Just as Cinderella's beautiful coach goes a bit 'pumpkin' at midnight, the London buses go a bit 'crazy' when the sun goes down. Catching a night bus home from a party will always be as entertaining as the event you went to that night. Veteran Londoners tend to warn newcomers about the horrors to be encountered on a night bus, about the 'One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest' type characters you will meet.

Last Friday we caught a night bus home from a fellow Kiwi's leaving party, which had a fancy dress theme. There I was after the party, standing at the bus stop dressed like an 80s throwback when I realised my outrageous shoulder pads wouldn't even be noticed in the circus-like collection of freaks waiting for the 285. Most noticeable where the enormous girls squished into Playboy bunny suits. I've never seen such a scary abuse of hot pants in all my life. And I've been to Brazil.

When the bus arrived we climbed to the top floor where we happily scored the front seats where you can imagine you're in a London-themed computer game. The drivers here handle their double-deckers as if they're driving zippy Peugeots and it can be more entertaining than a rollercoaster at times.

London is a city that never sleeps which means the night buses are a mix of people doing normal things - like carrying home their groceries - and people doing abnormal things - like falling up the steps in Playboy outfits spilling booze and laughing hysterically. Our new mayor, the shaggy-haired Boris Johnson, has banned booze on public transport but nobody takes any notice.

You can count on people ignoring Boris just as you can count on there always being someone stumbling down the aisle of a night bus. And you can count on at least one drunk bastard wanting to have a deep and meaningful with the poor driver. You can also guarantee a handful of people will have fallen asleep. I always imagine them ending up on the other side of London covered in kebab.

But most of all you can count on people talking to themselves on night buses. One evening we were returning from dinner in Camden and a passenger was deeply 'discussing' his love for Chocolate Digestives. He started listing the various musical instruments he could play and angrily telling the floor why he can't play the accordion.

When he stood up and passionately belted out Cat Stevens' 'Wild World' I started to get a little nervous. There are too many stories in London about innocent people getting stabbed on buses and even the funniest situation sometimes gives me the heeby jeebies.

I'm not saying these crazy cats only come out at night. They're everywhere in London all the time. The other day I was standing squished on a Hammersmith and City tube when a man got on talking to himself. He was saying: 'Alright I'm getting on the train. Just getting on the train. Mind the gap. It's aaaaall good'.

I kept my book glued to my face. I've learned too many times about my ability to attract these people. When I stepped off at my station, I lowered the book to 'mind the gap' and he pounced. 'Did you grow up in Shepherd's Bush,' he asked, and then followed me down the road telling me how the area had gotten very rough since he grew up there.

His American accent was not the only thing freaking me out. We passed a sign alerting motorists to a nearby road closure and my new friend says: 'See, another murder, at least they're alerting the public.'

Then just at the point where I was thinking about going in to see the man who runs our local mini mart for safety's sake, the American grabs me by the shoulders and says: 'Now I'd like to see you again. You're not married are you?' I didn't miss a beat. I hid my naked wedding finger behind my back and said 'yes I am'. That was all it took. He shook his head sadly and walked away, into the murder-ridden streets of Shepherd's Bush.

Check out more photos from my trip in my Flickr album.

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