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Thousands of years ago massive ice sheets trundled down from the North Pole and sculpted the land that would one day become home to short-ass tartan clad cretins who call themselves Scots. At the central belt of this quirky little country the ice sheets gouged out an expanse of undulating hillocks called drumlins, and it was on these drumlins that some bright spark decided to build the city of Glasgow.

Why do bus drivers hate drumlins? Simple - because of the city's burgeoning complement of lazy chubbers. When you're late, driving a howling underpowered double decker bomb, and trying to get through a congested city centre, the last thing you want is to be flagged down half way up a hill by a troop of abdominous muppets who use their (free) concession pass to go two stops because the thought of walking up an incline is beyond them.

If they are very old, infirm or traveling with young children then I can understand their plight and will gladly stop and help them board, but for those whose only disability is unrestrained gluttony then my sympathy is somewhat lessened.

With the Witching hour long gone and pubs starting to empty I picked up both classes of punter at (surprise, surprise) McDonald's on Jamaica Street.

Her Royal Corpulence was wearing some sort of silly tiara in her hair and waving drunkenly to hail my bus. Despite it being an eleven ton decker with self-adjusting air suspension I could still feel the whole bus tilt as she boarded.

"I'm only going a couple of stops," she heaved. Then presented me with her (free) concession pass. Damn those drumlins.

Behind her was a little man of colour in a wheel chair. He also wanted on my bus and proclaimed that he was "Only going along da road, please boss."

And there you have both sides of the coin: he that deserves travel, and she that has just had trifle dessert.

I helpfully lowered the suspension, got out my cab to extended the wheel chair ramp and wheeled the little guy up on to the bus. Why did he look so familiar?

"Lets see your pass then, Evil Knievel," I said.

"Huh?" he replied looking slightly guilty.

Then I remembered him! Despite the poor mite having nothing more substantial than elbows for legs and an overall withered look, he was a known trouble maker. Quite notorious amongst Glasgow's bus drivers and many stories have been told of him around the depot camp fire.

"You got a pass? A ticket? Some money?"

"I no speak English."

"Yeah, right! No ticket and no money means no bus. Understand?"

"What you say, man? I no understand!"

Like hell you don't! I was about to wheel him back of the bus when, annoyingly, some passengers took his side with calls of: "Hey, driver! Don't be an arse hole!" and "Just let him on he's in a wheelchair for Christ's sake!" Then Her Royal Corpulence waddled back down the bus: "For goodness sake! I'll pay his fare!" For me that was just an ego trip on her part.

Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do. Fair enough, be it on their own head. She paid his fare and we set off.

Within seconds I could hear many passenger exclamations aimed at little Evil Knievel: "Hey! Watch what you're doing!" and "Stop that! Just sit still!" and "Do you mind?" I couldn't see what the little dalek was doing but he was definitely up to something. I bet now they rue their acts of compassion. Night buses are no place for philanthropy.

At the top of the hill I heard more tortured exclamations as Evil Knievel wheeled himself down the bus, banging into standees as he went. Thank God he wanted off, I thought. So I pulled in at the next stop, opened the doors, lowered the suspension, got out my cab to extend the wheelchair ramp and went to wheel little Evil off the bus. Good riddance.

"Hey! What you doin', man?" he shouted.

"Helping you off the bus."

"Did I say dat I wanted off?"

"Well, why did you come down the bus?"

"You get back in there and drive, dis aint' my stop."

Now the little bastard was just taking the piss. After taking a deep breath I retracted the wheel chair ramp, got back into the cab, raised the suspension, closed the doors and moved off. Now even more behind schedule.

He stayed on all the way to Byres Road. Even when he did get off he asked me to give him a free ticket so he could get back into town later on. Bugger off! Her Royal Corpulence wasn't here to save his sorry ass now. Away with you, rogue.

Having now dumped him off, I made my way up to the terminus and readied the bus for the return leg. Hopefully Evil Knievel would be long gone by the time I got back down to Byres Road.

Nope! There he was on Byres Road being arrested by the police! There were four cops in attendance; two were questioning him and two others were speaking to a young woman in a suit. I don't know what Evil Knievel had done, but the woman's face was deeply anguished and, I would have to say, expressive of a bitten bum.

Ahh, bless him.