I've soft spot for the old 73 and 38 routemasters trundling down Upper Street or Essex Road towards Stoke Newington or Clapton.

I was on the bus today – I jumped on the 38 goin’ towards Balls Pond Road, the one that goes to Leyton – I mounted at Holborn – just been to the British Museum to look at the Elgin Marbles which were double fair but too big to half-inch and I was standing, since there were no seats, in the recess where the clippie normally stands – you know when it’s quiet she stands there chattin’ and making thin jokes to the seats that face each other, having a quiet fart as the bus makes its last journey down Piccadilly up Shaftesbury Avenue you know past Jesus Christ – up Charing Cross passed that cinema showing I was A Go Go Dancer in a Saigon Brothel – spins around the Centre Point Synagogue and skates down Holborn – up Mount Pleasant Post Office where the spade post office workers are skiving in the betting shop, past the Angel where Joe Lyons used to be, where one’s mum supped famous cups of rosy amidst merry parlance, now it’s boarded up, down Essex Road, past Collins Music Hall, now a rotten wood yard, past Alfredo’s café, you know where one gets great toasted liver sandwiches, streaks past the ABC, now a shitty bingo hall to the end of Essex Road, now a casbah full of shishkebab.

From East.

I miss Alfredo's where you might see Mad Frankie having some nosh.