WHOEVER it was that named our bus company Arriva must have been laughing their heads off.

For this is a company whose ancient vehicles fail to 'Arriva' with embarrassing regularity.

Now I see Fail to Arriva have finally admitted they are letting passengers down in Wycombe. You're too easy on yourselves chaps. The bus service we have had to put up with around here is a disgrace.

Your buses are awful, they're late, they don't run and they're bloody ancient.

I used to travel on the 300 bus to High Wycombe every day for years when I couldn't drive.

After more than a year away from this particular thrill, it was my misfortune to catch the bus again last Wednesday.

What a mistake that was. Even before the bus was due, there were grumblings at the stop. Passengers complained that the bus was at least ten minutes late on average. One day, it was said it had come about ten minutes early.

On Wednesday the bus due at 7.50am finally coughed and spluttered its way round to our bus stop by 8.15am. In its defence this was a day of unusually heavy traffic on the road.

But it didn't help matters that the bus had broken down at High Wycombe before coming to meet us. It limped along to the Packhorse at Gerrards Cross by 8.45am. But then the front doors refused to close and the driver would not go on, citing safety reasons.

Did a mechanic rush out to help us? No. Instead we had to wait in hope for the next bus on the once an hour service to turn up.

On the bus there was only myself, a South African woman and a group of schoolchildren from Beaconsfield High. None of these others seemed exactly surprised at the poor service being doled out to them by Fail to Arriva.

It was quite a contrast between the ageing excuse for a bus service we were being presented with and the youthful hopes of the Beccy High lot as they discussed what they would do with their futures.

It was quite refreshing sitting amid the collapse of our public transport system.

One had a determined ambition to be Prime Minister one day. Her manifesto pledges (paint all buses yellow and make them all open top) seemed to make as much sense as anything you hear from the Government these days.

Their range of subjects ranged from school trips abroad (the details of which I shall not go into) to a refreshing take on history (the Irish defeated Cromwell by throwing potatoes at him).

All in all I have to say it was top marks for Beccy High and go to the bottom of the class for Arriva.

But it was bottom of the class for Arriva when our bus eventually arrived at the bottom of Gomm Road at 9.50am, two hours after I put my fate in the hands of Arriva.

Frankly isn't it time we said Arriva-decci to this bunch?