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]

One of the many hazards of your boyfriend being one of three brothers (as I am sure many of you will relate to) is having to a. do boy talk b. take a considerable amount of stick when you do anything remotely silly. This is incident combined me doing something absolutely absurd, boy talk and taking a considerable amount of stick.

Somehow last night myself and one of the boyfriend’s brothers got onto the highly intelligent topic of “Which would you say was better: Star Wars or Star Trek?” believe it or not I actually did take a few minutes before I gave my answer which I was told was fairly controversial (ooookkkaaayyy) I was then asked which Captain of the space ship in Star Trek I had though was the best again I gave a fairly educated answer (it’s no longer such a well kept secret that I am, secretly, a bit of a geek at heart).

My boyfriend then joined in the conversation by proclaiming Captain Janeway to have been his favourite (the first female captain of the space ship). I was already suspicious as to his choice when this led into reasoning as to why it had taken so long to get a female captain: women drivers. Ah, now I saw where this was going, let me guess she drove the ship into a dustbin in outer space? Some jabber ensued about women being careless drivers and having no sense of direction etcetera: “in the first episode she gets lost, like, hundreds of light years away”. Yes, hilarious, I am sure you will agree dear readers.

I have spent two days taking stick for the fact that, a couple of nights ago; I smashed my own car window. On my own driveway. By driving into our dustbin. As my Father very kindly pointed out to me “that bin has been in the same place for the past four years and no one else has ever bashed it” a fact I am very much aware of, thank you. I didn’t actually think I had broken it at first and I didn’t actually drive into it especially hard but I caught the corner of the bin lid on my rear window, heard a pop, tried to get off of the bin, got stuck and then heard the tinkling. Excellent. No primal screaming or beating of fists or head on steering wheel took place at this stage…Well not much at least.

I described this scenario and the twinkling of little bits of broken glass to my boyfriend when he came round to point and laugh at what I had done. To my own car. He kindly pointed out that I could envisage the tinkling as being a bit like “a fairy sound” (knowing I like fairies and was very distressed about being stupid enough to smash my own car window. On my own driveway. On a dustbin). Oh yes, the sound of tinkling broken bits of my rear window is exactly akin to fairy dust, darling. I was not snarling and did not have steam coming out of my ears at this point.

How many times do you think, readers, I will be subjected to conversations coming back to “dustbin” over the oncoming weeks/months/years?

It seems yesterday's comments hit a nerve at the council. John Staples insisted its press release was crystal clear: the webpage would "publish the full press statements it has given to the media on specific stories if they have subsequently been chopped or altered and their meaning substantially changed when broadcast or published.

"....residents will be able to compare what was reported, or broadcast, with what was issued by Medway Council on controversial topics.
It would be updated on an ad hoc basis.Which means that residents will only get to learn what the council wants them to learn.

Mr Staples also insists that I never asked about asbestos checks. I assure you I did on at least two occasions.I quote his written response as received:

"Our records show that your enquiry was about the issue around caretakers (there was an enforecment notice after two school's site managers had not undergone proper training) and that you have not asked us if the HSE was carrying out an emergency audit following Woodlands - something that did not happen."

Their records might not show it. I did ask - formally - twice.

It is clear we are not going to agree on this.

The key issue remains that staff were exposed to asbestos at Woodlands, along with contractors' personnel. In some cases personal records will have to be kept for 40 years (the period which coincidentally seems to be when asbestosis and mesothelioma develops).

It is also a fact recorded in the papers from the auditors that 106 schools in Medway were to be inspected in a three month period following the failure of Woodlands to protect those people. It was "a tough target". Following those inspections all head teachers were required to undergo specialist training (something with Mr Fiddaman apparently objected to, but subsequently undertook).

It is also a fact that there was no sealing of the work areas, no protective gear, clothing was not changed following work and before mixing with other people, that cleaners moved from dirty areas to classrooms, that children were in school while the work was going on, and that none of the workforce was CRB-checked.

Deborah Upton, the council's legal eagle, housing chief and monitoring officer, said in her covering report: "The Council holds a legal duty to effectively manage asbestos in schools, and this duty cannot be delegated to others i.e. the Council ultimately retains

responsibility. However Health and Safety training and briefings are available to

all schools to ensure that they know what their responsibilities are in respect

of asbestos, and the Council has a Health & Safety officer dedicated to

schools.

"I am not satisfied that any enquiries were made of the School, or

that proper procedures were put in place to ensure that the school

appropriately met its health and safety responsibilities for asbestos, fire of [sic] other

health and safety matters in relation to the building works."

As the auditor's report comments: "A school can opt out of using the Council [for] delivery of a capital project. Who controls the school if they opt out?"

Even the government has a responsibility for Woodlands school that appears to be lacking.

As for the issue that sparked the debate, Mr Staples' colleagues continue to ignore the fears and worries that villagersw at Grain have arising from National Grid's LNG terminal at the bottom of their gardens.