End of the road

I've been wearing my metaphorical black armband for a couple of days now, mourning, since the passing of a true London icon. No more squeezing up the stairs, ducking your head, (literally) winding down the window, pulling the rope, leaping off the platform at traffic lights... the last red Routemaster bus has run its course.

No longer will this most famous of the capital's landmarks, recognised around the world, take fare-paying passengers on anything other than 'heritage routes'.

A number of reasons were given for this change:

• they were too old, exceeding their operational life by 100% (they've been more reliable than the flash computers on wheels that have replaced them)
• too expensive and unnecessary to have conductors on board (just as the number of British Transport Police on board buses has had to increase thanks to attacks and assaults)
• no disabled access (a point I take and appreciate... but at the same time this unique design made it fast and easy for the vast majority - surely there could have been a third way?)
• dirty and environmentally unfriendly (okay, you have got me there... but a Hyrdogen fuel cell Routemaster... hmmm... that would have been an impressive fusion of heritage and forward-thinking)

Impressive steps have been taken over the last few years with London buses... the new ones are clean, accessible, pleasant and quick. But couldn't there have been a compromise? Londoners deserve better than for the beloved Routemasters to be restricted to mobile museum duties.