Inside the UK Bus Driver of the Year Competition

Nobody wants to drive buses. Ask kids about their dream job and you’ll hear ​“astronaut”, ​“doctor”, and even ​“influencer”, but never ​“bus driver”. Even London is short on new recruits, as 2023 data showed Transport for London having a shortfall of more than 2,500 drivers. Last year, the law was even changed to lower the minimum bus driving age to 18 to help raise numbers. Clearly, bus driving needs a rebrand. There have been some recent wins for the profession thanks to influencers like the bus-loving, middle-aged ​“Bus Auntie” or the incredibly proud London driver bringing buses to popular social media. But perhaps the greatest (and least-known) celebration for the field of bus driving is the UK Bus Driver of the Year Competition – where companies from across the country have sent their best drivers to compete in practical and theory tests since the 1960s. 

It might sound silly, but it’s serious business. Competitors are employed by the fictional Middle Walk Bus Company for the day, and must follow the company’s code of conduct to the letter, including a drug test. For a few hours, the competition simulates what it calls ​“the most intensive bus service in the UK”, and contenders are judged on their uniform, signalling, positioning, and of course, their precision at bus stops.

On the day of 2025’s competition, it’s a typically gloomy morning in Blackpool, England, where the ground and sky speak exclusively in conversations of grays. Yet today is different. The overcast finds itself alone, and dozens in high-vis jackets march along the promenade like fluorescent ellipses. Buoys on a concrete sea, they bob towards the Imperial Hotel – a monstrously large, Victorian, red brick building – an appropriate place for bus driving royalty.

• Read next: Vibrations and victories at the World Worm Charming Championships

Drivers from all sorts of companies – First, Stagecoach, Go Ahead, Transport UK, and plenty others – congregate in the hotel lobby as the first of 101 entrants get ready for their run of the bus course. The tension is palpable, the excitement barometric. But no driving can occur before the compulsory breathalyser test. Chris, who has been involved with the competition for three years, is tasked with ensuring contestants are sober. He isn’t a driver himself, but does environmental work for his bus company. ​“They do a really hard job,” he says, as the breathalyser nozzle goes in my mouth, ​“a lot of shift work, a lot of days. It’s nice to be able to celebrate the skill that goes into it.”

Outside, towards the seafront, Neil Scholes from First Manchester Midlands & South Yorkshire departs as the day’s inaugural driver. The course begins at one of the town’s iconic Schloss green promenade shelters, as anoraks, locals and fellow bus-company compatriots wait to board. The public can board any competing bus, simulating the real conditions of day-to-day bus driving. As Amanda, one of the judging marshals, puts it: ​“You’re responsible for hundreds of lives every single day.”

The route ahead is a veritable obstacle course, and the contestants’ hulking motorcades must deftly execute several manoeuvres, with marshals judging each one. Some are theoretically simple: park kerbside, with 2 – 4 inches of distance; stop within the green zone before traffic lights. ​“Most sets of lights have one of these in front of them,” Ian from Transport UK explains, ​“and this is what they do on a day-to-day basis. This should be quite easy. Stopping with your back wheel next to a pole – maybe not.” The tailswing test is perhaps the most dreaded, where drivers must position themselves properly to avoid the back of the bus from entering the pavement. All the tests are marked negatively, with contestants losing points over time depending on whether they land in green, amber or red zones – or more rarely, miss the mark entirely. ​“I love it,” says a curious passerby admiring the novelty of Ian’s test. ​“They don’t,” he replies.

• Read next: The Tossers: Inside the world of competitive egg throwing

The rigorous nature of marshals like Ian is something to behold. Some have been driving a few years, some a few decades. Each competing driver is scrutinised fully, with at minimum two marshals per test to judge on performance and to ensure drivers do their safety checks each time they depart. Rigorous is the word. Even Blackpool Transport – the town’s bus operator and one of the companies in the competition – is barred from gaining a home advantage, as half of the course occupies a stretch of promenade usually inaccessible by vehicle.

At the end of the course, and as more buses depart, drivers-in-waiting contemplate their odds as the cold air blows through. Applause rings out as drivers disembark their bus and step off from their run. Some natter about last year’s winner, Thomas Gilhooley of Lothian East, and how he’s already done his route. ​“Later you do it, the busier it’s going to be,” one says, referring to the part of the course that merges with a busy public road.

It’s not long before Shelley Hardwick from First in South Yorkshire pulls kerb-side of the roleplay station and exits the scissor doors of her bus. She blows out her cheeks when I ask how she thinks she fared. ​“Some of them I got a bit too close to, because of nerves and that. But it’s my first time doing it.”

Bindi Sahota – another of the few female contestants this year – finishes her run soon after. ​“Honestly I really don’t know how I did. It’s my first time. I’ve been driving for six years. I just wanted to see what all the hype was. It’s more males, and I don’t think there’s an Asian girl. I think it’s important, not just females but other backgrounds as well.”

Roughly 30% of this year’s competition are doing it for the first time, but it’s not just drivers – it’s instructors, too, as Mark Stott from Stagecoach tells me. He’s come up from Exeter and it’s his first year being at the event to watch his own drivers. ​“I’m a little nervous. Within the industry it’s very well known. It’s basically the top drivers of each company that go for it – it’s a prestigious event.” 

Back in the hotel, groups get ready to take their theory exam. Paul, the quizmaster, takes pride in the nastiness of his theory test. ​“They’re petrified,” he says. ​“This isn’t the bit they normally cover. When was the last time you looked at the highway code? When was the last time any driver looked at the highway code? It’s a constantly evolving thing.” The questions aren’t published and the tests aren’t allowed to leave the exam room. The test is delivered through a PowerPoint presentation, meaning that all contestants take questions at the same pace. It’s multiple choice, but Paul makes all answers similar enough to eliminate any possible guesswork. To date, nobody has managed to ace the theory test.

• Read next: An eerie tour of Georgia’s forgotten Soviet bus stops

Waiting for his turn at theory, Michael Leech from First is quietly confident. He’s been attending on and off since 2008, and can’t remember how many times he’s been – but it’s in double figures. ​“I don’t dread it, I enjoy it. That’s why I participate. You’re just doing what you’re doing every day. It’s not like you’re stood in front of a judge.” Leech has been driving for 26 years and has bagged multiple second-place finishes at the contest. ​“The hard part is just getting here… keeping your nose clean in the preceding year – no collisions, no big levels of sickness.”

As the testing sessions come to a close at midday, the arduous judging period begins. Bus drivers scatter the lobby’s blue and gold carpet and many wait patiently at the hotel’s mid-Victorian No. 10 bar, while gaudy ​’80s tunes pang from the television. Hours tick by with not much to do. A Hungarian vizsla barks nervously, perhaps sensing the communal tension. At the same time, a congregation from the George Formby Society play banjoleles in the corner.

Eventually, the big moment arrives. The huge ceremonial hall is filled with over 350 people, dispersed in colour-coordinated company groups like public transport gang wars. 25 different trophies are up for grabs, as well as just under £19,000 in total prize money. Huge hollering applause rings out from the companies when their colleagues win. McGills claims third; Go North East clutches second.

• Read next: The grit and glory of British toe wrestling

The air goes still when it’s time for the first place prize: Bus Driver of the Year. With all the added smaller trophies, the final winner will receive £4,100, it’s announced, to much awe. It thunders from handclaps when Michael Leech, the quietly confident driver with decades at the competition, is handed his first ever win. He holds up the cup with modesty – a reminder of the humility that’s found across the bus driving industry. Even in his moment of glory, the bus driver isn’t one to naturally take centre stage. 

It’s easy to forget that drivers are more than facilitators from A‑Z, easy to lose yourself in daydreams while the driver dutifully rides on. Rarely celebrated and often maligned, bus drivers are a proud tribe not hungry for the public limelight. Regardless of who gets the trophy, it’s us – the British bus-riding public – who are the real winners.

George Francis Lee is a freelance writer. Follow him on Instagram.

Buy your copy of Huck 82 here.

Enjoyed this article? Follow Huck on Instagram and sign up to our newsletter for more from the cutting edge of sport, music and counterculture.

Support stories like this by becoming a member of Club Huck.