"Putting on the agony" sang Lonnie Donegan in 1957, "Putting on the style. That is what the young folk are doing all the while." It was not just the young folk -they were all doing it. The
new buses that zoomed their way from Twiverton into Bath were putting on the style as well. Their engines hummed with all the smooth authority of Daimler cars. Most stylish of all were the Nymph Venuses in blue jeans who emerged out of their make-up parlours to try out the unexpectedly sensual feel of the bus company's shiny soft-padded squelching seats. 'Tubby' Lard was in such a hurry to show the said Nymph Venuses in blue jeans that he was the quickest off the draw with the (never seen before) finger-touch bells that his finger prematurely ejected. This brought the ultra-streamlined 5 A bus to a shuddering brake-screeching halt.
"I don't want (cough) to get off the bus (cough) quite yet! (cough)" 'Tubby's' faint voice called out to the driver. Such was the seething ferocity of the bus driver's returned glance that every bus passenger knew this heinous finger-touching folly would never be repeated again. When the radiant blue jeaned Nymph Venuses stepped off the the bus at the "Water is best!" fountain stop in the city centre, everyone of them glanced admiringly up at 'Tubby'. However 'Tubby' - still down-cast at the fierce reprimand he had received from the driver - was quite unaware of the unique finger-touching status he had just won.
The juggernaught of history was revving up its damned inferno engine once again. The prefabs were acquiring a lacklustre look. Some of their edges had become yellowed with rust, the water butts were sprouting leaks and even the corrugated coalhouses had lost their honey-hued aura. Early mornings found the estate's lawns and hedges covered with a dew of restlessness.
Rumours went around that sharp-eyed operators in grey raincoats had been spotted jotting down estimates of our pale pads' scrap value in black bound notebooks.