PICTURE the scene. You are wrapped in one of the comfortable seats on a new hop-on, hop-off Boris bus, bowling along Balls Pond Road, when you notice above the roar of mobile-phone yabber around you that the stylish red hybrid has slowed to a crawl.

Odd, when there’s little traffic. (The road is not always jammed.) Then you notice that the driver is texting. Frowning mentally, you look around. Nobody seems perturbed; rather, their calm expressions suggest they might know what’s happening.

That soon becomes apparent. As the red giant approaches a takeaway joint, a youngish man from the snackerie hops on to the landing. A box of odiforous food in his hands, he walks along the corridor, passes the munchies to the driver, collects payment and hops off.

A few passengers smile, but as the bus zips off to the next stop, no objection is made, as if it were an everyday occurrence.

Of course the driver should have texted during a break, which is why Loving Dalston has omitted the name of the shop and other details. (Ambulance-chasing lawyers would require proof.) Transport for London would not comment.

So theoretically we disapprove of the incident, which is not unknown elsewhere in London. But isn’t it the kind of the thing that makes this town a world No 1?

David Altheer 010612

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