Bloody Kids!

I have never made any bones about it, but in general, I don't like people.  Individuals, yes fine, I like my individual people, but groups of people I don't like.  I don't like, for example, Christmas Shoppers.  I don't like the army of idiots on mobility scooters.  I don't like chavs.  Individuals from each group, not an issue - I have friends that have shopped at Xmas, I have friends on mobility scooters, and I have a couple of friends that are chavs.

This year, however, I have a new bane.  They're not a new group on my "not to be liked" list, but they have pushed their way closer to the top.  And I DO mean that literally.  VERY literally.

With Molly not having changed schools yet from her existing school on Canvey to one a little closer, three days a week I am taking her across, and two days a week, Kellie is doing it.  At least, that was the plan before some KNOBHEADS closed the shop.

But I digress.

This journey each day isn't such a problem, only takes an hour an a half - two hours tops - both ways.  The problem, however, is the horde of kids that get on the bus.  Most mornings, me and Mo stumble from the house - it's still quite dark at half seven - and get on our local bus which is empty save one or two equally-tired looking passengers.  We then travel a mile or so into Pitsea, where we wait for the bus to Canvey.  Usually, we've not long had one already go past, but that'd get us there really early, so we get on the 0801, and where one has not long gone, we're the first there.

Over the next fifteen minutes, however, we are joined by what I can only describe as a RABBLE.  Rude, shouting, swearing, screaming, ignorant little spawn that clearly have nothing better to do that be rude, shouty, sweary, screamy and ignorant.

Now, this is England, and in England, we are well know for our ability to queue.  To form a line, then everyone gets to where they need to get to.  Unless, it appears, you're under 16.  In that case, you get to push the 8 year old girl out the way, to scream and swear at one another and throw food around.

Remember, this is before eight-fricking-A-M.

So, the #22 bus pulls up, and invariably has to ease into the stop carefully because the little darlings that have swarmed in are playing chicken with the bus, standing in the way, probably hoping to be hit so they can sue the company.  Then, as one - like a cluster of virus cells - they push onto the bus and run riot.  It's gotten to the point where I just grab Molly by the collar and pull her back so she doesn't get stomped into the ground by them.  Once they are on, we get on, but of course, there's no where to sit - the cherubs are smearing their muddy shoes all over the bus, bitching and hollering and - oh yes - still lobbing food at one another.

Molly is eight.  Still young, still naive to the world.  "Why are they acting like such idiots?" is her usual question.  If SHE gets it, why don't they?

We then have to sit sorry, stand, through all the traffic, listening to the kids conversations.  Bare in mind, these kids are 11-16 years old.  The usual conversations consist of the following:
-Who they are having sex with
-How many times they've been excluded from school
-How many times they've sworn at their teachers
-How many times they've been cautioned by the police
-Who they know that's currently in jail
-Where the cheapest place to get weed is

And so on.  And for the first four items, the higher the number, the better apparently.  I find myself talking to Molly about the most mundane things, trying to keep her ears focused on ME and not THEM.  Now don't get me wrong, I am pretty sure that most of the answers these turds give are made up on the spot so they look good to their mates, but holy crap.

So I will say it now - Dom, Jaysen, Molly, Tam - if you read this in the years to come, and we find out you've been acting the same, may someone have mercy on your soul, because I won't ;)

All I can think at this moment is, thank f$ck Mo starts at the local school on the 24th.  No more Dawn Bus Rides!

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