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A cold January sun drained the colour from Drumchapel's bunkered avenues and gloomy alleyways. The first snow of winter gave the grubby township a deceptively sterile aura by covering most of the garbage and urban tumbleweed which, on windy days, is carried aloft and I'm sure must show up on weather radar.

As I drove up to the terminus, I took a left-hand turn into a narrow road and was surprised at what was blocking my way; a little scraggy junkie woman who was arse-down on the snowy pavement with her legs dangling out into the middle of the road. That's gotta be cold! Maybe last night's punters had been a little too rough with her and now she had to cool her grotty groin in the snow.

But I couldn't concern myself with what fires may have been raging in her loin, I had to get my bus to the terminus. So I slowed to a crawl hoping she would retract her legs and I could pass. But, evidently her brain had flown south for the winter on wings of impure smack and left her body behind, because she just sat there, stiller than a frozen statue.

I was forced to stop and honk my horn. Her head turned towards me with all the frustrating slowness of a giant satellite dish tracking across the sky. Behind matted hair, her eyes gazed out from the back of two sunken ruts and focused on my vehicle. Recognising that it was 'just a bus', her malicious, tight lipped grin resembled a flatulent tear in a pair of grubby breeches. She wasn't going to do me any favours at all.

So, with all due caution, I mounted the kerb and steered round her. Whatever nebula she was tripping through, she seemed quite content to stay there. I should maybe discharge my civic responsibility and tell Central Control about this, I thought.

However, having reached the terminus, instead of calling control, I became somewhat preoccupied by the performance of a three legged dog lolloping around near the skeleton of a burnt out car. He was going completely nuts in the snow and was an absolute joy to watch. Then a woman appeared at the door of the bus and broke my reverie, "One into the toon, driver," she croaked.

"By the way, I'm not due to leave for another twenty minutes," I said. "If you walk up the hill to that bus stop you'd get a bus into town a lot quicker."

"I know, but I'm too hung over to walk up the hill, I'll just stay on this bus, if that's okay?"

"Fair enough, take a seat."

She sat down and I looked out the window again. The three legged dog had been joined at the car wreck by two other skinny mongrels. They were all sitting down now, no doubt engaged in divvying up the junkie on the road amongst themselves. Nothing goes to waste here.

But it was not to be for the canine scavengers. Two cops drove past, spotted the junkie, stopped, reversed back and brazenly poached the dog's dinner from under their noses. With the Force currently being throttled by a funding crisis, there will be prime cuts of marinated doper on the police station dinner table tonight. What a find! Final score: Pigs 1 - Dogs 0.

I set off into town and got as far as St. George's cross before encountering more freakery. At a bus stop up ahead I could see someone wearing a high visibility vest. Damn. I figured it was an inspector from the company doing 'random' checks to make sure buses were not running early - which I most certainly was. From a distance it looked like Inspector Harry Potter, a known arse hole famed for his arse holery towards drivers.

But I was wrong. It was arse holery of an altogether different kind. As I pulled into the stop I saw that the man was none other than the Electric Scarecrow - a notorious wacko who goes about Glasgow wearing garishly coloured pajama-like clothes and is always blasting his head off with headphones turned up to number eleven. As a result, everything he says is SHOUTED.

This evening he came on my bus with ribbons and baubles in his hair and had painted henna-like tattoos on his face with dark blue felt tip pen. Definitely the nuttiest punter that a driver could ever hope to get. I was privileged.

He marched on to the bus, flopped his shoulder bag down onto the luggage rack and started fumbling through it's zipped pockets for his travel pass. I sat and waited for him. And waited. And waited.

Even through the safety screen of my cab door, I could hear his headphones banging out 'River Deep, Mountain High'.

And I waited. And waited.

"YOU'RE TAKING AGES, BIG MAN!!" shouted the 'crow, still fumbling in his bag. He obviously wanted me to drive on while he rummaged for his pass, but I wasn't going anywhere 'till I'd seen it. He eventually held up a concession pass (wouldn't you just know it?) and I noticed that his hands were encrusted with mud. Had he just come from tending carrots and cabbages at a nearby allotment? No. More likely he had secretly just planted another crop of weed somewhere.

The 'crow did not seat himself. Instead, he stood beside my cab shouting that I was "TAKING AGES", even whilst stopped at traffic lights. Anyone else would have been ejected for causing such a nuisance but I found him far too entertaining to fling off. A particular delight was when he removed a can of Fanta from his bag, opened it, and drank it through a curly straw!

With his festive attire, effete musical leanings and now with a curly straw in his Fanta, I was beginning to think that he was just possibly a...

"DRIVER, YOU'RE MAKING ME LATE FOR MY BOYFRIEND!" he shouted. Query answered.

"HEY DRIVER! IF ANYONE ASKS, TELL THEM i LIKE GETTING SLAPPED RIGHT INTO THE DAFTIES!!"

"Okay," I said, but I'm sure that wasn't all he liked getting 'slapped right into'.

On we went towards town. A middle aged woman stood up and tried to open one of the bus windows. But these particular windows were quite difficult to pull open and, even using two hands, she struggled.

"HEY DON'T OPEN THAT WINDOW MISSUS!" shouted the 'crow. "THE PRESSURE DIFFERENCE! WE'LL ALL BE SUCKED OOT! HA! HA! HA!"

Unbelievably, the woman said, "Oh!" and actually sat down! I think she was quite affrighted of the 'crow.

"HA! HA! HA! AM ONLY KIDDIN' MISSUS! HA! HA! HA! I'VE NOT LAUGHED LIKE THAT SINCE MY GRANNY CAUGHT HER TITS IN THE MANGLE! HA! HA! HA!"

I was in convulsions in the cab and had to eject a blank ticket to write all this down on. Definitely one for the blog.

At the bus stop outside Buchanan bus station the 'crow knocked on my cab door, "THIS STOP HERE, DRIVER!"

I pulled in and opened the door.

"CHEERS DRIVER. IF THEY ASK, TELL THEM I'VE LEFT THE COUNTRY!"

"Okay," I said, but I knew he couldn't hear me.

The Electric Scarecrow stepped off the bus, and for no reason that I could fathom, simply erupted in a convulsive "HOI!" at the top of his lungs.

The guy is a star.