‘It is a dream come true!’ Meet Britain’s bus driver of the year – and six other unsung heroes

‘One chap gets my bus every week, and he always slips me a KitKat’ Michael Leech, from Sowerby Bridge, West Yorkshire, has been named the UK bus driver of the year I became a bus driver quite by chance, after spotting an advert in the paper in 1999. I liked the idea of driving for a living, but not the solitude. Driving a bus seemed perfect: you have a certain level of autonomy, without a boss breathing down your neck. You have to have the right kind of personality to excel at bus driving. You need to be a very good driver, but you need to be able to command order at the same time. I like that I can influence how my day goes; I’m in charge of the atmosphere on my bus. Some drivers are very strict, but I think that makes for a miserable day, so I try to spread a bit of happiness. If I see someone running for the bus as I’m about to pull away, I’ll always stop and wait – even though sometimes they run straight past me. One elderly chap gets on my bus every week, and he always slips me a KitKat without saying a word. It feels a bit like a surreptitious drug deal, but it’s very much appreciated. I’ve wanted to win bus driver of the year for years, but it’s highly competitive. You need to have an exemplary record, good feedback from customers, no prangs on the bus and excellent timekeeping. About 100 drivers from across the country make the grand final in Blackpool. There’s a theory test and practical exam, where you’re asked to park a bus exactly one metre from the pavement and line up a lamp-post to the middle of the hubcap. It’s very tense, but luckily, I managed to be very accurate. To be told I’d won really was a dream come true. I take a lot of pride in my job, so it’s nice to be recognised. I was excited to learn I’d won £4,100 prize money, too. I celebrated with a cup of tea with my wife. ‘I get immense satisfaction from seeing the toilets clean and sparkling’ Margaret Rutter, 73, from Annandale, Dumfries and Galloway, was named washroom technician of the year for Scotland at the Loo of the Year awards I’ve always enjoyed being a cleaner. I’m a clean and tidy person and I get immense satisfaction from seeing the toilets clean and sparkling. Some people probably think mine is not a very important job – I’m “only” the toilet cleaner – but the way I see it, everyone needs to go to the toilet, and everyone wants the facilities to be a pleasure to visit. I work six days a week, starting at 6.30am, and clean for three hours. I like to get down on my hands and knees and really give the whole bowl a scrub, including the pipes and behind the U-bend. I look after all seven toilets at the Annandale distillery. They are for staff and visitors, so they get quite a lot of heavy usage. There’s no need to go over the top, though; I don’t fold the toilet paper into a point and try to show off. A good toilet cleaner knows that cleanliness and hygiene are what’s important, not trying to impress people. There’s no point doing origami with the toilet roll if the soap dispensers are empty or the seat is rife with germs. I’m 73, but I don’t have plans to retire – there are a lot more toilets for me to clean I got my first toilet cleaning job in 1999, and I’ve probably cleaned somewhere in the region of 150,000 toilets. In that time, I’ve seen some sights. It’s shocking how some people feel it’s acceptable to leave a toilet cubicle. But I just roll up my sleeves, put on my gloves and get on with it. I sometimes have to try hard not to think too much about what I’m actually cleaning. I’m quite critical when using public toilets myself. I won’t use them if they’re not clean, and even if they are, I find myself checking how much spare loo roll is available. When I get home, the last thing I usually want to do is clean my own toilet. I do, though, of course. Winning the award was such a special moment for me. The judges make an anonymous visit to the toilets, and I’m glad I didn’t know they were coming, as I’d have been too nervous. I was thrilled to have won, and my son and daughter were delighted for me. For the first time, I felt people had some understanding of what I do every day and maybe appreciated it a little bit more. It’s nice to feel I’m making a difference. I’m 73, but I don’t have plans to retire – there are a lot more toilets for me to clean. ‘We make every customer feel as if they are being welcomed into our home’ Kinnari Patel and her husband, Hiten, were named convenience store of the year – independent by the Federation of Independent Retailers Hiten and I took over Honey’s of the High, a convenience store in the centre of Oxford, 13 years ago. We both had stressful jobs in London, and we wanted to have our own business. When Honey’s came up for sale, we jumped at the chance to buy it. However, our children, then two and eight, didn’t want to move. We decided to stay in London but commute seven days a week to Oxford. It’s worth it to come to work in such a beautiful location. Hiten and I work alternate days at the shop. We leave the house at 4.30am, start the paper round an hour later, and close the shop at 7pm, to be home by 9.30pm. We last had a family holiday in 2018, for six days over Christmas. The shop was closed, but my brother ran the paper deliveries for us. We called him every single day. We try to make every customer feel as though they are being welcomed into our home. It’s a world away from my previous job in logistics. This feels much more important. You couldn’t do this job if you didn’t love people. Society in general lacks an element of connection these days. So many people do their shopping by the click of a button, but with a corner shop, you have that connection and interaction with others. We reassure the parents of new students after they drop them off at university, and let them know we’ll look out for their children. When the shop is quiet, I call up the care home we deliver papers to for a chat with anyone who is lonely. We started doing that in Covid, but we’ve carried it on. We were told we had been nominated for the award, and when they read out our names as the winners, we were just gobsmacked. It means we’ve really made a difference to people, and all the years of hard work and sacrifice have meant something to someone besides us. ‘Everyone gets a high-five or fist bump when they cross the road’ Gerald Gleeson, from County Cork, was named lollipop person of the year by Tonstix, makers of children’s lollipop lozenges I became a lollipop man 10 years ago. I was widowed in 2014, and then retired after 30 years as a retained firefighter. I felt a bit lost. Spending time with my five grandchildren kept me going, but during term time I missed them so much. I saw an advert for a job as a lollipop person at my local school and thought I’d give it a go, just to get me out of the house. It’s the best job I’ve ever done, but it’s not for everyone. I’m up and out early every morning, come rain or shine, and I have to have a smile on my face. If you don’t have a sunny disposition, you won’t get on well in this job. People seem to think it’s an easy job, and can belittle it, but there’s an incredible responsibility that comes with it. Getting the children safely across a busy road is difficult, as every parent knows, and I try to make sure that they’re going in to school with a smile on their face, too. I make sure everyone gets a high-five or fist-bump when they cross if they want one. Some mums have told me it helps get their children in to school when they’re having a tough time, and I’m really proud to make a difference to their day. Some parents told me they’d nominated me for lollipop man of the year, and I couldn’t believe it. When the school told me I’d won, I was so shocked. There was a tremendous buzz about the crossing that afternoon; all the children wanted extra fist-bumps. It’s really lovely to know I’m making a difference – the award meant more to me than most people realised. ‘I’m 65 and I love conkers. If that makes me an anorak, I’m OK with it’ St John Burkett was named anorak of the year by the Dull Men’s Club I’ve been a member of the Dull Men’s Club for more than 20 years, in my capacity as one of the coordinators of the World Conker Championships. I’ve featured in its annual calendar before, but I was shocked – and immensely happy – to find out I’d won the title of anorak of the year. Ironically, it’s one of the least dull things that’s ever happened to me. I was more excited to find out that I’d won than I would have been if they’d said I was getting an MBE. It’s such an honour, and I feel it shows I’m not taking life too seriously. My wife, Claire, was less impressed. When I told her, she raised one eyebrow and walked off. My adult children were more excited. They’ve put up with me going on about conkers for years. I’ve played since I was a little boy; I’m now 65 and still love the game. I’ll talk to anyone about them. If that makes me an anorak, I’m OK with that. I’m joining a long list of worthy winners. This year, I managed to help avert a near-disaster when the warm weather meant that the conkers were ready too soon and the competition, held in mid-October, was at risk because of a shortage of playable conkers. I spoke out in the press about the shortage, and we were inundated with donations from very kind people – including a box that were sent from the PR team at Windsor Castle. We assume they were picked by one of the residents. Maybe that helped me clinch the title. ‘I can eat 25 bratwurst in five minutes’ Max Stanford is the British Eating League’s champion competitive eater I sort of fell into competitive eating. I’d been trying to bulk up at the gym and someone suggested I should try out a Man v Food-style eating challenge. I realised I had a bit of a knack for it. I’m quite a competitive person – mostly with myself – and I was curious to see how far I could go. Five years on, I have a huge social media following that sees me competing in food challenges set by the British Eating League. It’s not my day job; I just compete for fun. There are about 10 individual competitions throughout the year, and whoever wins the most is given that year’s title. I’ve won before, three times, so it was a matter of pride for me to try to take the title again. Some of my favourite rounds in this year’s competition were a pie-eating contest (18 in five minutes), bratwurst-eating (25 in five minutes) and pretzel-eating (17 in five minutes – the second-placed competitor managed only three). I’m hesitant to call competitive eating a sport, but you do need to train and practise as though you were training for a marathon. I do a trial run a few times before an event, and the night before I stretch my stomach with lots of water and salad. I eat sensibly most of the time, and I run and hit the gym pretty hard too, which keeps me in shape. There’s no cash prize for winning competitive eater of the year, although some individual competitions do offer prizes of a few hundred pounds. It’s just for the glory, and a lovely trophy. I’m good friends with a lot of other competitors, but we all want to win. I find it weirdly satisfying to know that I can eat more chicken nuggets in five minutes than anyone else in the country. • Do you have an opinion on the issues raised in this article? If you would like to submit a response of up to 300 words by email to be considered for publication in our letters section, please click here