I legitimately would like to drive a yellow bus when I’m older so I’ve actually thought about – I want to be either a crossing guard or drive a yellow bus. Drive the kids to school or let them cross to school so, you know, that’s something I’m excited about. I’m serious about that. I think that will be great.
Even in downtown office areas, people would probably beg for a shuttle bus service to ferry them swiftly to the railway stations and bus stations, instead of forcing them to travel squashed up in shared-taxis.
Just by default, because I don’t have kids on my bus, I’m putting the studio on my bus. Where everybody else is doing their cribs on their bus, I’ll have a little studio, so I’m going to invite my bandmates, on days off, to come and keep writing so we can continue the creative process and keep it going through the tour.
For the first time ever we have our own buses. That’s purely out of necessity because Gwen’s got her nannies and the babies on her bus, and Tom has his wife and his nanny and baby, and Adrian his wife, nanny and their son.
It’s the little things that stick with you though. Like the boring airport layovers and the bus breaking down in Prague. Those were the real bonding moments.
I took a while to fall in love with Val d’Isere. It was November 1985 and, keen to delay getting a ‘serious job’ after university, I had signed up for a season as a chalet girl. What struck me first back then, as I rolled into town on the Bladon Lines bus, was the sheer ugliness of the place.
There are moments in life we all remember, and I will never forget where I was on 7 July 2005 when the awful news came through that a series of bombs had gone off on the London Underground and on a London bus.
When I was young, airports were quite a nice place to be – people put nice clothes on to fly – but now it is like a bus station. It is horrendous.
Not only does the title ‘We’re Here’ highlight the fact that me, Shangela, and Eureka are here, but we as a queer community, we were already here. We were already existing in your space before these drag queens showed up with a big purse bus.
I miss the times I hung out with my friends. Instead of taking the bus, we would just walk, talk and laugh a lot.
You do the shows, you get on the bus, you go to sleep, you wake up and you’re in a different place, and then you do it all again.
I only started driving lessons because of comedy – before that, there’s be no need. There was a bus from where I lived to where I worked and I had a very obliging, mobile sister.
We don’t really consider it a prank show because we’re not pranking other people – we’re throwing each other under the bus.
I come from a humble background. My dad moved to London 45 years ago and worked as a bus conductor whereas my mother worked in a factory. We never had it easy.
Once I was 13 and on the bus with me mate Mary when we passed this little bit of green where all the winos used to go and it was a little bit embarrassing because I saw me dad there amongst them all. When it was bad, it was very bad.
Growing up in the ’70s, if you were a girl or woman, a man could tell you what to do – if you were sitting on the bus: ‘Get up,’ ‘Move,’ whatever. You did what you were told.
Mum used to take us to Breach Candy on the number 63 bus. After school, we’d swim, ride horses, play rugby.
Being in Ann Arbor, if I wanted to go from my apartment to the gym, I could get on the bus and it would be a two-minute ride, or a 20-minute walk.
I think I’m a fun flatmate. I’m always cheerful. I go on tour with my band so it’s 12 people on one bus and I feel like I’m the one who’s happy in the morning. I’m not a chaotic person, but I might slack off on doing the dishes from time to time.
The tabloids so easily throw people under the bus for a one-day sensation on the newsstand but sadly don’t care about the long-term damage it does to those involved.
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