The Fifty Three Bus, it's big and it's orange

I've just found out that in order to get to my new place of employment tomorrow I'll be needing to catch a number 53 bus from outside of Longsight Market.  This strikes me as a wholly tremendous omen, because many years ago when Abby lived (for about five minutes) in shared accomodation in Old Trafford (with a pair of pale, taciturn Goth boys who were so obsessed with playing Dungeons and Dragons on their computer that they never left the house apart from to buy Pot Noodles at the corner shop) one or the other of us (we can never remember which) spent so much time waiting for that particular conveyance to arrive and transport us across town to where the other one lived that we ended up making up a song about it.  It went (you will have to imagine the tune, suffice to say it boasts a jaunty and insistent tempo, as is the wont of songs made up to keep yourself warm while standing tapping your feet at a freezing cold Rusholme bus stop in a bedraggled Oxfam coat waiting for a bus that never, ever, arrives):

The fifty-three bus, it's big and it's orange

The fifty-three bus from Cheetham Hill

The fifty-three bus, its big and it's orange

The fifty-three bus, from Cheetham Hill

The fifty-three bus goes down Wilmslow Road

Fifty Three bus goes through Moss Side

The fifty three bus, I've waited an hour

The fifty three bus never comes on time

The fifty Three bus, The fifty Three bus, The Fifty Three bus (repeat to fade/ until you get mugged by a passing quartet of feral teenagers).

Of course what with privatisation of the transport network at the hands of the evil Thatcher, the fifty-three bus is no longer in Manchester Corporation orange at all, it's in bog-standard Stagecoach white like every bus in the country- and I'm not even sure it is quite as big as it used to be.  These are facts I will need to bear in mind when I am standing outside of Longsight Market waiting for it tomorrow morning, dressed in a shiny new outfit just bought today with the last of the High Street Shopping Tokens they used to give us at the old place, including a pair of sturdy Marks and Spencers Doc Martenesque shoes, which (in a further fine omen) are just the sort of things me and Abby used to wear when we used to wait for the fifty-three bus the first time around.  They are also, of course, just the kind of egalitarian footwear that you would want to have about you when leaving the  world of multinational flanges behind to embark on a new dream Public Sector Guardian-readers' job with a Housing Association.  They are such perfect shoes for the job, in fact, that I'm thinking of just sending them along on their own and I'm sure they'd get along just fine.

So what could go wrong?  Well I could sleep in on my first day for a start.  So I should go upstairs, iron my new shirt (it's from John Rocha at Debenhams, a New Labour touch to set off my Old Labour shoes but I think we can carry it off), and try and get enough sleep to prepare me for that bus-ride.  All together now- The fifty three bus, it's big and it's orange.... 

Comments

[MQ]

Be careful Mr Bee! I think you will find (although it may all have changed since I was round that way) that the 53 is First magenta, rather than Stagecoach white. Don't let that fool you... As I recall, its reliability hasn't changed much.

[PC]

It must be the number 53 that evokes such nice(?) memories. When I lived in Sheffield that was the number of the trusty steed that used to take me down to my favourite watering hole (and back).

But, the trusty 53 in Sheffield seemed a reliable beast...probably because Sheffield doesn't have the worst bus system in the world. Manchester does.

Hope the 1st day of your new job wasn't ruined by bus incompetence.

[abby]

Ah, the 53 bus! I think you might have forgotten the ending, which goes "lalalalala lalala lalalalala lalala" accompanied by some frantic leaping, to keep the bone-chilling-bus-wait cold at bay and to stave off the dread of returning home to the sullen goth flatmates who had their horrible lead dungeons and dragons pieces arrayed in game-playing formation all over the cooker, and would grumble horribly if you moved a wizard out of the way in order to heat up some baked beans. One of them had a pregnant girlfriend who sat on the couch all day close to tears. But this was the old 53... ! I am feeling very confident about your triumphant return and it is all only slightly terrifying! Fortune favours the bold!

[jonathan]

Slightly terrifying is right. However I can put all your minds at rest and assure you that the 53 bus (which was indeed in Firstbus Magenta) turned up only fifteen minutes late on Monday morning and transported me all the way West to the other side of the city. Fortunately I had taken account of its famed and quite unsheffieldlike tardiness so was still where I had to be a full hour early, as is the wont of people on their first days in new jobs. Since then I've been on a weeklong whistlestop tour of the entire borough, by a mixture of trains, buses, and cars, only very occasionally getting lost in backstreets, but that's another story...

OK no time to post properly back in a few days!

[Johnny]

Hello Mr Bee,

The 53 is an institution and your song brought on a whole series of wing-collared seventies flashbacks - Ta. Glad to see that you are still using the word 'flange' - hope this continues.

[classybird]

Hi Jonathan

Stressqueen here - just wanted to say thanks for making the time to comment.

I also wanted to let you know that I am moving to a different url - http://classy-bird.blogspot.com/.
I decided not to stop after all but am starting afresh for reasons I won't bore you with here. I'm just setting it up now so my sidebar is looking very bare, but will be tidying it all up properly soon!

Maybe see you there.

Thanks again cb xx

[jonathan]

Ah glad to hear it Stressqueen... I'll be sure to drop by. The new name suits you more than the old one I think...

[Jack]

So much more eloquent than the song I perpetually sing at my bus stop, with its gentle refrain of - "The thirty eight bus, the tardy bendy bastard".