Scenes from a bus ride into Glasgow

It has been a while since I posted, there have been some interesting developments scattered in amongst the mundane of everyday living. More on the exciting bits in other posts.

Yesterday I took a bus ride into Glasgow to pick up my new phone that failed to live up to any expectation and didn’t work from day 1. Despite that I have had the rigmarole of shop flim flam and a repair that I was assured would do the trick. “If our guys have fixed it, it’s fixed” the shop assistant lady said. I was back home an hour and the same problem occurred. Answer that without swearing.

Anyway, back to the bus trip and my observations on life outside the flat as we merge for a few hours before retreating back into my hole.

I don’t usually travel by bus, I try to avoid it like the plague but at the moment I have no transport of my own so necessity forces me into the most uncomfortable of places. At the bus stop a young mum with baby in push chair are waiting and I manage to squeeze myself onto the seat. Baby cries one cry, just one. Mother immediately reaches for the Milky Way from her bag and stuffs said soothing bar of chocolate into the babies hand. Then she reaches for the sugar filled fizzy drink. That’s another weight problem and diabetic woman in waiting in thirty years time.

The bus trip is relatively uneventful apart from an elderly couple, I think they were Polish who had language problems not sure how to convey where they wanted to go to the driver. It took a while but they settled once assured that it was the right one for them.

In town, Buchanan Street is fast becoming the new Sauchiehall Street with street artists, musicians and all sorts plying their trade outside where that great book shop Borders used to be. A sad loss.

The next half an hour was a blur of passwords and so on as the repaired phone was set up with my data. Old phone was used to transfer contacts and all that palaver until I was sent away assured that it was fixed.

It had started to rain heavily, so I took refuge in a coffee shop nearby. Where isn’t there are coffee shop nearby in a busy city centre these days? like the measles, they’re everywhere.

Repaired phone sprang into life to tell me of the 264 e-mails and 5 new messages I had. It took time but most were notices for stuff, but the important one was the shopping list from my wife.

The return bus ride was uneventful, mostly empty which was a relief. At least there were no crying babies, people talking loudly into phones or doing the excruciating mime singing in no tune ever invented as they listened to their music. Quiet and empty, not many people, that is how I prefer my bus rides.

One thing struck me in my day out, everyone looked very much alone, lost in their own world of gadgetry and technology. Few people looked up and faced the world head on, most were head bowed, shrugged shouldered and tired.

That is, apart from one gaggle of “young ladies” who bounced up the path towards me on Union Street by the scaffolding. This was obviously an event of some kind for them because they were dressed to the nines, or should I say about four and a halfs, because there was far to much flesh on display and way little material in what they were perceived as “wearing.”

I would say they were about 18 but some of them could have been much younger. I have no idea what this type of dress is called and to describe it from a 50 something male perspective who’s daughter is older than the ladies in question may come across in entirely the wrong manner, but here goes. It was short, I mean impossibly short, sort of crossing over at the thighs to a higher point in the groin area where if one so desired one could tell if she waxed or not. I kid you not, the pubic area was on display. The top half of this dress was not much better. It had a creamy material that just about half covered the breast and some kind of see through chiffon type  stuff that revealed an ample cleavage.

I truly cannot describe what some of the other ladies were wearing, my vocabulary is obviously seriously lacking in that area. And remember, this was about noon.

Their language would not have been out of place in a dockyard and they were certainly “up” for a good time, whatever that was.

So, my friends, even when embarking in a simple task out in the open, whether in the city or somewhere in nature, keep your eyes and ears open for there are riches everywhere for the budding writer to immerse themselves in.

All you got to do is pay attention and, naturally, write it down as soon as you can.

Keep writing…

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About purpleandrew

Andrew, recently diagnosed with Asperger's Syndrome is a 53 year old former geologist always had short hair, suited & booted for work. That all changed when the credit crunch hit. Now a complimentary therapist, hospital radio presenter, and writer. Andrew writes crime thrillers, Young Adult, and fantasy books as well as blogging about writing and other stuff that he feels strongly about.
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