“I’m on the bus” says the passenger sitting at the side of me.

I’m on “that bus” says I.

The dreaded number 3, Corn Exchange to White Rose, a journey I’ve come to hate.

I leave my car at White Rose and get the number 3 so I can use my bus pass.

Is it worth witnessing the dark side of human nature to save the cost of parking in town and doing my bit for the environment?

“Open the fucking doors, before I kick them in” says passengers who wants to be dropped off at traffic lights, driver refuses, he then starts fisting the screen protecting the driver.

“Please don’t put your feet on the seat” says polite passenger to young, head-shaven male. “What’s it got to fucking do with you where I put my fucking feet”

Drunk, staggering towards me, shouldn’t have given him eye contact, before we’re at the next stop, he’s asleep on my shoulder, snoring heavily.

At least he doesn’t tell me to fuck off when I wake him up!

Children in pushchairs crying, desperately trying to attract their mother’s attention away from their mobile phone.

Young child running up and down bus with can of fizzy pop, mum oblivious, looking out of window, knew it was going to end in tears, whole can exploded down front of ample bosomed young woman, dressed in red who got off at Fred Windsor’s massage and health club “Look what your fucking child has done!”

The mother continues staring out of the window.

“What’s wrong with my ticket?” says the passenger when the driver refuses it. “It’s out of date, mate”

He then proceeds to berate driver, shouting, banging on screen, spitting at him. We remain stationary, police are called, passenger legs it.

Then, thank heavens, PR1 opens.

I can now leave my car in the car park, hop on the bus and am in Leeds in 10 minutes.

The journey is calm and quiet, passengers smile, say “Good morning” and thank driver at end of journey.

It costs £2, but is worth every penny, my faith in humanity restored.