It's Tuesday, April 28. A bus ride looms. The fallout from my marathon walk to The Gleaner is beginning to take toll. My muscles have seized up and my flat feet are aching from unaccustomed use. The temptation to call in sick is looking ever so attractive but I overcome the urge.

After whipping up breakfast fuel, I am ready to 'bus a move'. I leave home at 8:30 a.m. and walk down Waterloo Avenue, then Surbiton Road, and down Hope Road to Half-Way Tree Square. I'm eager to understand the workings of the recently built transport centre, but I decide instead to hop on to a Coaster bus by the town clock. As my luck would have it, I'm the only one without a seat when the bus drives off.

I'm soon put off-balance as I realise I've just boarded MTV on wheels. Despite the police's insistence that they have launched a zero-tolerance campaign against music in public buses and taxis, this Coaster was fully loaded: one TV screen on the shade flap at the front passenger seat and two other large tellies for other passengers. We are treated to pop music including Ne-Yo's Closer, Rihanna's Take A Bow and Usher's Love In This Club. Shaggy and Akon complete my blockbuster entertainment package.

As the music blares, the passengers seem resigned - some enjoy the videos while others, nerves rattled, just endure the inevitable. Looking around, I notice that the passengers are mainly female. As I survey the crowd, it strikes me that bus babes are particularly attractive, and I start making plans to ply the route in the future to increase my marriage prospects. Perhaps it's the 30-year itch beginning to flare.

Graffiti postcards

I finally get a seat when the bus reaches the Kingston School of Nursing stop. Graffiti greet me. 'Gaza 2 de wurl' and other more colourful four-letter words are postcards specially for me.

Though it's a school day, traffic is moving pretty smoothly. At Cross Roads, the next major pick-up point before downtown, the conductor hollers at an old woman who tries to board. A male passenger, angry at the 'ductor, lashes out: "Wha' di (BLEEP) yuh a duh? She coulda be yuh madda!" The scraggly conductor retreats and shuts his trap.

By the time I disembark near Charles Street, very light dew begins to spot my shirt. My legs pick up speed and in less than 10 minutes I burst through the newspaper's entrance.

Tips: Make sure you aren't carrying lots of baggage. You'll need your hands to hang on for dear life during the jerky journey.

Cost: $50 per ride

My projected petrol savings:

Workweek, Monthly, Yearly$1,000, $4,000, $48,000

Must-have tools: Umbrella or easily foldable raincoat.