It has been a troublesome journey from the Southside to Glasgow University, full of suicide pedestrians jacked into the hand held devises and cyclists without helmets. On University Avenue the road was backed up both ways and a range rover was waiting to turn right. So I flashed him to let him cross. My good deed went unhindered as he sat there looking down on his phone while he caused a twenty car jam behind him. Nice one sunshine.
On foot from where I parked the car, a bin lorry pulled up beside me and processed to scatter a good proportion of the recyclable waste over the road. Did the driver clean up after him? No he did not, he just walked right past the litter and carried on.
I sit now in the familiar surroundings of the coffee shop at 9am and watch the traffic gradually clear while I sip away on my very hot latte, just as I ordered. Mothers half drag the unwilling school children along the path knowing that they are late and a trio of people tuck into coffee and toast in front of me.
The smell of something burning assaults my nostrils and I look up. The server catches my eye and I can see her look, it says ‘not me’ and she turns away. Then I spot something that just should not be. They have homemade scones on the counter, but wait, I spot red flecks in them. Ugh! Cherries, how dare they? A fruit scone is a fruit scone, no a cherry fest. I tut and I’m sure the server heard but ignored me.
On my way into Glasgow this morning I see the little Hitler’s are out in force issuing parking tickets with gay abandon. Wait, there just may be an oxymoron here. One of said little Hitler’s has pulled up and parked a motorbike on the same yellow line/illegal parking place as the victim. Is it in my authority to stop and issue him with a ticket, after all he too is parked illegally? If the victim is parked in a bus clearway for rush hour then the little Hitler is also an obstruction to said bus traffic.
Back to the coffee shop, a man comes in with a fashionable low slung rucksack half way down his back. I am assuming that this trend, so prevalent with school kids, must be the ‘in’ way to carry them. It is also the wrong way. I can tell you from personal experience that there will be a shed load of people with back aches, time off work and other back related injuries and ailments in the years to come. An epidemic, if my prophecy is correct.
A rucksack should be worn high on the back, tightly secured and if it has one, the webbing belt securely fastened around the waist. Thank you.
Rucksack man fires up his laptop and knocks back his espresso. He must be in IT because without spying on am unnatural way, I can see he is working in dos or machine code of some description. Clever chap.
Long pony tailed lady on the corner lets out a loud cackle at something her companion has said and everyone in the room looks up. She remains oblivious to the attention and the calm of the coffee shop returns.
On the road opposite me, a large truck pulled up about ten minutes ago, I assume to deliver some stock to a pub or restaurant. The driver is slumped back in his seat and knocks back the remains of the drink from his unspillable container. I await a little Hitler any minute and the chaos that will ensue, for he is parked illegally.
One of the trio of toast eaters has been abandoned by her companions and sits alone doing her knitting while pony tail lady has a last few words for her coffee mate outside and they go their separate ways into the day, although for some reason she keeps finding a way to call his attention back to her.
That familiar burning smell pervades my nostrils once more and I know it is the kitchen/serving area but cannot locate the source. Not to worry.
It is time for me to depart and get the car so that I can meet up with my wife in twenty minutes or so.
Adieus for now and keep on trucking!
My journey took me back past the coffee shop and still, a further ten or even twenty minutes later the man in the delivery truck remains slumped in his seat watching the world go by. Must be on a good hourly rate, because I can assure you he isn’t paid on the number of deliveries he makes a day or week.
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