Anyone who knows me, knows I have a fear of taking the kids cycling. Last year, when I took the older two on theroad for the first time, I almost burst a blood vessel trying to keep them safe.
We love cycling, however every car I see is a potential threat, buses are simply the devil himself, and for the love of god don’t get me started on trucks and lorries.
We took the bikes out this weekend, BB sat on the back of mine, her legs have not yet figured out pedaling. Plus in this heat, why cycle when you can cruise along behind a sweating mother. Twin Boy and Twin Girl climbed on their cycles, I checked, double checked, and triple checked their helmets whilst they took turns to roll their eyes at me.
Then we were ready.
We took a right out of the drive and I spotted the Number 50 turning into the street.
“Bus” I screeched in an unrestrained, clearly panicked tone. “Bus, watch, out.”
In front of me I heard two sighs in unison and a hissed whisper, “I told you she would be like this.”
“It’s fine mum,” called Twin Boy, “we see it.”
“You would have to blind or stupid not to.” added my loving daughter.
We continued, my offspring unaware of the danger ahead.
From behind I watched in horror as the bus morphed into a face, the top deck turned into demonized eyes, with thick lashes that were dripping determined hatred. The lower deck turning into a grinning jaw, with fangs hanging from each windscreen wiper, the mouth chomping in excited anticipation as it approached my children.
BB clearly saw it too as she gripped my back tightly.
The bus was a road accident waiting to happen.
“Bus.” I screamed more urgently as the fangs started to drip blood onto the road.
“Same one.” cried out Twin Boy as Twin Girl let go off her handle bars momentarily to signal the ‘crazy’ sign round her forehead to her twin brother. The bus lurched forward, intent on chewing up my little, innocent babes, and yet they pushed on, almost imperious to danger.
“Bus” I yelled, my tone now reaching delusional. “Bus” repeated BB, “Bus, bus.”
No one seemed to want to stop, no one was paying any mind to the huge blood dripping, fang infested, manically crazed double decking red bus aiming straight at my family.
“Enough.” I cried with torment in my tone.
“For God’s sake that is enough, turn around we are going home.”
Unable to watch any more I flipped my bike onto the kerb and pedaled furiously back to the comfort of my drive. To my relief, I heard the children do the same.
We arrived home and I dismounted as the bus ambled past my drive, a hollow ‘I’ll get you next time laugh’ growling from its engine. The kids tossed their bikes down in disgust.
“Mum, that wasn’t a ride, that wasn’t even a merry-go-round.”
I ignored the tears, the tantrums, the pleas to get back on the road. One day, when they are older, they will read this and know how lucky they were, how they were very nearly demon bus breakfast.
Then, and only then, they will thank me.
If you have been impacted by a devilish road accident or terrorized by a demon bus please check out Irwin Mitchell’s site, for any accident that exists outside of your own imagination, he is reputed to be very good.
This is a sponsored post, however don’t let this lead you to believe the demonic bus was all in my head.