It's the last week of the 38. This makes me glum and sentimental. I'm making every personal route possible bypass Angel. It's worth it. Nothing quite like sitting in the cove/back seat of a routemaster.
The Guardian's Ian Sinclair, can romanticise for me, in a review of The Bus We Loved: London's Affair with the Routemaster:
There is something seductive in top-deck travel, that old stagecoach experience without the full-on weather. The single-decker bendy bus will never capture our hearts, despite its laudable attempt to revive free transport. It's like surfing an avalanche, hanging on while the street moves away from you. This Mercedes version of a mutated centipede is concertina-bellied; everybody stands, everybody trembles.
So, when the 73 died, there was a great hullabaloo. Check the bus full of stories for details. I'm wondering whether anybody's mapping passenger routes or writing 38 word stories commemorating the days leading up to October 28th. Any which way, the logo can not pass unmentioned: