He needed to go into London on a Sunday but had forgotten that the trains would not be running due to engineering works. What would usually be a nineteen-minute journey into town took the best part of an hour on the bus service offered as an alternative. All he could do was look out of the window as the home counties faded into the edges of the suburbs: he could never read in a road vehicle without feeling travel sick.
Early in the journey, only minutes after the coach had pulled away from the bus stands outside the station, a man near the front asked to be let off. He had changed his mind about making the trip into the city.
"Seriously? You can't just open the door and let me off? We're at a red light."
"You're not getting off here," said the driver.
"Where can you let me off?"
"You're not getting off. This is a rail replacement bus. You're on the train now. You can't just get off the train when you feel like it, can you?"
"But this isn't a train. It's a bus. Why can't you just let me off? What difference does it make to you?"
"Sit down. You're not getting off."
The man sat down. He made a call on his mobile phone.
"I don't believe this," he said to somebody. "I have to sit on this bus all the way into London. Nineteen miles. Because the driver won't let me off."
"It's a rail replacement bus!" the driver shouted. "You're not getting off!"
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