After a weekend in which I actually managed to do something productive (an article for No Ripcord knocked together) and discover a brilliant song (Twilight Cafe, the only hit for Susan Fassbender), reality bumps hard at 7am on Monday. Move yourself to go again indeed.
I think it could be a little more bearable if not for the shower of bastards called Stagecoach. For the last two weeks I have dutifully waited for the 7.16 bus, only for it to turn up at 7.20 or later. This means I'm late for a connecting bus. Just to rub it in a little, on my return home, the bus I want to catch is always just too early. Many a time I have watched it speed past as I'm a minute from the bus stop.
It's all so trivial, I know, but when your life is pretty dreary, these things matter. If nothing else, it does make you understand why attempts to get people out of their cars and onto public transport are always bound to fail.
No comments:
Post a Comment