Also, the forecast says it's going to be extremely cold on Saturday morning. I really don't want to be standing at a bus stop freezing my assets off, waiting for a bus that may or may not come on time.

So, time for Plan B. I'm going to walk it.
Saturday morning comes and it's bright and clear and I head out from my house just after seven.

The first thing that strikes me is how lovely it is to be moving. I'm not watching the road,.waiting impatiently and impotently for a flash of Arriva turquoise. No, I'm actually moving.

Secondly, I've saved over two pounds.

Thirdly, weirdly, I appear to be the only person alive in my neighbourhood, as I see no other sign of life.

But still, I'm moving.

Ten minutes into my walk and I'm breathing a little heavily, but dawn is happening and the sky is a miraculous colour and I'm wondering why I don't do this every day.

I'm pleased to say I have seen other people, mainly paperboys and dog-walkers.

I feel amazingly awake.

I march on.

At the twenty minute mark I notice that my toes are cold, and my hands are cold, and my head is cold. That's the downside. The upside is that the dawn is getting even more beautiful. And I've still saved over two pounds. Plus, I now hit the downhill stretch.

Half an hour gone and my extremities are officially _cold_. But I'm in sight of the Marlowes, and the sky is beautiful, and I'm on time. And I've saved over two pounds.

Thirty five minutes and I've reached my destination, perfectly punctual, with a virtuous glow, and a New Year's resolution to do this as often as I can.

After all, much as I love public transport, it's hard to beat travelling under one's own steam.

And did I mention that I saved over two pounds?