Age

Ah dear readers, I will commence apologises...again.

I find my Sunday routine of blog writing never established itself and thus soon sweet memories of whiling away the hours at my key board soon diminished. In additional to that I also seem to have gone back in time in terms of my behaviour. For the last few weeks very Saturday night I have been propelled back to student hood, drinking till the wee hours, talking rubbish and dancing badly.

Unfortunately, I am no longer 18, but a fair 25 (stop laughing) and instead of getting up on Sunday and phoning the friends I was out with that very night to talk about events of that very night, instead I wake in a haze of outride fug, sick to my stomach, my head pounding. I manage to drag myself from my bed only to get to the sofa where I lie immobile for several hours unable to even move my head slightly. If I do manage to turn on the tv I am unable to watch it as turning my head from the position it rested when I collapsed on the sofa causes exquisite pain and agony. Once I am finally able to move, a drink of water of is attempted soon followed by profuse vomiting. This routine is repeated until the early evening when finally I drag myself to the local minimarket grab myself some irn bru and a pizza. At some stage, Cat will return home from her sojourn in Aberdeen seeing her fancy man to find the hollow wreck of her flatmate curled up on the sofa. How she must love coming home to such a sight.

So that is my excuse. I am drunken hussy, but not even a young one even more. Sigh. I’m getting too old for this sh......

Traffic

I love Edinburgh. It has been my home now for just over a year and despite spending 7 years in Aberdeen, I already feel more at home here than I ever did there. This is not to say that I disliked Aberdeen (unlike many of my counterparts who the mere mention of the Granit City causes a violent reaction) it’s just I feel the ’burgh feels more like home with it’s little coffee shops, mountains of book shops and green open spaces. Oh yeah and all the culture. However this is not to say my new home city does not have it faults. The main one being the traffic.


Driving in Edinburgh is like riding a panicky ridden horse being chased by snakes. It is nigh impossible to circumnavigate the streets due to high volume of one way streets, buses, omni-present cyclists and kamikaze taxi drivers tooting furiously at you if you even think about hesitating before launching onto a round about. However you’d think after living here for over a year, being both a driver and a regular public bus user, I would have become accustomed to the labyrinith of the city.


But no. Because of the beast know as the Tram Works. For over 2 years the tram works have like a plague upon the city. The idea of the trams pleases me. Two tram lines running from Morningside across the city centre and another from the airport to Leith, little quiet tin boxes ferrying people to and fro with large windows so to gaze upon the beauty of the surroundings. What a great way to link the parts of the city especially when driving and parking is such a bitch. Except the works were meant to be finished January past and still what do we have to show for it? Tram lines on Princes Street. Where do they go? Nowhere because there are no more tracks anywhere else! Instead there is ever present and ever changing road works and road restrictions. The changed with such speed that once quite laterally as my old landlady wife was driving round a-round-about, the lanes on the roundabout changed and she ended up in the wrong lane despite starting in the correct one! Quite recently my new wife became lost driving back from the West side of town and phoned for directions. With trepidation I gave them but with the road alternations happening so fast and furiously I was not confident in my advice and it took the poor girl almost 2 hours to get home being stuck in a loop of right only turns.


Now they say it’ll be 2015 until the single tram line is finished as now the 2nd line to Morningside is scrapped due to financial restrictions. What the hell are they doing?! There is side street just up the road from me that I have only seen open for about a week in the year I’ve lived here. Why? Because the gas company had to dig up the road and change the pipes. They then filled in the road and re-laid the tarmac. A week later the water company had to change some pipes so dug up said brand new tarmac to lay their new piping and in the midst of re-laying it. What a waste of money in these difficult times.


The air some days due all the drilling and concrete laying is thick and opaque like the mist in some Sherlock Holmes style novel except instead of a fearsome hound coming through the fog, overweight men in fluoresce end jackets plague the streets of Edinburgh.


Grumble, grumble, and grumble.


See I really am sounding like a local now. I dislike Glasgow as the roads there are far too wide and confusing (I mean a motorway running through the city?!), not to mention the exceptionally high population of Neds. I complained bitterly about the amount of tourists during the festival causing an increase in my daily commute and the parking here is just ghastly! Added to that the new students have just descended upon the city and much like the festival tourists don’t seem to realise what pavements are for (FYI they are for walking NOT for standing in large groups on).

Ah, there’s no place like home.

The Creation of Man

Yeah, yeah, yeah. Not written in a while, blah, blah, blah, excuse, excuse. Still love me? Hell yes you do or otherwise why do you keep coming back? You are all my biatches, fo’ sure.


Anyway, life the last couple of weeks continued on much like the few weeks before it. Busy, busy, seeing folk, having tremendous fun and being achingly cosmopolitan at the festival. In amongst this I managed a weekend up north to see my mum’s new house with her fancy man, five large dogs and one small cat. Despite the kitchen only having 2 walls and the guest room rendered uninhabitable by a surfeit of boxes, the place was lovely. The garden is so massive it’s like a municipal park complete with babbling brook and wildlife (well, dogs and the odd worm). They even got me gardening. Come spring time next year there will a fabulous array of daffodils cursory of moi.


So with all my socialising, running up and down the country and actually going to work, I must say I found myself happy but quite exhausted. So imagine my surprise when I realised this weekend I had no plans. No even just no plans, but Cat the put-upon-wife and Andi were both away meaning I had the flat to myself (no, Andi’s not moved in, but foolishly he has been given the spare key and now I never know when he might burst through the door). I did something quite out of character for me and made no plans. I consciously avoided texting folk incase they suggested meeting up. So when it came, this weekend I found myself quite foot loose and fancy free.


I did what one can only do when finding themselves alone. I bought some naughty food, a couple of beers and a crappy movie. That was Saturday. However, today I decided to be a domestic goddess. When I was unemployed, yes those dark days, I found myself baking a lot to fill the time and despite not being a natural chef, I did enjoy baking. However once I started working and the festival exploded upon the city, I found this past time fell by the way side. So today I resurrected it. Not only that, I decided to make gingerbread men which was my speciality as a teenager (the only thing I would bake, I have no idea why).


I called mum and got the recipe and realised I had most things I the cupboard, but just needed a few bits and bobs so nipped along to the supermarket. Half way around the shop I realised I had forgotten to get the most important piece of equipment required for making gingerbread men; that is the man cutter. I thought, never fear Morag you are in a large supermarket chain they will have one. Nope they didn’t. I was in a retail park so I didn’t panic. But then Poundstretchers, Tkmaxx and some random cheap shop called BHS (not the one we all know and love, another one with the same name -is that allowed? I thought there were copyright laws about that sort of thing) all came up with nothing. Well, that’s not strictly true in Tkmaxx I could have got a train, a star or an elephant and while these were nice, I was wanting the archetypal gingerbread figure. So I drove off to yet another large chain supermarket and it too failed me (neither of these were the evil Tesco, just putting that out there. I spit in your general direct Tesco).

What to do? I wracked my brain then suddenly a light bulb went off and not an energy saving one. John Lewis. They would have what I required. I mean have you seen that advert? That chick clothes her entire family, furnishes her house and does all the baking just from that one shop against montage sad/happy music so I surely could get a pastry cutter in the shape of a male homosapien there?!


NOPE. John Lewis failed me. Hear that ex-wife: Sarah was addicted to JL, although she never bought 2 of anything just because it was red (yes Andi I am talking about you and your predilection for M&S). By this stage I was panicking as I am sure you would have been. I mean I’d bought all the ingredients; they were in car waiting to be mixed. The shopping centre was getting busier and busier and it was almost lunchtime and I was hungry. Hungry and no pastry cutter. In a last ditch attempt I went to the one last place I could think. Poundland.


Poundland is a source of great joy and great sorrow to me. Everything is a pound- joy. People there- sorrow. They are poor- I have nothing against that, I am poor now, but the people in Poundland can’t seem to walk and move like the rest of us. Instead they just hover like midges in little clusters around the store, their mouths usually hanging open and grunting to one another. On Sunday lunchtime, the place was packed it was almost unbearable. However, needs must and went in. Unfortunately the kitchen stuff is in the middle aisle at the back, no way of avoiding maximal exposure. So I stop-started my way to the section filled trepidation. I mean if John Lewis didn’t have pastry cutters then what was hope Poundland would? I got to the section and to great dismay I saw a packet of pastry cutter shapes- stars and the like, but no men. My heart filled with sorrow. It was the end. There was nowhere else I could think of to get a gingerbread man cutter. It was over.


But then I glanced down, at the end of the aisle, separate from the rest of the baking kitchenalia, next to the Tupperware- a small cardboard box. Unassuming, almost hidden amongst the brightly coloured lids. Could it be? I edged closer- not in fear; I was just stuck behind an obese granny who could only shuffle. Then at last I saw it. Not only a gingerbread man cutter, but a gingerbread woman cutter and two smaller gingerbreadchildren cutters! And all for a pound!!!! Joy, joy!!!!


On my return home, I was quite overcome by emotion and was forced to have a cup of tea and some crackers. And then I began. I began to create my men, women and children. I mixed, I kneaded and I baked. And they were complete, ready for the world. I hadn’t made this recipe years and I was cautious – what if they were horrible? What if I’d lost my touch what if they tasted bland and floury? I picked up my first little man and bit......

I had created man and he was good.

What did you do with your Sunday?

And finally....

The beatings of my beautiful wings continue to vibrate so incredibly fast that I have become a mere blur. Despite this I realised that I must continue with the blog or face the wrath of several readers who have expressed anguish over one of last entries regarding Bedraggled Doctor.

So before I start on the tantalising list of last time, I will just briefly say that the last two weeks have been a frantic tizzy (that’s right tizzy) of activity that has involved friends, relatives, festival goings on and a badly timed Costco trip (which has left me bankrupted- damn you bulk buying temptation!). So if I was to detail every event this would read like my rather dull diary and if you do so wish to know my very move over the last few weeks please feel free to come see me and read it. If you can decipher my hand writing you deserve to know my very (rather boring) thought.

So back to where I left last time readers. And in the spirit of keeping things fresh I am not going to follow the list sequentially. So the biggest change of the last month has been a change of personnel. Yes, indeed the first Wednesday in August heralded the passing of Landlady-wife Sarah- may she rest in peace (what is that you say? She’s not dead? But my dear, she is in Glasgow so she may as well be) and the dawning of a new age- the Year of the Cat. Or Cat as she is more commonly referred to.

And poor Pussy. Her arrival has for some reason brought out the OCD monster in me. She is the most laid back person and living with her so far alas been a delight- for me. For her however, it must be like living in an asylum. Well, not an asylum, but maybe one of those step down half-way houses for the rehabbing insane. I never knew how particular I was about things. I came home one day shortly after her arrival and she had put away the washing up. That’s nice. But she had put the cups on the wrong shelf and bowls were piled upon the smaller of the plates. I practically had a fit. Then one night she was cooking me pasta. That’s nice. But she didn’t put the lid on the boiling pasta pan of water and I actually had to do it because I couldn’t bear to see the water heat up so slowly. And just yesterday we were food shopping ‘together’. I say together but the only thing I let her choose for herself was Philadelphia spread; everything else had to be ‘on the list’. I fear next I write, I may be looking for a new flatmate. I never knew quite how neurotic I was until now. Thank-you all for being my friends.

To confound matters, one evening when I wasn’t dashing around for a change, we were watching some TV show when I noticed something dashing across the living floor. It was a mouse. However, I did not say thin. Instead in a very derogatory stereotypical fashion, I made a yelping noise (some would say scream) and jumped up upon the sofa. Cat was obviously quite astonished by my behaviour and eventually I managed to explain to her that there was in fact a mouse and it was now residing behind the television. We bravely approached the area and the creature made another mad dash for it, this time under the sofa. By this time I had calmed down and regained some of my dignity and remembered the mouse catching apparatus.

The mouse catching apparatus for those who did not grow up with cats, is a plastic bowl and a plate. With these two implements mice or other small terrified creatures can be caught and liberated from hungry cats. I dashed to kitchen whilst Cat kept watch on the sofa for signs of movement. On my return, I closed the door and we wheeched the sofa from the wall. Unfortunately, the flat is old and the floor not flush with the doors (and mice are small) and the creature dashed into the hall. We followed it into the hallway where a myriad of doors and hiding places presented themselves. We searched the cupboards an under the bookcase but to no avail. Cat then when through tot the kitchen to see our guest sitting squarely in the middle of the kitchen floor. He then scampered under the washing machine and was gone. We stood about a bit then wondering what to do in a useful fashion and realised he had won. So I obsessively put all foodstuffs in air tight mouse proof containers and on the next available evening purchased a humane mouse trap. Suffice to say, he remains at large.

Now the final two tales are linked and not in a way that many readers will enjoy. I have recently completed my probationary period at work and have now started flexi time. What is this flexi-time you say? In summary it means I can start any time before 10 and finish any time after 4 as long as my hour at the end of a 4 week period meet the minimum 150 hours. This is marvellous for me. No more rushing in the mornings, being able to leave early if the necessity requires. But something has been lost. For every silver lining there is a cloud. It means that I no longer get my regular bus to work. Tales of the 49 to Rosewell are over. But dry your tears little ones, I’m sure that the novelty will wear off soon, I will start a more regular pattern of work and I will once again have a new bus to glean great tales from. However, I leave you with this the final tale from the 49 .....

The Tale of the Bedraggled Doctor and the Shiny SHO

So several weeks ago, I began to notice that Bedraggled Doctor (BD for short) was looking far less disappointed when alighting to the bus and inevitably not getting a seat. I realised then that she had a companion. Now if you recall, Bedraggled Doctor gets her name for the fact that she always looks positively dishevelled. Her shirts are always crumpled, her hair always unbrushed, her laces tied in knots and several moths flutter around her like in some Dickenson novel (okay I might getting a touch carried away with my prose). Well, this chap was by far the opposite. He sported a neatly cropped haircut alongside a perfectly trimmed beard. He was immaculately attired with beautifully laundered pure wool jumpers over a crisp shirt and well pressed trousers. His dark brown leather shoes gleamed with spit and polish. He also carried with him what I can only describe as man bag, a bold move even in the cosmopolitan Edinburgh. A satchel is probably the best way to describe it and its strap was a curiously short length yet he somehow managed to wedge it on without a wrinkle on his pullover so it neatly lay under his right arm.

This new companion and BD chatted the whole way and then got off at the hospital and walked together past me and beyond to the hospital at large. They must have been colleagues as they seemed to walk together into the corridors and his slightly more expensive attire and slightly advanced years lead me to the conclusion that he was her SHO i.e. her senior (as she clearly is a junior). The next day, the same happened. And then every day after that. They would get on the bus together, either standing or sitting and quite literally chat enthusiastically the entire journey. Now for those public transport commuters amongst you, does that not strike you as odd? At 8 in the morning, I can barely utter a vague grunt let along talk voraciously to a colleague day after day. Or was he......

Several days into my observation, it began to dawn on me why suddenly was this chap getting the bus with her? It was nowhere near doctor change over time so he can’t have started working on her ward. Perhaps he had recently moved house? No I decided that was not the case- I mean who is buying these days? The only explanation is that they were having a inter office romance. A Grey’s anatomy type inappropriate liaison (I am still addicted, however I must point out in real life it’s not actually a complete taboo to date your senior, in fact it’s what usually happens ). They had resisted for the most part of her rotation, but finally after several months of stolen glances and whispered nothings, finally one night after a particular wild work night out, they slipped out ‘to get some air’ and shared a gentle kiss. Since that day they have met every day, unable to be parted. Surreptitiously leaving work at separate times. Taking different staircases to the doctor’s room. Every night joining together in a forbidden love that dare not speak its name lest it be known and others at work frown upon them!

And then I noticed something. One day, the bus was as busy as always and there was only one free seat. Rather unusually (but breaking sexual stereotypes) BD let Shiny SHO have the seat. Once seated, she affectionately patted his head. He reached his hand to hers to hold it in a gentle embrace. And then I saw it. A wedding ring. I was frantic. Could it be?! Shiny SHO was married?! I looked desperately at BD’s left hand, could it be they were actually married and I’d just misread the situation. But her ring finger was bereft. Then it all slipped into place. The fact they always stayed at hers, the secret meetings, and the stolen glances. They were not only having a secret romance form the work colleagues, Shiny SHO was married- he had a wife! They were having an honest to goodness affair!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Actual affair- just like in Grey’s!!!! How would it all end? Would Shiny dump his wife? Or would he return to her and break Bedraggled Doctor’s heart? Would one day, I see him run for the bus screaming ‘BD I pick you, I choose you, I LOVE YOU!!!!!!!’

And then I got flexi-time and haven’t got that bus since so I have no idea how it played out.

The end.

Next time....

Yet again I have been too busy to write a regular blog and I remain so. Instead I will leave you all with these little teasers until I have time to write a suitable and more indepth blog.

• Adultery and scandal on the bus: a shocking and surprising turn of events involving Bedraggled Doctor
• Mouse attack in the flat
• Return of the Cat: I swap my tall blonde flatmate for a shorter version
• Flexi-freedom: I begin a life of non-conformist working hours

And so much more still to come.....

Busy Lepidoptera

Salutations dear readers. Apologises for the lapse in my timely bloggings. I’ve had a complaint (from a black pot- you know who you are) and so I would just like to defend myself. I have been a butterfly. A social butterfly and I am exhausted!

The weekend following the last blog, Up North Lori came for the weekend and coincidentally Friday night was Champagne night, a dinner party with Landlady wife Sarah, and Kiddie doc Jen (the last time we would have our semi-regular Friday night gathering as the landlady wife is Glasgow bound next week). It was called champagne night as Sarah had a been given a very expensive bottle as a gift and had not got round to drinking it. We managed. We managed to drink another couple too. Due to my rather bossy instructions to drink lots of water, Lori and I didn’t feel too rough the next day after some frivolity and meeting my with psyche Suzie (she is a psychologist, only a little crazy) that evening we went to Andi’s Beaver and had some more wine.

The following weekend was Manchester with the Amazing Aimie. Back from Dubai for a month an still browner than a nut (that’s an odd expression isn’t it? I mean how brown are nuts?) The weekend actually started on Thursday and didn’t finish till Monday. Manchester was much fun. We shopped, went on a big wheel, drank pink fizz (amongst other things) and went dancing. The Manchester night life was not as wild as I was fearfully expecting, but filled with rather confusing people. At the club, the Scottish lacrosse team were there wearing kilts, but only one of whom was actually Scottish. A long haired tall man accused me of being a catholic and then on telling him I had no particular religious affiliation, then began to rant ‘you little protestant girl with your little protestant mother and protestant father in your little protestant town’. Odd. We managed to make it back to the hotel unscathed however the next day I feel more than a little under the weather. It didn’t help that the train was inhabited by a extremely loud drunk Glaswegian man who for the whole journey screeched a torrent profanities and on our arrival in Edinburgh he seemed entirely confused about where he was a began to scream ‘I’m in Edinburgh, is this Edinburgh? Where am I!’. Surface to say the rest if the carriage’s population waited until he had safely evacuated and did not rush to his aid.

I had wisely booked the Monday and Tuesday off work and this tuned out to most fortuitous as ‘Save the Children’ Dominic came to Edinburgh for visit on return from his epic Malawi trip and this descended into a dinner party of sorts with beer. Unfortunately, I did have to return to work the next day and the day was hard. Very hard. But the torture did not stop there. During the drunken dinner party I had received a phone call from Beaver Andi (oh, for those who don’t know, he was formerly Fort Willy Andi, but he recently moved to Edinburgh into a Beaverhall road flat). He took advantage of my drunken state and persuaded me to accompany him to ‘Body Pump’ on Thursday evening.

I wasn’t sure what body pump was. I knew it involved some kind of aerobics and music, but that was all. After dragging out my only passable (barely) gym outfit and fighting back the school PE flashbacks, I cautiously made my way to the gym. It was filled with lithe beauties who all seemed relaxed and like they were meant to be there. I met Andi he began to ‘reassure’ me by telling me what to expect. Imagine my surprise when he said that when we get inside we were to get a spot to set up our weights. Our weights, excuse me?! He had never mentioned weights. Yes, indeed Body Pump is weight lifting aerobics class. So not only did I ever to try and coordinate to music, but now I had to life weights as well. I was not amused. The Body Pump teacher was one of those impossibly beautiful fit people who always have a massive fixed grin and don’t sweat. I spent the entire class flailing around hopelessly trying to be coordinated and rather ineffectually lifting my weights. The actual class wasn’t entirely as hideous alas I had anticipated, but I don’t think Andi will waste his energy trying to persuade me to accompany him to the gym again.

So finally last night, I thought I might have a chilled night at home alone, but I am just a girl who can’t say no and ended up round at Andi’s beaver with my soon to be ex-wife watching the classic (i.e. cheesy) X-men 3 and a bottle of vine.

Tonight may prove to be my undoing as Cat is back! Yes she has returned from Oz (hopefully less scary wheelie creatures in her journey) and tonight we are having a party at the Beaver (of course) and then on Tuesday, she become my new wife! Yes, I have wasted no time. When Sarah leaves on Tuesday, Cat will take her place. I need to have a blonde in my life and whilst I mourn the passing of Sarah to the abyss that is Glasgow, I look forward to living with Cat and hopefully finally meeting the eponymous Lewis (the boy who has just ‘given’ her his spare car).
Amongst all this excitement, Aimie is back for another weekend, there is Karen’s leaving do to be had and I’m trying to squeeze in a cocktail night with Artist Laura and Maggie – the original girl from Oz may be making an appearance!

As I said, I am a butterfly.

Motion

This weekend has been another one of perpetual motion and general frivolity. I seriously don’t know how I have time to work. Directly after finishing on Friday, I set out in Simone to Aberdeen to stay the night with Kim and Tom. I had spent the whole day moaning and complaining to my work mates about the traffic I was bound to encounter whilst trying to cross the bridge on the eve of the popular music festival ‘T in the Park’. However, that evening I sailed across the bridge with the most minimal of delays and certainly far less than the previous week en route north.

Anyway I arrived in good time to be greeted by a lovely meal from Kim and Tom and a few glasses of fine red wine. I was an ungrateful guest though as I slept in the next morning then dashed immediately off to visit my grandfather and a very pregnant friend (hi Shona!) who also fed me well. I did return after my visitations and have a cup of tea, but I must say I wasn’t the most sociable of guests so I thank them for being such gracious hosts. Saturday evening continued my tour of the East coast when finally after almost 2 years after Louise moving into her Tayside flat (literally next to the Tay River you can see the men in the bridge and occasionally they sail by in their construction boat and spy on Louise), I finally visited her in Dundee (the first year is excusable as I was out of the country, but the 2^nd, all I can do is a apologise). The night turned into more of an event than had initially been planned as it ended up being my landlady wife, Elaine, a rather tired post baby-catching Gillian and of course the gracious hostess. We chatted, we ate and we drank. We drank 4 bottles of wine in fact. This doesn’t sound so bad until you discover that neither Gillian or Elaine were drinking and then you can appreciate that the next day the hostess, landlady wife and I ever feeling a touch delicate (we latter two were put up at the River View Hotel don’t worry we weren’t drunk driving back to Edinburgh).

So the remainder of Sunday after managing to drive Simone home in the blustery wind was spent on the sofa watching Grey’s Anatomy- yes I finally stopped resisting and have started watching it. I usually hate medical dramas as I have never got over ER killing off my favourite character Mark Greene. Oh, Mark what an end! And I’m mildly ashamed to say I find myself slightly addicted and have been sending out sneaky texts to friends who have the 2^nd series to ask them if ask if I can borrow it (thanks Lori).

Also this week my mother has made the move from her old-new house to her new-new house. I gather it has been slightly traumatic, but when I phoned her tonight to get the full report my aunt had just arrived and they searching for a bottle opener. I thought- best leave them to it. Never speak to my mother even after the merest sniff of alcohol or she’ll profess her undying love and then launch into a story about how I was planned by my father and not by her....

So that’s it, but I thought it might be time for a bus watch update. A couple of new people have arrived and our old favourites have been making their regular appearances. However we have a loss. At first I thought he must be on holiday, but I think, alas, Thin Puck is gone. We mourn his leaving the bus and alighting to the rest of the world. However, on to new and old friends alike.

Tattoo lady- a new regular on the bus. She is there already when I get on and gets off about 2/3rds of the way into my journey. She has the most striking tattoos on her neck and face. Two tiny blue cat (or maybe dog) paw prints at the corner of each eye then a trail of larger black paw prints going circumferentially around her neck. At the base of her neck there is also a heart surrounded by a pair of wings. They really are quite startling and what makes it all the more fascinating is that these are only the tattoos I can see. This woman always wears a high necked top and long sleeves, heaven knows what other dazzling displays of body art exists under the swages of cloth.

Lion Woman- whilst waiting for my bus last week a woman I suspect of Spanish origin appeared at the bus stop. Her hair is a flowing mane of browns and golds. It looks like it’s had spent hours and hours and several people making it look so absolutely perfect, but it is 8am in the morning and I don’t think this can possibly be. Imagine my delight and surprise when she got on the bus and sat directly in front of me and has continued to do so this last few days. For the first 15 minutes of my journey, lion girl has got on the bus and I have had the great joy of getting to see her hair every day. Don’t ask me if she’s pretty, I’ve not looked at her face.

Bedraggled doctor- has been on night shifts as she was away all last week. At first I thought ‘oh that's lovely, she must me on holiday’. However her appearance on Monday morning's commute makes me suspect she was on nights. Poor, poor bedraggled doctor.

The Wet Granny- the battle continues. After our last direct meeting (in which whilst wet she sat on me) I had mostly been successful in avoiding her. Unfortunately, last Thursday as the bus approached her stop, I saw her there ready and waiting to jump on the bus. I glanced around me and realised I had one of the only available seats next to me. I crossed my fingers and hoped for the best, but luck was not on my side and I saw her approach. I thought that perhaps this time it would not be so bad- it was dry day and this time I was in a normal two seater so surely this time my leg would safe from her great hulking mass. Alas not, as she swung herself down, throwing her full weight upon the seat, I again got half a buttock on my outer thigh. To add insult to injury she also had a massive handbag (I suspect containing bricks) which she threw down upon my lap. She eventually manoeuvred her arse off my leg, but handbag remained on my lap for most of the journey. Any attempts to try and throw her a disgruntled look were prevented by her reading the free newspaper with the print practically touching her nose. It being pressed up so close to her face and the vast majority of the leaf in my immediate ‘personal bubble’ meant that any effort of eye contact was prohibited by her paper cocoon.

Wet Granny 2- Morag nil.