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A female Varied Eggfly (Hypolimnas bolina nerina) pauses momentarily on the ground. Above Flying Fish Cove, Christmas Island.
Until recently bus number 918 was known as the 50 / 50 bus. The exterior of the bus was left on one side in the old harlequin livery and painted on the other side in the new madder and white livery. The interior was updated on one side with the new blue moquette and buggy/wheelchair spaces, and the other side was left with tartan seats.
This bus has now recieved an all over vinyl for the Edinburgh Festival Fringe
Here is 918 on the service 35 to Ocean Terminal pausing at the Gyle Centre.
Bergab laufen ist nicht immer schmerzfrei. Besser ist: Pause machen und die Aussicht genießen. Das Foto entstand nach Ribadesella, kurz vor dem Ort La Vega auf dem Camino de la Costa.
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The newest little addition to 'Pause', the new cat café in Bournemouth. The cute little thing was curled up tightly inside a pouch of a hoodie :)
With ADL having paused Plaxton coach bodywork production at its Scarborough factory to manage large volumes of bus orders, operators' requirements for new coaches are increasingly having to be met by European and Chinese manufacturers. Currently, only MCV and UNVI are bodying Volvo chassis for the UK market.
Plaxton introduced the lower height Leopard in 2013 as a replacement for the Profile, and it was available exclusively on Volvo B9R and then B8R chassis prior to the pause.
Cardiff-based Adventure Travel, whose coach operations are marketed as Adventure Coachlines, operates a single example fitted with 72 seats, which was new to Peterborough Council. She has recently returned to Swansea depot for school contracts and is captured climbing Mount Street in Gowerton in July 2025.
The parks at Upper Clements had been there forever, I thought. Generations, surely. When you're young, you naturally assume that everything before your birth has a long and storied history. In reality, the outdoor zoo only opened in 1977, and the amusement park in 1989 — just before I turned two. But the structures were built with a certain older style in mind, so the illusion of history was pretty complete. Thirty years later, after much financial struggle and revolving ownership, it was all shuttered forever in 2019. There's very little left, just a few forgotten buildings on the zoo side, in view of some public trails. But like most folks my age in this area, I've got plenty of memories scattered.
Upper Clements Park had been my childhood Disney World through the 1990s, a county fair kind of place, plenty of thrills for the country crowd. We’d enter with our all-inclusive passes, told in neon green bracelets ratcheted to our wrists. I’d wear mine for days, to bed, in the bath, to church, until it finally turned so faded and threadbare that it popped off or peeled away. We’d take the rattling rollercoaster and the shuddering log flume ride, the Sissiboo Sizzler that climbed high overlooking the Annapolis River, splashing down among the overwhelming crowds of people in all directions. It was all pretty parochial in retrospect, especially after we actually went to Disney in 1998. That sort of took the shine off small-scale amusements closer to home.
So with all those crowded memories, it seemed strange to be the first boy arriving at an empty park by dawn, to locked gates like everything was derelict. That's how it was every Saturday at the age of fifteen, for my first summer job in 2003. The bus ride from Bridgetown took the better part of an hour, and it was still well before opening when I reached my destination. I'd pull the cord and disembark, and in the chill of a riverside dawn, sprint the apple orchard and hop the fence before the first summer strangers arrived. The birds chirped unaware that they’d soon be drowned by the noise of hundreds, and the rattle and wail of outdoor entertainment.
It was my kind of employment, coming with a built-in guarantee of invisibility. I’d only taken the job because it let me hide away, at the Craft Co-op just inside the main entrance, in a building mimicking an old farmhouse design. I sat among the works of a dozen different local artists, piled up in various configurations, slumped like a lump behind the desk. Weighed down on my shoulder, I’d brought along a tape deck and a stack of cassettes, music I’d downloaded off the internet, burned to disc, then recorded over to analog. It was the most convoluted manner I could manage to take my favorite bands along.
It kept me distracted from anything resembling work, killing time in a slow-motion murder as shadows dragged easy from the east windows to the west. I’d take hour-long lunch breaks, returning to discover no one waiting at the door. I’d sometimes flip the deadbolt and sit in the empty attic, kicked back a few feet from the windows — estranged stranger to the world buzzing below. I’d often spot the head of security standing by the gate, an extended family relation we'd often joke on for his dramatic comb-over. I'd called it after the Wheel of Fortune: "'Round and 'round it goes, where it stops, no one knows."
I was an ineffectual employee, but with no one watching, it never seemed to matter. So long as I opened and closed on time, there was no greater expectation. But I faltered with my mathematical calculations, all that long-hand addition and multiplication of percentages. If there was any discrepancy by the end of that summer, it was surely my fault — but I was never questioned for it. My daily wage was barely beyond the cost of lunch and bus fare, so I ended that season with just a fistful of dollars for my trouble.
I only went back once again in 2009, with my sister and her young family. It seemed strange to be grown and revisiting what seemed smaller than ever before. Now that it's mostly all gone off the face of the earth, it's fascinating to pause and haunt my own memories. Not for the sake of nostalgia, of which I'm a great enemy, but for the ghosts of stories themselves. The past, of course, does not exist. All there is, is present. The rest is only in our heads.
January 6, 2026
Upper Clements, Nova Scotia
Year 19, Day 6631 of my daily journal.
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