I'm moving house in the next week or so, and it was a weird mixture of feelings that I move into the lovely Ms Giles and her Hairy husband's house.

I'll miss a number of things about my flat, the size of it, for one person it is huge; I can pace up and down and jump around.

I'll miss the old dear who lives below me, she is as deaf as a post, so when I stumble in at 4 in the morning I can put music on really loud and no one bats an eye lid

I'll miss living down the road from gav. Because it's close to Mr G's and they make me tea

I'll miss the bus journey, in particular the 40, I have seen it all, and I have stood freezing my nuts off watching chav's kick the funt out of each other at the bus stop, 

I'll missing adding more hours to the queuing in the cold  I've waited the equivalent of 14 months 3 days and 6 hours at the bus stop, in the most appalling conditions.. It looks like I won't break the 15month waiting time after all ?

I'll miss the aggressive drunks who shout at you for looking a them, even though they are the ones trying to attract my attention by shouting ginger at me

I'll miss the wee emo fella who gets on the bus and gets stick from the kestrel super strength swilling back seat

I'll miss the mad woman who randomly shouts at people and mutters stuff under her breath

I'll Miss the toothless cat woman who smells really really strange and talks to me everyone morning because she seen me buying cat food once in a now closed corner shop

I'll miss the man with the golf ball sized Cist, , I'll miss the way he always sits in front of me so I can watch all the hypnotic pulse of veins  as it pumps the puss around the growth

I'll miss the guy who picks the scabs off the back of his head and then sniffs his fingers

I'll miss the arguing couple on their way to the clinic to get their methadone; I'll miss their dry wretching and their spitting

I'll miss the drunk bearded fella shouting at the bus driver because he didn't stop or he does stop. It's an argument the bus driver can never win

I'll miss the 8 year old kid staring at me and when I look up she gives me loads of shit (don't know what's she's so happy about she'll be pregnant soon)

I'll miss the funny smell of wee of a handful of passengers (mad beard woman especially)

I'll miss the enormous woman and her thin husband who has to have double seat to herself

I'll miss all the Chelsea's, the Kelsey's the Lesley's the Robbie's

I'll miss the chavs smoking on the back of the bus

I'll miss the two apprentices who listen to gabba hardcore music through crappy speakers on their crappy mobile phones

But most of all, I'll miss the crazy man who talks to the driver and then proceeds take all the metros. It was one of the great mysteries of the journey like how salmon find their way back their spawning grounds
But it is a mystery no more

He takes the Metros to cover the floor so his dog can shit on them when he's out…

How do I know this?
Did I ask him? No!
Did I follow him home? No?

I had the pleasure of seeing the dog in action today, on the aforementioned metros, like a good little bow wow; it emptied its considerable bowels over a metro. Good dog

It would have been a bad dog, if say, I don't know, you where reading the metro or more likely if the Metro was on the floor of somewhere inappropriate like a operating theatre  or I don't know the 9.05pm bus packed with mid evening commuters

What could be worse, I can't think? Perhaps if the bus drove around with the doors open thus creating a chimney affect so that the acrid shit stench was sucked towards the back of the bus where I was sitting.

But at least I felt the heart warming glow when, like any responsible dog owner, he picked up the Poo.then I realised it wasn't a glow' it was the burning of bile and two crunch creams rising to decorate the back of the bus..

Of course he didn't pick up the poo he let his dog shit all over the bus and then got off at the next stop.

I could either barf all over the bus or face the St Anthony's roundabout chav gauntlet. I chose the later.

On my prowl down the road I encountered a number of the other commuters who shared this Bus Journey of Bus Journys. They stood bewildered at the bus stops dotted down to my front door; all gave me a nod of recognition and sort of Omaha beach camaraderie formed in those brief moments. We can say 'I was there! I stood toe to toe with my nameless comrade! My silent friend!  I was there on the worst bus journey ever!'

I'll miss you number 40, you have been constant source of disdain hate and inconvenience. I'll miss you

I'll miss the fact that just when you think the number 40 can get no worse; it really does up the ante.

How do stagecoach managed to up the level of discomfort and horror, I am in some ways glad that to make the customer experience more unbearable and to better the shitting dog Stage coachewould have to release excrement flinging monkeys with small pox .

Of course being this unpleasant would cost more money, I only hope that the fare rise from Sunday can go someway to financing the continued horror for the commuter

All the best number 40 may your route remain the most profitable in all the north east

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