My first ever poem, should I give up the day job? 176 I see you, every morning, your red livery with the white striped front speeding away from my stop, evermore. oh 176, bus of my nightmares cramped seating, magnificent heating - in summer. yet ice cold in winter, torture you are and tortoise you are, in speed walking pace crawl, through traffic 'this bus is stopped to regulate the service' or so you tell us. bollocks, I think, bollocks and drivers who can't find 3rd gear or stop to chat outside Edwardes Grrr! I think, Grrr! I have yet to look but assured am I that somewhere, in that great tome, you are mentioned in the geneva convention: protocol four