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Started my shift at the depot by getting one of the virginal new single deckers ready for a run to that in-growing toe nail known as East Kilbride. Everything worked as it should, all systems were go and the interior was immaculately clean. The whole bus even smelled new. It was testimony to the skills of a stout night-shift cleaning lady whom I call 'The Tuba'. To me, she looks the way a tuba sounds.

However, as I rumbled along Great Western Road picking up chirping muppets and drunken kebab munchers, I thought it a shame that the bus would probably return to The Tuba looking more like a haggard old harlot than as a chariot of chastity.

But The Tuba never flinches at the prospect of having to clean up rivers of puke, shards of glass or even spattered blood. "Ye huv tae dig fur yer gold in this place," she once said when I presented her with a particularly foul vehicle. Tuba, you are a gem.

You can read the rest of this blog post by picking up a copy of the Bloodbus book at Amazon.

I'm not being a money grabbing bastard, I just think it's not fair on people who bought the book to then find out it's free on the internet. Can't have that. So check it out now by clicking the book below: