Man, thirtyish, with expensive pram: Is it? Is it really?

Man, fiftyish, with camelhaircoat: Good lord, is it? My goodness. Really?

Woman, thirtyish, with fendi bag: Gosh, it is, too.

Man, thirtyish: Must’ve gone up in the new year, I suppose

Woman, thirtyish: What a rip orf!

Man, fiftyish: Is it really? What, to just over the bridge? Really?

Man, thirtyish: Seems like an awful lot for just going over the bridge.

Man, fiftyish: To anywhere? You’re kidding, aren’t you?

Woman, thirtyish: Honestly, I can’t believe it. What a total rip orf!

Man, fiftyish: Not his fault, darling, he didn’t make the decision, did he?

Man, thirtyish: Gawd, no. Some wanker from the council, no doubt.

Woman, thirtyish: Bloody hell, though, what a bloody rip orf!

Man, thirtyish: They ought to tell you, really.

Man, fiftyish: Well, seems like a ridiculous amount of money for such a short journey, but there you go…. one pound…. and….. fifty pence.

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It’s the same every year. Horsey SW London people who only get the bus twice a year (when they leave their 4×4 at home so they can have more than a couple of glasses of wine with dinner) get on one during the first few weeks of the new year, boggle massively at the most recent hike in fares, and then harangue the driver mercilessly about the increase, hold up the rest of the queue while they haggle and refuse to believe the new cost, then grudgingly pay up and spend the rest of the journey whining (whinnying?) noisily to each other about the injustice of it all, whilst looking at a gold watch (him) or rummaging in a handbag (her) or pushing a pram (either), which undoubtedly cost more than twice what the bus driver makes in a week.

They were only going two stops, as well. I don’t mind people being mean, or even mean and loud, as much as I resent them being mean and loud and lazy.