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I have not been able to locate the poo bus which is incredibly sad. I caught a glimpse of it a few weeks ago and exclaimed, aloud, and to no one, how wonderful it was. I believe I may have screeched: OMFG! A poo bus!

I am certain that I rushed home to tell The Mom all about it, because there is no one in this world who would appreciate such a thing more than she. In fact, she was so delighted by this notion, that I do believe she was considering coming over just so we could have a ride on it – and this from the woman who travels almost exclusively by private car or taxi.

Bristol is the first UK European Green Capitol and as such they’re maximising their green credentials, though I feel like the poo bus came before any of that. This is a city that rioted when a Tesco wanted to open in – and I kid you not – the Republic of Stokes Croft, which has been described to me as the Hackney of Bristol. It’s a lovely place, hardly a chain shop in sight (which could be said for much of Bristol in comparison to London). The Mom is always going on about how nice Bristol must be and though she’s never been here, I believe it’s because this place is not that dissimilar to Berkeley, which is where she feels that she really comes from. The land of the fruits and the nuts, literally and figuratively. I mean, people here, when not on the poo bus, are frequently to be seen on unicycles. I’m not even making that up.

But back to the poo bus. As someone with Crohn’s disease, I spend a lot of time thinking about my poo. And The Mom spends a lot of time listening to me talk about my poo. It’s like when people have kids – it’s all they can talk about because it takes up so much of their time. If you spent as much time as I have done in the toilet, trust me, you would be deeply involved in what comes out of your bum.

I feel that Bristol has long been moving towards a poo bus, if only because this is where the Bristol Stool Scale hails from. Some geniuses here have devised a series of images denoting poos, raining from optimal to go to the doctor. When I was in the midst of a miserable Crohn’s flare chez The Mom, I frequently referred to it. As in, Ma, it’s a Bristol Stool Scale 5! No idea if The Mom retained much of what this meant, but still, there is something fitting about the city where this scale was invented – which is the standard now – having launched a bus powered by poo.

It really is something to behold, too, when you see it. The bus, not the images on the scale. There are cute cartoon-like images of people on the toilet, doing their business. Right underneath the windows where happy travellers are ferried to wherever it is they want to go.

I’m quite gutted really that I haven’t yet see this thing in action, and actually went out over the weekend in search of the poo bus. I went to the centre where there are a lot of busses and I saw nothing. Which is disheartening. However, now that I know it exists, I am making it my mission to find it and take it. I know not where I might end up, but if the bus runs out of steam, or poo, I shall be happy to top it up. Free of charge.

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