The other day I decided to go to London. The coach I travelled on was driven by Nessa from Gavin & Stacey. Well, she sounded like her. Ten minutes out of Cardiff and there came a little tap on the microphone, which jolted me from my early morning doze/daydream of world domination.
"Elow. And welcome to da bus.com." I didn't realise I was sitting on a web site. "'Ere are a few rulez like. Smoking - NO! Don't do it." Was this a new government health warning? Ironically I saw her slouched against the side of the bus with a fag drooping from her lips before we set off.
"DRINKING is not allowed. Alc-wholic." Again ironic, she sounded a tad squiffy herself. "Dere's a toilet on board. Which you can use." Nice of her to allow us to isn't it? I was expecting a bucket on the side of the M4. "We 'ave everything on here to cater for yewer needs. A fire extinguisher, first aid kit." EVERYTHING I have ever wanted. "Oh. There are seat belts. WEAR 'EM!" I felt for my safety more if I didn't fasten mine, I can tell you that now. "Da seat belts are there for a reason, you know." No shit Sherlock. She'll probably tie us up in them and abandon the bus in Newport, cackling manically.
"Sit back then." She pauses dramatically. It's a pause Harold Pinter would be proud of. "Let's see if I gets you to London."
I had no idea there was an 'if' involved in this contract I entered into. You could tell she was smiling as she said it. I must admit, I uttered a little prayer under my breath. And I don't even believe in God.
Luckily I did make it to London. My sanity however, only just got there, having been squished next to a 56 stone Alfred Hitchcock-alike coughing and sneezing for three hours. He was like a walking noro-virus-Daily-Mail-scare-story-super-bug. When I got off the bus I resembled an old crumpled BHS sock recovered from behind the radiator. That had been there since 1989.
I played Dolly Parton loudly on my ipod to seek revenge. He didn't look like a Dolly-man. Although I must admit giggling when the man suffocating me, made comedy trumpet sounds blowing into his hankerchief. Those kinds of sound effects are usually only ever heard on whimsical Carry On films.
I'd miss the comedy real life throws up at me really, no matter how much I complain about it...
See my photos of London here.