Driving a bus in London is hard. Harder than id've thought. Iam a slave to my mirrors. I watch them, glance at them, get dizzy looking between them, keeping a consistent eye on my 10m long, 7 tonne bus-arse and where it is going, ensuring it doesn't ride the kerb, wipe out pedestrians, impact motorcyclists, dent cars, take out bus stops on rough ( Read more... )

It was for me, kinda two and a bit years in the waiting this. I drove out and absent-mindedly reccied the bridge in June 2006. I found an easy way up to the tracks, but stood there, aware that i was going back to Australia in two days, was completely unprepared, had no idea on the bridges security status and very much aware that if i got caught, my ( Read more... )

Going back to Balmers each week is becoming a ritual it would seem (kinda like the 1990s Gothic club Ritual which i was never allowed into cos i was underage, but which Onyxxx was always able to get into despite being underage cos of the female prerogative known as 'makeup ( Read more... )