on his complaints.

The party has now sprung to his defence, accusing him of a poor result in the general election (it was their best result since Bob Sayer stood in 1997).

***

The campaign to win city status for Medway has taken to the streets (literally) with the appearance of Arriva's dark blue and white doubledecker.

It has been poiunding the roads between Chatham, Rochester and Strood since it entered service.

What a pity it hasn't been on the 132 route. It serves Gillingham and Rainham, two of the towns which seem to have been overlooked in much of the regeneration benefits.

They also accused him of sulking because he didn't get the group leadership (he didn't, but by then the rank and file were already taking sides).

It is an election year. In 91 days we shall all be waiting to hear who has won what.

I strongly suspect the electorate will respond to the row in a way that will do nothing to benefit the LibDems - just as the electorate appears to want to blame that party for all the woes of the financial mess.

OMNIBOLOGISTS (yes, bus spotters do exist) will be eagerly awaiting the appearance of a doubledecker back on the local bus routes.

It has been "up North", being painted as an overall advert promoting the third bid for City status for Medway. It is expected to take to the roads on Monday, a cool blue and white statement by Arriva Southern Counties that it, too, supports city status.

The question for everyone backing the bid is how strong is the support from the community.

I make no secret that I support the bid. I also make no secret of the fact that I was strongly opposed to merging the two authorities.

The enthusiasm for Rochester's lost status as a city (it was thrown away, actually) should convince anyone that being a city is special to the community.

The opposition to what is being proposed should also convince some that the two boroughs should never have been merged.

I grew up in Gloucester (a city thanks to Good King Richard III, complete with its market, river and cathedral). Just down the road was Cheltenham.

The feuding was as legendary as the differences between Gillingham and Rochester. They were equally as unrealistic.

But in both instances they are indicative of local pride.

Medway has been around for 13 years and the opposition to its creation has largely died - maybe killed by the fait accompli. It has lived through some difficult times. Those are about to get tougher. The government has taken away powers, cut budgets yet insists councillors must continue to care for those in difficulty.

***

The Primary Care Trusts are about to be scrapped which makes one wonder... why has the Medway Maritime NHS Foundation Trust invested in a new logo?

When I asked this morning I was told it was the decision of the chief executive, Mark Devlin. But staff in the press and PR office had not been let in on the rationale.

I was told: "It cost absolutely nothing. It will only appear as and when we run out of old stocks of paper."

In fact, in a discussion that lasted only a couple of minutes at most, I was told five times that it cost nothing to design and produce it.

What was the thinking behind the logo ("Medway Maritime - Making a difference / Great Heathcare for a growing community"), I asked.

"I can't tell you what the motivations were for Mark to ask the Trust to do it .... but it hasn't cost us anything." I was advised.

***

The council spending cuts are beginning to cut deep.

The tourism and heritage manager, Simon Curtis, is not to be replaced when he leaves. His is one of a number of high profile posts that are to be erased in the latest round of cuts.

The real challenge for councillors is that the number of council and scrutiny meetings they hold are to be cut back. That's because the clerks are being cut. (They do the majority of the work, ranging from collating reports to writing them, researching specialists for scrutineers to examine to making sure there is enough tea and coffee to keep the councillors awake.)

No tourism manager - Whatever next?

The planning application is in the post: convert the Castle to a tower block.

***

One person fighting to stay on the scene is the Mayor of London, Boris "Fly from Kent" Johnson.

It seems the only logical reason why he should be proposing a £40 billion floating island airport or, alternatively, the restoration of the scrapped plan for the Hoo peninsuila to become Heathrow Two. He is due to stand for re-election in the Spring.

Anyone who has seen the man in action on things like Have I Got News For You might think he is a buffoon.

Be that as it may, he is a serious danger to our way of life. It only needs one cabinet member to say there is some sense in what he says for the life of Medway to be changed for ever.

As you are all aware, the last two weeks in Kent have been somewhat horrendous. Unless you are between the ages of 5-17 of course! What with school closures, sledding, snowball fights, it’s far from a hard life for the youths.

That can’t be said for the full timers of the county, I certainly haven’t enjoyed the snow ... in fact, I’m pretty sick of it now. As a commuter into the city, last week was definitely not all-white!

Tuesday 30^th November: Plan of action - Save the company from being snowed under!

   It’s 6am and I switch on the telly to see the Weather News.

  ‘We urge you not to travel unless it’s completely necessary’

   I ignore that whilst sipping a hot cup of tea and loading myself up with Beechams.

   I take a quick glance out of the window to see 15cm of snow covering gardens and rooftops.  I must say it looks gorgeous when you’re behind double glazing. Anyway, I ignore the snow whilst opening the front door to head towards the coach stop in my utterly-unsuitable-for-snow kitten heels. I managed to plod halfway up the garden path before slipping onto my backside, hooking myself onto the brown bin on my way down (Massive bruise under the armpit... check!)

I thought I would be the Hero at work that would show all the 15-minute commuters up... living the furthest away I hoped for a big applause as I ploughed my way into the 4^th floor office.

Turns out, turning up 20 minutes late is anything but applaud-able especially when everyone else manages to make it in early despite the weather! I was quite confused as to how we had so much snow in Kent, yet London didn’t even have an icicle in sight? If anyone knows why the snow doesn't settle in London, I’d be very interested to know...?

Anyway, my lovely boss decided he’d let me leave 30 minutes early to avoid any ‘bad weather traffic’... However, all he really done was contributed 30 minutes to my 6 hour journey home. You’ll know from my previous posts that I’m not the biggest fan of commuting and that my coach doesn’t cater for us ‘might need a wee at some point’ passengers. Ultimate result was 3 ladies (including me) clambering off the coach to the hard shoulder and baring all to the standstill traffic and relieving ourselves into the snow. Not my finest moment, although we did receive a few car horns. *beep beep!*

Feeling like my heroic effort was completely wasted on Tuesday; I decided not to attempt the commute for the rest of the week. I hoped my managers would be understanding as I had sent them numerous photos of my traffic troubles the night before. I thought we’d put it down to ‘A Bloody Nightmare Week’ and they’d let me play in the snow instead. Unfortunately, I had to chomp away at my 3 remaining holidays I had left for the rest of the year.

In case you are wondering... the photos I sent them were of jack-knifed Lorries and abandoned cars, not of me squatting on the M25!

I suppose I shouldn’t moan too much as it could’ve been a lot worse. Those poor passengers stuck on a train at Orpington for 2 days! Including one disabled man, who was luckily moved to some sort of ‘safe house’ while they arranged engineers etc. You’d think that the trains nowadays could withstand against temperatures lower than -3 degrees!

I would love to hear other’s stories of Snow-vember & how it affected them.

Happy Sledding!!

It comes to something when the council grits the roads, then has to tell people to forget going outside the borough.

That's what happened yesterday.

Kent County Council could not keep their roads clear in quite the same way that Medway has.

Part of it is down to luck. If the gritters leave at the right time they can catch the snow when there are vehicles about (to stir up the salt slurry they deposit) just after it has fallen.

The problem for KCC seems to have been that they mistimed things.

Having said that an acquaintance was driving on the M2 from Faversham the other night and it was down to a single track. There didn't appear to be any activity.

I also wonder about whether there is more to the chaos than people might be willing to admit.

The Highways Agency invested heavily in a new fleet of gritting lorries a year ago. They used a revolutionary mix of salt - and water.

Almost as soon as the fleet - it replaced all the old lorries - was in service it was called upon to deal with last November's snow.

We all recall the scenes: snow piled up long after the wagons had spread their loads.

There was plenty of traffic to churn it.

I wonder whether the ministerial investigation that was announced on Wednesday will eventually find that diluting salt is not the way to get rid of snow.

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I have a lot of sympathy for Norman Kemp's concerns about keeping bus services operating. He's the hands-on bus driving boss of Nu-Venture.

Theirs were the only buses on the roads of north Kent and Medway for much of yesterday.

He pointed out that buses used to keep going through thick and thin.

That was especially useful at a time when the rest of us were stuck at home.

I didn't get into my car yesterday. I live in a slight valley and the residential roads were axle-deep in snow.

I would willingly have caught a bus, even if it took several hours to get to work (I live about 12 miles from the office so walking was out). Arriva had all their buses indoors "for safety".

That may be true. It may also have something to do with insurance premiums and private ownership.

A slight slip and the bus could be damaged - that would put it off the road until it was repaired if the bus firm was to stay within the traffic laws.

In the days of state ownership, when buses cost £1,000 a piece and not £150,000 as today, they would keep going until it was impossible to move any more.

I remember one coach driver who drove from Cheltenham to Weymouth in the 1970s. He got to Dorchester where the police stopped him from going any further.

"The hill into Weymouth is impassable," he was told. "There's a train about to leave - I would suggest you catch it."

He did. It was the last train or bus between the neighbouring towns for a week.

That was when the driver was allowed to return to his coach. It started first time, and after a few more adventures arrived back in Cheltenham seven days and a couple of hours late.

Those were the days when men were men - and bus firms were a breed apart.