Wednesday, 1 August 2012

Is it wrong of me to assume that the only bright orange bus on this planet with the words "to Micklefield" all over it, that, for the last seven years has gone to and from Micklefield daily, should be ignored as I am not going to Micklefield?? For there it was, as regular as clockwork, as sure as crocuses come up in the spring. The bus stop empties and I was lifted by the fact the shitty hopper was soon to follow. Clearly I was wrong. I heard a tap on the glass followed by a Bucks accent shouting" Phil! get on!". You guessed it, it was my bus. I could still be there now waiting for the hopper. Everyone laughed when I got on, which was nice. The odd thing was there was nobody I knew except the" Phil get on!" chap. Everyone was at least 90 and it was full of canvas 4 wheeled drive shopping trolleys. I think everyone was from the former Yugoslavia regions so I couldn't pick up any gossip. Half way home a gorgeous woman got on, absolutely stunning. She couldn't keep her eyes off me. Obviously. Come on Fenton, another time perhaps...

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