I'm a Guest Blogger? You must be Paranormal

 

HERE'S A BLOG I recently wrote for the 'Paranormalists' website.

(You can check it out here )

The set-up is that I imagine what one of my lead characters might say if interviewed. How would they react to the treatment I give them? Would they complain?

In this case, it's Melia (from 'The Amelia Hartliss mysteries' series.)

 

Character Confessions: Amelia Hartliss, spy and Secret Agent

  

Hi, Everybody. My name is Amelia Hartliss, but everybody calls me Melia, (and that’s the first thing I have to ‘thank’ my creator for). Why a short name? Why so informal? Good Grief, I’m a kick boxer, a sharp shooter and a skilled linguist. Why shouldn’t people respect me for being more than a gorgeous female, devastatingly attractive to both males and females. My author is so old-fashioned. He makes me wear tight sweaters and leather boots, tight jeans and jackets. He implies I sashay into rooms. For whose benefit? Watch out, folks. It’s almost as if there’s an adolescent young writer behind this character, and one with raging male hormones!

 

Having said that, the most bizarre thing about the world I inhabit is that nobody swears. None. There’s no profanity. So here we are, in the dirty alleyways and tough cities of post-industrial northern England, and everyone speaks as primly as a church-going spinster on a Sunday. I suppose it’s something I’ve had to get used to, but some days, when things don’t go right, (and that’s pretty often, in my world,), I just need to vent. Doesn’t everyone? I’m surrounded by bank robbers, terrorists, thieves and kidnappers, but no matter what the tension, there’s not a single expletive to be heard. (I’ve been told some readers like that.)

 

Unfortunately, author Mike Scantlebury has never explained himself on this odd quirk. Also, he hasn’t allowed me to comment on it, though me - being a tough cookie in a Man’s world - might have noticed it, don’t you think? In fact, he doesn’t allow me much opportunity to explain myself at all. He might tell you that I was born in Manchester, England, but hey, there’s a million people in this city and a dozen suburbs. Where was I born and where did I grow up? What school did I go to? (Well, I know that. It was called Levenshulme High School for Girls, in the south of the city. Is that of any interest to you?) One thing that does keep cropping up is that I live in an apartment at the back of Piccadilly train station, the main one in central Manchester, and that I have a great view of the old canal basin on Dale Street from my second floor window. Yeah, it’s nice, well furnished and secure, (being off the ground), but when did I move in? Did I buy it? I can’t remember any of those details, even though I’ve been here for years, and plenty of characters have come to visit me here, including Prince William, grandson of the Queen, (in the ‘Olympics 2012’ novel).

 

I suppose I had parents, like most people, but that’s another closed book, to coin a phrase. The only relative I’m ever allowed to mention is my cousin Liv, who lives on the other side of the river, in Salford. Apparently, we spent a lot of time together when we were teenagers, but our lives together only really re-started when the city of Salford decided to elect its own Mayor for the first time in 2012 and Liv’s Dad, my Uncle Marty, got involved in the more sleazy aspects of the electoral process. Marty is dead now, and Liv has moved from her childhood home in Swinton to a smart new flat in the precincts of the University of Salford. Not bad, I say. Not bad for a girl with less education than me, who left school with no qualifications, and had to make up for lost time by attending Night School and Evening Classes. The gal has done well for herself. The only thing I resent about her is that she keeps poaching my men. There was a time when she was engaged to Terry the technician - from my Unit - but that all fell through for some reason. Later, she married a police detective called Don, a sergeant in Manchester City Police, the best friend of my boyfriend, Mickey.

 

Well, I say ‘boyfriend’. I’ve got no reason to be sure about that. Mickey is sometimes portrayed as being a Secret Agent, like me, but a while ago he retired from the Service, only to resurface occasionally as an active spy, who keeps disappearing off abroad on hair raising missions. When he’s here, he’s great, but there’s plenty of times when he just isn’t. When I was having to deal with the ‘gun running Granny’ Jan Branch in my recent adventure ‘Co-Vid2020’, he was nowhere to be seen So, please don’t blame me that I fell in love with a younger man while on a short holiday in Spain. He was called John Lewis - well, that was the identity he gave me - and I only found out his true background - and real purpose - much later. Oh dear, that does make me seem like some sort of irresponsible, gullible chick, doesn’t it? Please don’t judge me. It’s the way I’m written. My critics sometimes say I’m introduced as a smart and modern young woman and then I go and commit the simplest mistakes and fall for the most obvious fabrications. I wish I could be painted as clever as I am, but No. As one critic recently said: ‘They say you’re a spy, so how come that when something happens, you’re always the last to know?’

 

I don’t know. I’m the last to know. Like, for instance, you might be told I work for a government department here in Britain, but the Unit keeps changing its name. The work we do is mainly anti-terrorism, so you might guess we’re linked to MI5, the place where James Bond works. But he’s in London, of course, and I’m up here, in the northern Regional Office. At least, I think I am. Some people say that MI5 doesn’t have any offices in the Regions, but what do they know? If there were no regional offices, I’d have no place to work, and there wouldn’t be any British Security presence in Manchester or Salford and - well, I wouldn’t exist. But that’s not possible, is it? I’m Amelia Hartliss, Secret Agent, and Mike Scantlebury, author, is quite clear about that.

 

 

Melia, looking the worse for wear, in a recent book.

Here's the link:

Melia in trouble

Beware the MANCHESTER Myth-Makers

 

BEWARE THE MANCHESTER MYTH-MAKERS

 

Every day is a Learning Day, a chance to receive new information, but it’s rare you get a real, honest-to-goodness, slap-in-the-face piece of Inconvenient Truth. For me, it happened recently, the day I was busy telling people that I wrote the ‘Mickey from Manchester’ crime fiction thriller series of novels, and one man joked: ‘Oh, Manchester. I can imagine what that’s like!’

 

The point is, of course, that No, he can’t imagine what that’s like. He can’t. He can’t know what it’s like if he doesn’t know, and he can’t ‘imagine’ if he has to make it up, and anyway, I don’t write about the ‘real’ Manchester - so he can only guess what that might involve!

 

One thing at a time. For a person who lives in Southern England, they might think they ‘know’ about Manchester, in the sense that they hear about it, maybe on radio or in social media, and maybe see it, on The News, or other television programmes, (like the recent BBC documentary about the housing boom in Manchester). But, if it’s not housing, the ‘news’ about Manchester is likely to be only about drug gangs, shootings and stabbings, or perhaps, the occasional terrorist outrage, some bomb or other. These are the regular components of News bulletins. If you watch such stuff, you’re liable to see distraught residents, bemoaning the latest assault, and you’re liable to think, ‘Wow, I certainly don’t want to live in that War Zone’. In which case, you might be forgiven for forgetting that knife crime in London is higher than anywhere else in the country, and that violent crime in Glasgow is the highest in the United Kingdom. But Hey, we’re talking Facts here, and I’m as dependent on the media News as you are, for hearing about True Crime in this city. And, unfortunately for you, I don’t usually bother with such things, anyway. I write Crime Fiction, which makes my original Critic’s comment irrelevant. Even if Manchester was as gun-totin’ as 1930s Chicago, the only way he could be correct that he ‘knew’ what my books are like, is if I did him the honour of limiting my Manchester novels to reflecting life in this place, as it is. I don’t. Far from it.

 

But that’s talking about mere impressions gained from the Media. What about actual experience? What if you knew this city? What if you had actually visited? Well, I’ve had plenty of relatives come to stay, usually for short amounts of days, and I’ve spoken to people who have been here on business. All those people agree that they have only seen a small amount of the place while they were here, and, since Manchester is a city of a million people, it would be true to say that they hadn’t talked to anything but a fraction of the residents. So, visitors get a fragmentary idea of what the place is like, simply because they haven’t got time to do anything else. But, of course, it’s worse than that. I met a young man in Oxford who had been at University in Manchester. For Goodness’ sake, he was here for three years! And yet, he knew the Uni buildings, where to go for lectures and tutorials, he knew the sites of lots of bars, takeaway food shops and night-clubs, but his sojourn in the city hadn’t given him any information - as far as I could tell - about the culture, the history, or recent crises, conflicts and on-going issues. (Some student! I hope he learned something while he was here.)

 

But, the one thing my young student friend and I could agree on was where things were, not just shops, but also concert halls and football stadiums. Plus, he knew how to get around, the taxis, trams and trains. Well, as I’ve often said: ‘I always get the geography right’. If my hero Mickey walks down Chapel Street in Salford, passing Salford Central train station on his right, and crosses the road and walks up the steps of the URC church, you can be sure those places are there. They actually exist. Now, you might ask, is that because, Mike, you’ve taken advice from ‘How to Write 101’ and you ‘write about what you know’? No, not really. Not only did I learn from attending Writing Workshops, I went on to teaching them myself, and my advice evolved into something different. I told my pupils, ‘START by writing ‘what you know’, and make that the launchpad into your story, when your imagination runs free’. In my example, my hero Mickey walks into the church to attend an Art Exhibition, (which actually happened), but then someone asks him for help in bringing some tables down from the attic. The truth is that the building doesn’t have an upper floor, let alone an attic, (it was blown off by a falling bomb in the Second World War), but - in the story - Mickey gets trapped and has to break through into the building next door, then open a hatch to drop into an office there, much to the surprise of the workers. The sad truth is that the church has no connection with the buildings adjacent. In fact, there is an alleyway between the church and the nearest building. Mickey’s entrapment, AND his escape - dear reader - is total imagination.

 

I’m sorry, I can’t apologise for that. It’s true I write books under a series heading of ‘Mickey from Manchester’ and that most of the bits of the story that concern the city are fantasy, (apart from the geography), but then, I do advertise it as Crime ‘Fiction’, so I have never set out to mislead anyone. On the contrary, I seek to entertain. You might say I am basing my tales in a ‘Mythical Manchester’, a place that only exists in my imagination, but, you see, what I’m trying to say is that MY imaginary land is no more ‘real’ than the imaginary hell-hole of drug gangs that the first speaker assured me was the ‘true’ place, somewhere not worth reading about. In fact, it might be true that my stories set in HIS imagination would be depressing, since all his myths are the negative, threatening and violent kind. Luckily, my ‘mind palace’ is nothing like as downbeat as his. It’s made-up, which means that in my world the Good Guys win and Justice is served. As author, I’ve got the power to deliver that. Oh, and one more thing. Yes, my stuff is made up. So, my protagonist is called - Well, his name isn’t even Mickey! That’s just another ‘mystery’, revealed in a recent volume. ‘Mickey’ is his Dad. If you want to find out my hero’s real name, you’ll need to read Book 17 of the related series, the ‘Amelia Hartliss Mysteries’. Sorry, but it’s true!

 Author Mike Scantlebury takes a selfie with a friend 

Beware the COVER LOVERS

 "You're so wrong. You CAN tell a book by looking at the cover" (they say)

 

My mother had a saying, ‘You can’t tell a book by looking at the cover’, which seems like a sensible enough phrase or saying, and something that mothers might quote at regular intervals and hand down to their children. Unfortunately, she was wrong, dead wrong, and there a million people in Britain, for instance, who would stand up and disagree with her totally, (if she was here). How do I know? Because they are the people who go to an on-line book-store like Amazon and choose their ‘next book to read’ by looking at the picture on the front, first. How do I know that? Because Amazon gives people like me - an author and a self-publisher - that very advice: “Make a big effort to design or commission a striking cover or you may struggle to make sales”. That’s pretty clear, isn’t it? You can’t argue with that. However, it begs a question: who are these stupid people, and why do they behave so nonsensically?

 

You see, I’m not a philosopher, but even I can spot a False Association when I see one. What does ‘great cover’ have to do with ‘great contents’? Are people seriously saying that they believe that the artist who prepares the cover design has some kind of telepathic link with the author of the story that forces them to make a a top-flight product? One inspires the other (or vice versa). What universe does that happen in? Not this one! Most writers produce a manuscript and have it prepared for publication by a traditional publisher (self-publishers are still in the minority). So the reality is that the person who organises the cover designer is not the creator of the written work but the desk-bound organiser of printing and distribution. No, if you’re really interested in what ‘reality’ looks like, then you’ll soon be able to appreciate that the two things - cover and contents - may or may not both be wonderful, and the chances are that one of them is not so good, (and that could be either). So, if you actually look at the books on your shelf for one minute, you will soon find a great cover/poor story combination just as readily as you will find the opposite, poor cover/great novel, and that the winning team - great cover/great novel - are actually quite rare.

 

Sorry to be such a downer. But then, reading Fiction is all about inhabiting worlds of fantasy, so why not invent an alternate reality where covers and contents have a mystical link that has a causal effect: writing a marvellous manuscript will instantly create the conditions where the artist will move to the top of their game, and come up with the goods, a really nice, thrilling cover. Or maybe, it isn’t either of those two that makes such a miracle happen. Maybe the real Wizard is the publisher. Perhaps the sequence is - publisher discovers absolutely impressive story and goes out of their way to commission the best artist to give that work the launch it truly deserves, with a cover that matches the genius of its printed words?

 

Yeah, I agree. Unlikely. No, much more possible is the reality of the False Association. You’re given a really nice wine, it has a picture of a cottage on the label, and after that, you assume that all wine with rustic scenes on the bottle will taste good. Sound familiar? Maybe yes, once upon a time, you picked out a book featuring a man with strong arms riding a horse and, surprise, surprise, the story inside swept you off your feet. You seriously think that the next book with a picture of man and horse will be equally as thrilling? Why? Got any logical reason for assuming such a weird combination? No, what we’re really dealing with here is the way that Modern Life works. We watch television and see advertisements where glamorous models put gunk on their faces to make them attractive. We copy them, in the hope we’ll look good too - ignoring the fact they looked good before the make-up. We didn’t. After the mascara, they still look good. We don’t.

 

Or, we spend our time in the outrageously named ‘Reality Television’, where famous faces pretend to be camping out in the jungle, or pursuing romance with each other in Chelsea and Cheshire. This is actually a new genre, created in the last twenty years, called ‘Semi-Scripted Improvisation’. It certainly isn’t ‘real’, but we choose to believe it. We believe what we SEE. The pictures are there, and we accept - without question - the story they tell. So, it’s no surprise then that a glossy picture on the front of a book should be broadcasting a message that says, ‘This book is in the wonderful world of ‘Excellence’. You like the pic? You’ll love the tale’, and we choose to swallow the sales pitch whole, without question. Just like a pair of jeans wrapped in a celebrity endorsement, it’s much more fun entering into the make-believe existence, than having to walk the streets in plain old trousers. It’s much more exciting to accept that ‘good cover EQUALS good insides’, than having to live in a world where books are random, some good, some bad, and the only way to actually distinguish between them is to try them. That would be too personal. After all, how many people KNOW what they like? It’s simpler - and that’s the bottom line - to have guidance, and a striking cover is just that. It says: ‘Hey, Reader, pick me. I look good, but that’s not all - I taste good too’. Sure you do, Mr Book Cover. Sure you do.

 

Alternatives to being cut by Amazon

Amazon? It's 'Ama-zing!'  

What a great start to the day!

As you may know, I am a crime fiction writer. I construct chiller thrillers set around the metropolitan area of Greater Manchester in the North West of England. I’ve been doing it for years, but every day is different. Like today. Before I sat down and started on the latest chapter of my new novel, I just paused, and thought I would have a quick look at my books on Amazon. There’s a lot of them. Maybe over twenty. That’s quite an achievement, but hey, it’s not all down to me - I’ve had a lot of help over the years. Anyway, I was just scrolling down the list and noticed something odd: many Reviews had disappeared. They’d been cut.

Okay, it takes a while to notice that the train is going off the rails and careering down the side of the mountain, so I didn’t want to react straight away and panic. So I looked, and looked again. After a while, the picture became clear. Some books used to have lots of Reviews, but overnight they’d all disappeared. Other Reviews were still there. Why? Why were they saved? Ah, at last I began to see. The ones that were left were the Five Star reviews. All the others - the two stars, three stars, four stars reviews - had simply disappeared. It was like all the Avengers had vanished and only Robert Downey Junior was left. That was what had happened, I just couldn’t see any sign of Thanos. I didn’t know who the evil mastermind was behind the theft.

Now, don’t take this wrong: I’m not complaining. I mean, I could whine about Amazon and how they keep moving the goalposts, but then, it wouldn’t make sense. It’s not the boys and girls at the online shop that are causing problems - it’s the algorithms, right? Something buried deep in the computer has made a decision, and whoops - all over. These things happen. It’s like waking up one day and saying out loud: ‘Alexa, what’s the weather like today?’ and this voice says, ‘I’m not talking to you today’. But No, it’s no good arguing with Alexa, she’s just a robot. Who cut my Reviews? A robot!

However, after a moment’s thought, I realised one special thing: this is the best thing that’s ever happened to me! I mean, I still don’t know what caused it. Amazon, or the computer that runs the whole operation, had said to himself, ‘Hey, this Mike guy has got a jumble of two’s and three’s. Let’s just erase them, they’re getting in the way’. Zap, gone. Game over. Uh, No, actually. Because look at it. Look! The only things left are the 5-star Reviews. So, Mike Scantlebury, Crime Author, has got a shop-front with selves full of thriller novels. ‘Has Mike got any Reviews?’ you ask. Hell, yes. He’s got a bunch of them, and they’re nothing but Fives. High Five, Dudes!

However, it’s an illusion, of course. Sure, the 5-stars are left, but they’re only attached to a proportion of the books. Meanwhile, some of the books have got no Reviews at all! Lower star Reviews removed? Yes, some books lost all the reviews they ever had, and if they were lower down the scale, they simply disappeared. Uh, Mike, why is that a good thing for you? Because, my Friend, a lot of readers are not using a lot of focus when they scan through the books in the store, looking for something to read. They will catch sight of the 5-star Reviews, I guess, and skim over the books with no stars. Well, okay, I lost their attention for those other volumes, but that’s not a worry for me, because if said Reader likes the look of a ’5-star book’ and buys it, they might like it. If they do, they will get to the end and find one useful thing - a big list of all the other books in the series. They liked the one they’ve got? They’ll buy the next one, or the previous one, or the first in the series. Will they notice it hasn’t got any Reviews? Maybe, but not likely. After all, they’re on a mission - find the next one to buy. Why would they stop and examine Reviews? They know what they want!

So thanks, Amazon. You’ve created a pathway through the forest. We know that most readers are overwhelmed by the mass of trees in front of them, so they look for the ’5-stars’ and that’s like a signpost, an arrow pointing one way and it says, ‘Follow this track’. Once they’re on the track, they may become one of my readers. and then I love ‘em. They will get the chance to join my Mailing List and then they’ll find out about all the Special Offers I make available. They’ll find a link to my website and learn all about me and my world, (which isn’t the ‘Manchester’ you read about in the papers). Once they’re in there, in amongst the trees, they’re hardly likely to stray off the path. Amazon has done what it does best, coralled people into being repeat customers and making the bookshop money. Luckily, that’s also beneficial to writers. Well done, Alexa! It’s a great day.

A new, exciting competition for you (with prizes)

Hi, I'm Mike Scantlebury – author of Scanti-Noir.

If you know me, you'll know I write stories about Amelia Hartliss, Secret Agent, and Mickey from Manchester.

Correction, I write LONG stories.

Novels, mostly. No short stories, or small pieces of fiction. Yet.

For there to be a Mickey or Melia short story would be ground-breaking.

Unusual.

Well, it's happened. I've written one.

And I'm going to give a few lucky people the chance to own this unique extract from the saga that is 'Books about Manchester and Salford'.

A tiny number of people. A select few.

Want to join that club?

Here's the deal.

I'm not selling this unprecedented story.

I'm not giving it away, either.

No, I'm offering it as a prize in a very special competition.

The good news is that everyone who enters for this award will get the prize.

The bad news is that you have to do something for it.

(You can't just buy a ticket!)

I want you to write me a Review.

Now, the good news is that a 'Review' doesn't have to be clever.

It could be short. One word., like 'Interesting'.

It could be a sentence, like 'I enjoyed it'.

It could be a paragraph.

It could be a treatise, a tome, or a volume in itself.

I don't mind.

All I ask is that you got to any of the online bookstores – one or the other -

and add a short review to one of my books.

Any book.

Then, follow one of the links below to either my Twitter or Facebook accounts,

and send me a direct message about what you've done.

Include a link to your Review.

I'll follow the link.

If there's 'a Review' there when I arrive, then you get to read the story.

That's it. That's all. Not much to it, is there?

But hey, I'm not apologising for asking.

I'm an independent writer and publisher. Reviews are my life blood. Because of the arcane rules that an online bookstore like Amazon impose on a free spirit like me, if my books don't get Reviews, they never get promoted. Amazon? Puh. They're crazy.

So, think about it.

If you feel confident about using the international interweb,

and can get yourself out to an online book-store - without getting lost -

then leave a note, and return – safely -

then you get to show off to your friends that you are the proud owner

of a Mike Scantlebury Short Story.

“A what?”

A Mike Scantlebury Short Story.

“But Mike Scantlebury doesn't write short stories!”

Well, you'll know better, won't you?

Okay, sure, this is an experiment.

If it doesn't work, I'll go back to my day job, and write a few more Mickey and Melia novels. (Expect a new one in October, and another before Christmas.)

If it does work, well, I might try it again, some time.

Ouch! I'll have to amend that 'unique' tag then, won't I?

Still, that's well into the future.

For now, there's only this offer.

I'm offering a short story.

I'm asking for a Review.

Let's see how many of you can win that coveted prize.

Mike

Mike Scantlebury on Facebook -MikeScantlebury99

Mike Scantlebury on Twitter - @MikeScantlebury

BBC bans book 'critical' of the BBC

The BBC is moving to Salford Quays.
For people living in the twin cities of Manchester and Salford, this has been the biggest news in years. For Manchester residents, it's a tragedy to see the 1960s office block that housed the BBC headquarters on Oxford Road in the city centre becoming boarded up and empty. For residents of Salford, it's a joy to see famous names move down the river to the brand spanking-new tower blocks that call themselves 'Mediacity', the new home of the BBC in the north west of England.
It's no surprise to hear that the BBC doesn't want to make such a huge upheaval without 'consulting' everybody; they have consulted their own employees, and found that some who now live in Manchester aren't bothered about relocating, but the ones who now work in London aren't looking forward to a move up to the savage north. The BBC haven't bothered consulting people in Manchester, of course, because most of them are gutted. They've 'consulted' with residents of Salford, though, and found two main responses: some are flattered and honoured at the prospect of being host city to the distinguished broadcaster, while hoping that they might find jobs in the shiny new offices. Others are more cynical, convinced that the few new jobs available will suit the unqualified residents who live nearby and unimpressed that the new bars and restaurants of Mediacity will have anything to tempt their palette.
I'm a resident of Salford. When I started thinking about my reaction to the plans, I had mixed feelings: I knew that nobody was going to offer me a job on Salford Quays, not even as a doorman. I also was sympathetic to local people who are having their expectations built up but aren't going to see their sons and daughters employed by the big corporation either, (mainly because of lack of paper qualifications). But, I was also keenly aware of a contradiction: Salford Quays is branding itself as 'Mediacity' but, in my experience, Salford itself is a media city.
When I thought about the message I wanted to get across to the BBC, it's simply this: the BBC is not the only producer of 'media' in Salford. Many Salford residents have skills and experience in making films; plays and drama; songs and music; art; sculpture; and other forms of writing like poetry, stories and books. Having been involved in maintaining a 'Creative Writing' group in the heart of Ordsall for eighteen months, I knew that local people had immense creativity and had come up with an amazing output. This has been showcased at the Ordsall Festival; weekly on Salford City Radio, our local station; and in a book produced in the summer of 2010 of selected writings.
Only one problem: the BBC don't want to hear that someone has written a book which will tell them all this. I've sent it for review to 'Front Row' and the Radio 2 Book show. I've given it to Radio Manchester. I've sent emails; Press Releases; and blogs. The blogs, in particular, are a real problem: if you try to make a link to a book on a BBC blog, they accuse you of 'being commercial' and delete the contribution. Let's be clear: I am completely happy to GIVE AWAY copies of the damn book, if only BBC would deign to read it, and hear the voices of people in Salford.
There is an old Zen saying: 'If a tree falls in the forest, and nobody is there to see it, did it really happen?' We could update that for the modern age: 'If a book is written about the BBC, but they never read it, review it or even allow their employees to hear about it, does that book really exist?'
The BBC has given their answer.

First Bus - The bus company from Hell

If I had to choose the next big organisation that is doing its best to wreck my life, I'd have to pick on First Bus. In overall terms, they are pure evil.

Firstly, they start with an advantage.

They are the only service running up the main road past the area where I live now. The only one. Even though the buses aren't there because they've been designed for us – they are simply wending their way past, on their way to Wigan, twenty miles away – the company provides the only moving vehicle available to me and my neighbours that is able to get us into and out of the great city of Manchester.

When they deign to run.

You see, they have on the bus stop what the company laughingly refers to as a 'Timetable'. It bears about as much link to reality as The X-Files. If you believe in flying saucers in our part of Salford, then you might believe in First Buses too. They are about equally as rare.

Secondly, they change their nomenclature.

During the day the buses running our way will be called a number 33.

After 7 o'clock at night, they become a 63.

Ah, you say, the night service is worth twice as much.

Wrong, quite wrong. It's exactly the opposite. The service after 7pm operates at half the frequency and travels for half the distance. Why, it doesn't even go all the way to Wigan anymore – it stops somewhere past Eccles.

You want Manchester? You want to go out for the night, perhaps to sample the delights of the night-life of City Centre, Manchester, the bars, the nightclubs, the concerts, plays and entertainment? Tough. You can't count on getting there by bus, and you certainly can't be assured of being able to get home by bus. No way. They cease altogether, long before the pubs chuck out. You thought this was a bus 'service'? Not for you, buddy. Not for normal people.

Thirdly, they make up their own rules.

The thing - the one single damn thing that makes every other annoyance feel like a small and unimportant irrelevance - is that First Bus has its own take on reality. In particular, the idea that a bus service exists to drive along the road and pick up people waiting at bus stops. Sounds simple? First Bus don't play by those rules.

Oh, it will take you a while to realise. At first, it seems like a mystery. My experience is that I was standing in the bus area at Piccadilly Gardens in Manchester in the depths of winter, shivering and waiting for a 33 to take me home. I waited, and waited. I arrived just after ten past five. I consulted the timetable. There should have been a bus at 5.13, but it didn't arrive. No matter. The next one was scheduled for 5.33. It didn't arrive either. Strange. Every other bus was coming along, including the 34, the 35, the 37 and the 39. But no 33. None at all.

You guessed it. The 5.53 didn't arrive either. Eventually I was gratified to see the 6.13 hauling up, I caught it and got home, having wasted an hour of my life which I will never get back.

The explanation? You think some buses broke down, and had to be hauled back to the garage by a tractor unit, maybe. Or maybe they got caught in the traffic, couldn't move, and are still out there, stuck in a solid line of cars and trucks on the East Lancs Road, dreaming of arriving in Wigan, one day?

No, the answer – which I got from a bus driver – is that all those buses that should have arrived between 5 and 6 were there, yes, there, in Piccadilly Gardens. But, and here's the big problem, they were running late – yes, because of the traffic. So, the devious trick they play, encouraged by management, is to arrive at one end of the Gardens surreptitiously, dump all their passengers, then, quietly and unobserved – kill all the lights, knock off the display at the front and back of the bus, and roar out of the bus area as quick as their overcharged engines can take them – without passengers. When they get to Eccles, miles out of the city of Manchester, they can then switch lights and signs back on, become a proper bus again and start picking people up. The point of this subterfuge? They've saved time, by failing to pick people up and drop them off, and are now back on the official timing schedule, at least as far as the part of the journey from Eccles to Wigan. The other bit, the distance from Manchester to Eccles, is lost, gone for good.

The reason it works, and works so well, is that the first part of the journey is the most popular. More people get on in Manchester city centre than at any other stop, and then most of these same people disembark at the few stops between that place and Eccles and do so more than on any other part of the trip. Leaving them out – leaving us stranded – is a brilliant way to save time and get back on schedule. In other words, being 'on time' is more important than having people on board the vehicles, and it is! The bus company gets fined for running late. It doesn't get any penalties for running empty, apart from having no income in fares. Hell, they're used to that. They just don't like the fines, that's all, and have evolved to avoid them.

So, a bus company that finds out its customers want to travel to and from Manchester, but only in the short space between that town and Eccles, might be expected to start a service that runs that route, picks people up and charges them money. Not First Bus. They would rather leave passengers stranded in Manchester city centre than have them slowing the service down and causing them problems with the regulators.

Well done, First Buses, the bus company that prefers a 'business' running buses without customers than serving the passengers and giving them the transport that they want.

Oh, topsy-turvey world.