Anyways. Something's dawned on me recently. I apologise in the first instance if any of this sounds preachy or familiar to those of you versed in the Gospel of Clarkson. My thought is this- not enough people value neutrality.
There's a huge amount of highly polarised opinion out there at the moment on things like the papal visit to British shores, and other timeless matters like politics and whether hot or cold weather is best. But the fact is this- you, the reader, probably don't know enough about a subject to make such a firm opinion. It's true. You'll get into an argument about... immigration or abortion. And sure enough, you'll decide one way or the other. But the fact is, you probably don't know the full story. You will probably never know the full story. You won't know the facts, figures, statistics, stories, moral and ethical implications, or full background of whatever it is.
And in any case- the chance of it making the slightest bit of difference what you care about free school lunches is minimal. There might be petitions or elections for you to decide, but I'm sure if you take a less fierce position, you'll be in a better position to make a good judgement. I suppose in a way it's a fairly scientific outlook on things- but it'll make you less contentious and more open to ideas. This is probably true for most of life's important decisions. Importantly it's also a brilliant way of keeping friends.
Before you accuse me of hypocrisy, I'd venture to point out that opinionated as this blog might be, I've tried steering clear of the important things in life and focussed more on stupid unimportant targets like dressing up in costumes, shops, or at most plastic bag usage.
I reserve the right to hate on the lesser things in life.
And in that vein, I will briefly outline why given the chance I would be delighted to catapult every last Guildford bus into the sun, with staff all on board. I know I strive for anonymity here but knowing I go to Guildford once in a while isn't likely to help much- unless you plan on nuking me, in which case the internet is far more angry than I ever could have guessed.
Once upon a time there was a young boy who didn't go on buses much, and he regarded them with a childish awe that was only satiated by the occasional experience of going on an actual bus! [insert excitement]
Years passed, and what had been innocent pre-adolescent curiosity soon gave way to adolescent cynicism, and once college kicked in, utter seething boiling hatred.
The reason was the implementation of this particular mode of transport. I like to imagine how the conversation went between the inventor and his mate. Let's call them Clever Fred and Asshat Charlie.
"Hey!" Said Fred, "I've just had a splendid idea! You know that internal combustion engine thing? Why don't we make really big horseless carriages that lots of people could ride in?"
"Ooh" Said Charlie, dribbling slightly, "to what end my large-brained chum?"
"Why- there are many benefits. Road congestion would be eased, it might be cheaper overall for passengers, and if in 100 years time they find some horrible environmental side affect to petrol, it'll mitigate that problem too! I shall call them 'buses'"
"Why that's brilliant!" Charlie crowed, picking his nose casually, "
Now Fred was a kind natured soul, and of course acquiesced to his mentally backward compatriot. "Certainly. What did you have in mind?"
"Well", Charlie began, "Why not coat the inside of every bus with various shades of brown and/or sick-green? EVERYONE likes sick-green!"
"er..." said Fred.
"AND! With a monopoly we could charge extortionate prices and make even MORE shedloads of cash!"
"But that sort of undermines..."
"I've got another great idea! Let's actively hire the most foul-tempered overweight sociopathic cock-rags to drive them! Patrons will adore the experience of being verbally abused for lack of correct change, bellowed at for being late (or early), and patronised to the point of murderous rage"
"In fact... on the subject of being late, let's make sure the buses never arrive within 5 minutes of the timetabled time. It'll be ever-such-fun to infuriate the everliving shit out of people because they won't know if they'll have to sprint like a Kenyan to get there on time or wait for three days for the bus to actually turn up! Finally, let's have incorrect timetables, 'real-time information' run by lobotomised gibbons, suspension made of bricks, seats padded with lead, poles coated in semen, and the fresh scent of the Wet Dog Scrotum® pumped throughout the cabin".
Fred was silent for a moment: "... I'm not sure you've really got the spirit of this idea"
"TOO LATE YOU SAID I COULD BE IN IT" screamed Charlie like an insane man with his balls in a vice, before running away giggling and crying to set up a company, which for the purposes of this story, we shall call 'Arriva'.
Years passed, and for reasons unknown to any man, Arriva flourished like a blossoming mould on a blueberry muffin, and spread its filthy grasp over this fair country, and whilst other travel companies managed to implement the Bus without metaphorically pissing all over their paying customers, Arriva continued to do so and continued to make money.
Until one day, Hell froze over, and every single Arriva bus and employee disappeared in a cloud of hatred, and I lived happily ever after.