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Meal breaks never seem to last long enough. I could still smell kebab from Driver Humpty as we stood talking at the driver changeover point. We were both moaning: me because my bus was running late, him because of stomach acid reflux. The poor chap had been suffering for days. He even said that his wife was kept awake all last night due to his burping. I felt compelled to enquire further into this and found that it was because of his uncontrollable wind. This came as a disappointment as I secretly wanted it to be that he was just triumphantly showing off to her with his gastric talents.

As we chatted, a muppet at the bus stop spotted us. "You bus drivers?" she asked.

Here we go, another interrogation about time tables, late buses, cheeky drivers and "ridiculous" driving. "Yes, we are bus drivers," I said somewhat reluctantly.

"Shoot the bloody lot of you!" she spat. Yes, it seems that drivers are just as much targets for abuse as the vehicles they drive.

Luckily my bus chose that moment to appear round the corner. It was being driven by Weepingclown but he was not wearing his usually grinny face. Wondered why, after all, the bus wasn't all that full for an evening rush hour. Anyway, he pulled up to the stop and I looked at my watch as if to say: where the hell have you been?

The Weepingclown stepped out the cab and just as I was climbing aboard he said: "Wait a minute. Got a wee problem with a punter." He walked up the bus and I saw him talking to a disheveled wraith who's head was bobbing from side to side. "Don't worry mate," said Weepingclown, "the ambulance is on it's way."

It was at this point that I noticed that the wretched man's face had blood streaming down one side. I reckoned there had been fisticuffs and The Weepingclown had contacted Control for an ambulance. Now that is real service to the community.

However, at the mention of an ambulance the man immediately stood up struggling and shouting: "No! No ambulance! Fuck off!"

There's gratitude for you. Perhaps he gave better than he got in the fisticuffs or maybe he was carrying something he shouldn't be, but this down-and-out obviously had some good reason to avoid the authorities.

"Sit down, mate. It's already on its way."

"Fuck off! You can't keep me! You can't keep me on the bus," he shouted as he shuffled towards the exit. I stepped aside to let him pass, being selfishly more concerned with getting the bus back to where it should be on its brutal schedule.

But it was too late. Two police had arrived in the meantime and were blocking the exit like two big wardrobes. "Sit down, buddy," said one of them. And sit down he did.

After transferring the remaining passengers to another bus, four more police arrived, including the Inspector (wasn't the bum honoured?) as well as an ambulance crew. A brief interrogation of Mr Bleedyhead revealed that he had had a fight with another bum in a city centre soup kitchen before running away and sneaking on the bus. He had apparently sat there groaning in front of no less than twenty passengers with blood dripping from his face and no one had told the driver. Each punter on that bus must have been the three wise monkeys all rolled into one. Or else they just shat themselves and froze.

It is lamentable, though, that so many resources were consumed by the indiscretions of a couple of Glasgow's underclass. Six police officers (not forgetting the Inspector) and an ambulance crew - all summoned because a pair of bums had an argument in a soup kitchen about probably nothing more substantial than who got more croutons.

It took me several hours of pedal to the metal to get the bus back on it's time and I didn't have time for a proper break until just before my last run. Hopefully I could get the bus through Drumchapel without being bricked.

Arrived at the terminus without a single attempt on my windows (result!), switched the engine off and got out for a breather. All was dark and unusually quiet. No distant screams, shrieks or dogs barking.

Strangely, the dead calm made for an even more eerie atmosphere. I could feel it in my water as I piddled up against my back tyre. Yes, something afoot was definitely in the air tonight, and it smelled fishy.

Sure enough, as I got back in the cab, the sound of a man and woman having a heated argument wafted through my cab window like that eerie funk of fish. Although they were definitely getting closer I couldn't understand every word. Nevertheless, there was no mistaking the "fuckin'" this and "fuckin'" that and "fuck" the other that peppered their exchanges. This was a real Lulu.

Just as soon as my mind formed the thought: hope they go away and don't come near me, God, being the perverted bastard that he is, directed their steps straight on to my bus. Like, thank's very much! First the Asian tsunami and now this. Arse hole!

The chap was dressed in full Ned uniform: white track suit, fake Burberry cap and dripped with gold. She was not so garish, wearing a fairly anonymous jacket and jeans. After a moment of calm while I printed their tickets, they sat down and immediately carried on where they had left off in the street. With the engine off I could hear that their argument centered around exactly where the Ned was going to spend the night.

"I just want to come home!" gurned the Ned.

"Fuck off! Yer stayin' oan this bus 'till it goes into the toon centre!" blasted the woman.

"Naw! I'm off it, I'm clean!"

"No yer naw, look at the state 'o ye'!"

"Honest! I'll just have a couple 'o joints 'an that's it! I'll not even get drunk."

"Fuck off!"

"How about I buy us both a Chinkie? I'll clean up aroun' the hoose too."

"Fuck off! Yer stayin' oan this bus into the toon and yer goin' to the hostel."

"Naw! Besides, all my stuff is up at Rab's."

"Fuck off!"

"I just wanna come home!"

And so on. Unbelievably, fifteen minutes later they both got off at the same stop. Obviously the promise of a Chinese meal and cleaning the house won her over. Perhaps a little too cheaply, I thought. Yes, very cheaply indeed. If a junky Ned proffered me with any foodstuff I would most likely deck him and make him eat it.

Silly woman for taking him in. After all, what worth have the promises of a junky? Lady, you are a cabbage.