Well the ability of this bus to carry me through,back to and alongside my memories, mainly from the 1980s, continues, slightly uncannily, to press itself on me. Going in the other direction, city centre bound, we passed Princes Gate East, where, in 1984/5, I had my first (Liverpool, selfcontained) flat; well,I call it a flat; it was, actually:
1. bed semi-suspended over a bathroom/kitchen in a very high ceilinged ground floor room,(there was a ladder upto the bedroom, which had the appearance of kitchen shelves but wasn’t; because it was, well, a ladder…health and safety was not the concern of this particular private landlord.)
2. But it was home for a year, my first UNshared home; and it took a great leap, amidst parental discord, to get there.
3. It had what they call character: the daft, quirky layout, the rats you could hear at night and its feed-the gas-10p slot meter.
4. It was the key to my new gay life, whereat I would arrive at 3 am, with chips after 4 nights a week clubbing(in those days, the clubs shut by 2.30).I would lay on my pedastalized bed and devour gay content novels and short stories from News from Nowhere(then in its second premises in a rundown, ramshackle but glorious shop in Whitechapel)
5. It had no doorbell; friends knocked on the (ground floor) window; where are they now?: I have lost touch with ALL!(:
So the little green bus is my madeleine:)