Why I’m on board for the homophobic bus

London has long since lost its allure for me — altogether too many cars, foreigners, cyclists, middle-class liberals and people who, like me, work in the media, as they call it. I was born in London but only feel truly at home in the north-east of England, an area of the country within which the constituents of that list I quoted above are almost nonexistent. But I am thinking now of moving back to the city — it’s possible that I could afford a flat in somewhere such as Brockley, or perhaps Catford — to take advantage of a radical new development in our capital. Because rumbling along the streets of London quite soon will be homophobic buses.

I’m well into my fifties now, and jaded, so nothing much that happens in the world induces a sense of marvel and excitement. But homophobic buses really do it for me. As the Proclaimers once sang, I would walk 500 miles — just to sit, proudly, on a homophobic bus.