A decade ago Pullyman - aka Michael Cowin - was diagnosed with Parkinson's Disease, a condition that affects people in different ways. Michael discovered writing and Island Life is featuring some of his musings. Sometimes topical, sometimes nostalgic, read about life as seen through the eyes of Pullyman

Now there is one thing about myself that I have never told anyone before. I have never, ever uttered one word about this, ever.

It has always been a secret that I thought would remain just that until the end of my allotted span.

Until now. So here it is.

I enjoy writing letters of complaint.

I really do enjoy the thought of someone who, in some way, has fallen short of achieving the high standards of service that I would expect everyone to receive, being told by his or her boss that they had better buck their ideas up, or else.

So that’s it. My secret is out. But, I never send them. Not one. Not ever.

I write them, I print them out, and I go to bed. In the morning, I get up, I read them through, and I throw them away. Always.

Life is too short to bear a grudge and, as the saying goes, we all can make a mistake.

So, now that I’ve got that off my chest, just listen to what happened yesterday.

I had enjoyed a pleasant hour in the cocktail bar at the Manx Legion club on Market Hill and was headed to catch the number 2 bus to Onchan.

I always feel sorry for the number 2.

It reminds me of the swift, this little bird that never seems to land anywhere, it’s whole life is spent on the wing.

The number 2 travels in a big loop from Ballachrink in Onchan, passes through the Lord Street bus station and heads off to Port St Mary via the Airport and Castletown. After a quick look round the south, it’s back to the Airport and back into Douglas.

And this is where things can get just a little a bit tricky.

It doesn’t go back to Lord Street to have a breather and a quick smoke like the other buses do.

It turns right at the end of Circular Road, down Prospect Hill and into Victoria Street to let the Douglas bound passengers get off.

It then continues towards the Promenade and turns left at the Jubilee Clock to pick up the majority of its Onchan bound passengers at the bus stop with the long shelter that stands just before Regent Street.

But if I have walked from the Manx Legion Club, in Market Hill, it saves me quite a few yards on foot if I get on the bus in Victoria Street after it has discharged the travellers from the South and before it turns left at the Jubilee Clock.

I hope that you’re paying attention, because we’re close to the end of the story, and there is one final twist.

If the number 2 was like most other services, it would start and finish its trip at the bus interchange in Lord Street. This would make it a simple matter to change over drivers when a shift or a meal break was due.

But as we know, the number 2 never lands, it just flies through, and this can complicate the driver change over.

If this is the end of the driver’s shift (the one who has been to Port St Mary and back), he doesn’t turn left at the Jubilee Clock to point his bus towards Onchan, he turns right as if to go to the Sea Terminal, and stops at the Bottleneck car park.

The drivers change seats and the new man drives his bus right round the Sea Terminal roundabout and heads for Onchan and his waiting passengers.

Now you will have heard of the expression ’a perfect storm’.

Well this is what happened yesterday.

It was cold and wet. I left the Legion to catch my bus home. I was waiting at the Victoria Street stop when the number 2 swept into sight. Bang on time. For once, no-one wanted to get off.

For whatever reason, the driver chose to ignore the stooped, bedraggled, elderly man who was waving two outstretched walking sticks in his direction.

I wrote my letter of complaint, and tore it up the next day.

The drivers name, incidently, begins with ’A’.