SO THERE I WAS AT THE BUS STOP

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You are either a bus person, or you are not. It takes a lot of patience and endurance.

I can no longer see well enough to drive, so bus or taxi, the occasional train (my preference) is my usual transport.

So there I was, cooling off after my travail up the slope to the water tower, turn right and part way down the hill to the bus stop; leaning casually back against the bus pole to keep me upright (and take the pressure of my knees) when up she came:

Steaming up the very steep slope 1:4 at a guess, purple singlet, loose cotton shorts, wiry frame, muscular arms and legs, tied back wavy blonde long hair.

I was impressed at the speed she was travelling in the hot sun. Good on ‘er.

Just past me she turned and almost sprinted back down the hill. Oh the pressure on those knees! She will pay for that in later life.

From over the road she looked around fifty (probably a weathered 23).

The second time she came
steaming up elbows working, hardly puffing I was mildly irritated. Showoff!

Off she went down again. One trip and she would be flat on her face.

No sign of the bus but ‘Oh no!’ Here she came again. I now detested the woman. That was three laps of the steep hill. I turned to peruse the curved frontage of the Mercure behind me. Nice.

The woman must be deranged. Midday sun 30C according to the radio and all that. I had chugged up my hill avoiding loose stones and dirt…no I lie, it was a tottering day, so I didn’t need some leatherly-looking broad reminding me I’m getting decrepit.

Mininutes later back she came. I was ready to call her an ambulance. Definitely on drugs – or steroids. I glefully noted a slight stagger. She must be weakening. But no, probably o loose stone. What was so annoying was she did not run up to the corner but was using me as a marker and turned as she drew level across the road. Salt in the wound.

I was just grinding my teeth and thinking “If she comes running up again I’ll have her sectioned”.. and the bus came wheezing up instead. I got on with never a backward glance.

So I’m not a good sport when it comes to sporting types. I hope she wins the cross-country marathon or ehatever, no really I do. I just hope she really ached when she stopped.

I’m not always nice.