That Girl from Derwent dwells on the value of religion this Christmas.
That Girl from Derwent has learned a few more things about prejudice since moving up North.
That Girl From Derwent reckons if you're going to be offensive, you should find a better reason.
That Girl from Derwent considers why it is that some words have wider implications than others.
Once you reach the age of seventeen, you have a most important decision to make: “should I learn to drive?”
To this day I regret my choice.
Post-seventeen you will be short of at least one of the two key elements in learning to drive - either time or money – and most probably money. As you may have guessed, I put the whole thing off and decided I’d learn at a later date. A date I’ve still to reach. This means my transport options are limited...
...and so we reach this week’s issue.
Buses.
“Mobile asylums” is my favourite description of buses.
It seems that on almost every bus you have to get on there is someone who doesn’t quite tick all the boxes –if you catch my drift. Probably the man wearing a woolly hat with bells on, carrying a shopping bag full of tin foil and starring at each poor fellow who gets on – although you never know. There are also the intimidating (or aspiring intimidating) characters – however, it’s not just these tattooed Neanderthals that bother me, (I’ve learnt to turn my mp3 player to full blast - a tactic that also stops them sitting next to you): it’s everything.
Buses never seem to be on time, do they? It makes you wonder why they print the times on a board at the bus stations. Of course, by the time you get on the bus – twenty minutes late – it’s full. Single mothers with pushchairs, school kids and the elderly block your path and fill the seats, so you stand as the bus driver takes each turn like he’s on a trial for Ferrari. You can hear the baseball-capped goons at the back playing their distorted dance music through their phones as they hurl insults at whoever dares glare at their hooded deformity.
Which brings me to another point – I mean, is it me, or do you never see an attractive person on the bus? It’s honestly beyond my memory when I saw some young filly that made the journey worthwhile.
This is, of course, assuming you’ve got on the right bus. It’s a hell of a twist in the stomach when the bus suddenly goes the wrong way and you have to decide whether to get off now or ride it out hoping it will eventually still head to your desired destination.
All the fun of the bus fare, ay?
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