Woke up, got out of bed, dragged a comb across my....oh dear I have mixed up my life with that of ex-Beatle, Paul McCartney and in doing so quoted a Day in The Life from Sgt Pepper. Oh well.
It all started like this...
I had missed the train from Langley Mill so got the tram from Phoenix Park to Nottingham.
Why was I strangely worried and over anxious? Well it was a perfect sunny July morning and got to watch the impenetrable girl who smiled, charmed, flirted but never actually sat next to me.
I was on the tram by accident; fault of my Mum who, despite getting up at 4:30am waits until 6:00am to start getting ready. She needs to be at work at half 6, I need to be at the train station 4 miles away, for 6.36am. Normally we end up speeding to the station but this time I just exhaled, 'nah forget it.'
Now i'm not talking to myself here, or my Souther drawled American chauffeur. I'm on about my Dad, my honest, do-anything-for-anyone Pater. I'd be lost without him. He did say though, in a rather stressed and strained voice, "we need to get you a car" as we drove to Phoenix Park.
....
Just looked out of the train window, another pulled up besdie us at Beeston Station. "Bloody hell" I thought, "what an old piece of shit that is" as I peered up across the windows. It was then that I realised I was looking at the reflection of our train.
....
To my left a lovely selection of barges, boats, burny grasses and a few dappledown garages. Chocolate box.
To my right the large and looming dominants of the East Midlands horizon: Radcliffe on Soar Power Station.
Tool box.
....
Walking up Syston's section of Melton Rd, I can't help but feel a bit lonely. It's a busy road at 8:17am but there's little folk about.
I wait outside the Alliance and Leicester where the bank's cleaner arrives on time in her new Seat (I've waited here a few times!) She really can't properly and this is annoying (my Dad deems it a weakness if someone can't park properly), she arrives at an angle, with her front left tyre gently kissing then falling flat on the face of the kerb.
Then this battered old L plate blue Transit van pulls out. The side door is clumsily painted with a white gloss, then this Hyacinth Bucket character gets out. Love it!
....
The bus has stopped - I honestly don't know why it doesn't come a little later. The bus comes from Leicester into the burbs and there's never any serious traffic. We wait at different stops along the way.
....
Passing by a nursery for trees, then a nursery for children called 'The Laurels,' we make the slow rise from East Goscote into Rearsby. Freshly cut grass smell in the air, followed closely by the high pitched screetch of the bus's breaks as the driver misjudges a Ford Mondeo's speed at the island.
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