On friday, I made a terrible terrible error. I fell asleep on the night bus (yes, I’m aware this is ironic given the recent Night Fuss travesty). I was tired, nothing to do with the going drinking after work, foolishly following “eating is cheating” advice and consuming my own volume in mid-market continental-style export strength lager beer.
I woke up at the end of the route, at what seemed like the end of time with fish-scale contact lenses and a 40 minute walk home.
But the scales fell from my eyes as I saw the next night-bus home start-up, pull away and begin turning round. I crossed the road and ran, like I get my shoes on prescription, towards the bus stop. The bus driver saw me, made eye contact and magnanimously put his foot down and sailed past. What a guy?
Inadequately dressed and colder than a step-mothers love I stood shivering, the 25 minute wait for the next bus passing like a glacier.
I started wanting to shout “I may be some time!” and catastrophically needed a piss. But I held on, not wanting to risk exposure on the high road (both in the public order and frost-bite sense). Seconds away from all out bladder failure and jean lakeing I darted away for a piss, just in time for the next night bus to glide past. Nice!
About 30 Icelandic minutes later I was on the bus and rang the bell as it approached my stop. But it shoot past and took me to the next stop that was “OUT OF SERVICE DUE TO ROAD WORKS, MATE!!!” (I’d have shouted too, I had rung the bell in protest enough times to give him a hunchback).
I stumbled the final 15 minutes home, going bluer than a Na’vi and arrived at my front door just as I realised I’d forgotten my keys. Noooooooooooooooooooo!*
*Yes, it is supposed to sound like Luke Skywalker after Darth says “I’m the Daddy!”, not when Vader finds out his missus is dead. A subtle but important difference, I’m sure you’ll agree.