The playlist had been chosen with deliberation, for Vinny Fitzpatrick was keen to get his message across to the faceless suits who ran Dublin Bus these days.

Vinny was no DJ and had needed a dig out from Fran the night before on how to upload the songs on to Angie’s iPod, but he was satisfied with his final selection, and knew enough to be able to turn the wee gizmo on and off.

The set was an eclectic mix, but shared a common theme, buses, and they would be played this Monday morning, "or my name isn't Vincent Finbarr Fitzpatrick," he said to himself.

Like many of his colleagues, Vinny was aghast at the strong-arm tactics of the Dublin Bus hierarchy in banning the use of radios in the drivers’ cabins.

For years, Vinny had a tiny transistor which he kept on a low volume while shuffling to and from the city centre – he was a great fan of Marty Whelan, and Hugo, on Lyric FM in the mornings.

“We’re the same as every other driver in the city, and beyond. Whether it’s the news, sport, music or chat, we like to hear what’s going on.

“I reckon it’s an infringement of our civil liberties,” he said to the lads the night before over a pint in Foley’s.

“Well, I tell you, our voice will be heard, and our masters will heed that voice,” he harrumphed.

Vinny was back in town after a long-haul trek from the West Coast of America to the East Coast of Ireland.

He had liked Seattle, home of Boeing, Starbucks, Microsoft and Fred Couples, one of his favourite golfers.

Like Freddie, it had a cool attitude which surfaced when Vinny took a stroll through Washington University, and was twice mistaken for a lecturer, which amused him.

The Seattle experience was most uplifting where Angie was concerned. Against the odds, her white cell blood count had rallied when it encountered a new cancer drug. Vinny knew it was early days and the lymphoma bases were still loaded but at least Angie was in there pitching.

As the medics in Seattle reckoned it would be another three weeks or so before there was definitive news, he had headed home, leaving Angie’s daughter Emma on bedside call – the 21-year-old Trinity student had arranged digs at WU and would drop in on her Ma every day.

The experience was a timely reminder to Vinny that life was all about perspective, and there was no need to get all steamed up about relatively trivial matters, such as Everton’s Saturday implosion at home to West Ham.

Even so, a newly-chilled outlook didn’t mean there weren’t occasions when Vinny wouldn’t stand up for what he believed in.

Like his old man, a cussed shop steward in his time working for CIÉ, Vinny had principles, and he was adamant every bus driver should have the option of listening to a radio in his, or her, cab.

The mood

On this morning, he would make it loud(ish) and clear where he sat on the subject.

It helped the 130 was his run, as he knew many of the passengers by name, and he greeted them warmly as he wended his way from Castle Avenue through Clontarf’s crannies into the city centre.

The 7.20am departure had just passed his own home on Mount Prospect Avenue when Vinny announced on the public address that he was going to lighten the mood with a blast of Tony Orlando and Dawn, "if that's okay, folks".

Tie A Yellow Ribbon, was one of Vinny's all-time favourites, even if hadn't twigged for years it was about a guy getting out of jail and heading, by bus, for the pre-arranged rendezvous with his sweetheart.

By chance, Vinny was at the stop opposite the bus garage on the Clontarf Road just as Tony was belting out the line about “the whole damned bus is cheering”, which it was, in support of the bus drivers.

Emboldened, Vinny pressed on with America by Simon and Garfunkel, which included the line about "laughing on the bus, playing games with the faces".

There was laughing now, from the top deck to the bottom deck, as punters bought in to DJ Vinny.

The cheery air continued through Fairview with Weird Al Jankovic's Another One Rides The Bus, a spoof take of the Queen classic, before the kiddies' classic, The Wheels On The Bus.

Walkie-talkie

As he turned into Talbot Street, Vinny had the bus rocking with his out-take, a 70s classic from the BBC TV children’s show,

Get On Board With The Doubledeckers

.

He joined in with gusto, belting out the lyrics, “Beep the horn, ring the bell, when you ride with the Doubledeckers; Fun and laughter, and whatever’s after, on a Dublin double-decker bus”.

Such was his high-decibel warbling, Vinny could barely hear the walkie-talkie in his cabin. It was Socket Twomey, the depot controller.

“Vinny, when your shift is over, report to my office,” said Socket sternly. “You’re on report. This time, you’ve gone too far.”

Vinny shook his large head. “‘Gone too far?” he thought. “Wasn’t Seattle and back far enough?”