So the bendy-buses (for convenience reasons I shall refer to them as ‘Bender’, n. sing., or ‘Benders’ n. plur.) continue to insist on pissing all over the grave of the recently decomissioned routemasters.
I now believe that Benders are scared of the morning. I have now tried to catch a Bender in the morning rush hour several times (well four to be exact) and not one Bender has opened its doors for me, I have been forced to get a 476 (not a bad bus, but I wanted more ammunition to throw at Benders). All I want is one measley Bender, its not much to ask for is it.
The hunt continues.