I'll start my tales with tonight's bus ride home from work.

As if I don't have enough troubles with public transport, I initially had an issue getting to the bus station as I was stuck walking behind a Poundshop version of Sex and the City, who insisted on walking arm in arm across the path at the approximate rate of one kilometre a year.

45 minutes later I reached my destination. The bus wasn't there. But guess who was? That's right, it was Mad Woman With Red Stick Who Shouts at Sliding Doors. After bellowing something about the bus being 2 minutes late, said vehicle finally arrived, I paid my £1.50 and sat down. All was going swimmingly as MWWRSWSASD was sat well away from me.

Quite a success, for me. Until the Man Who Carries Womens Tights in a Holdall got on. If you follow me on Twitter, you'll remember him from a previous bus journey to work - his name says it all really. My sister and I spent a very awkward 40 minutes sat next to him while he raked pair after pair of smelly tights out of his smelly bag.

Anyway, he sat down in front of me, and the stench that wafted under my nostrils can only be described as a mixture of the following;

• BO
• Shite
• Dead people
• Septicemia
• Urine

As if that wasn't bad enough, he had really long, greasy hair (in a style not at all dissimilar to Jimmy Saville) that kept blowing towards me as he'd opened the window. Presumably to let the stench out. It didn't work.

So I buried my nose in my coat (I'm not one to complain) and carried on checking Twitter, Facebook etc.

A lady got on with a baby. No problem. Both baby and Mother were quite content sat quietly on the bus. Enter MWWRSWSASD - "HOW OLD IS HE? HE'S GOT A LOT OF HAIR! HAS HE ALWAYS HAD THAT MUCH HAIR? HE DOESN'T TALK MUCH!" I'd guess the baby was approximately 3 months old. I'm not surprised he's not talking much, and even if he did, I doubt he'd talk to you.

Now my Twitter followers will be well aware of the fact that if I am on a totally empty bus, sat by myself, and one person gets on, it's inevitable that said person will choose to sit next to me instead of an empty seat. I'm like a magnet for lunatics. I'd spent about 15 minutes sat alone before my next Bus Friend got on. An old woman. Had she swallowed a fly? No. Did she live in a shoe? No. No, she'd pissed herself. So not only did I have to contend with MWCWTIAH's aroma, but I also had stale old lady wee mixing with it.

Surely that's enough for one bus ride? Nope. Not for me. Because then some twat's phone started ringing. Loudly. And he couldn't find it.

His ringtone?

The Harry Potter theme tune.

I'd like to start my blog with a song that pretty much sums up my luck with public transport.