Life feels pretty good at the moment. I've still got my hoarsy voice, but being dosed up to my pollen swollen eyeballs with hayfever drugs certainly makes for a very contented life.
I get up. Have a Weetabix,sometimes two. Dick about with my myspace blog (which makes me feel a bit uneasy discussing on here. I don't want this Geek Pie to think I'm being unfaithful). I then head to the bus stop and wait for my bus to Uxbridge.
There are three buses I could take. There is the 427 which stops at every stop along the Uxbridge Road and makes the 25 minute trip to town feel like it lasts about three days. It's usually populated with the old, decrepid and those who seem to like smelling like they've just bathed in someone elses piss.
The drivers have to cope with a lot, which makes sense if you consider the number of people they must let on and off along this route each day. As a consequence they are typically grumpy and go out of their way to make all their passengers lives a misery. I've heard the excuse on the Northern Line about late running meaning that everyone has to vacate the tube, but never on the buses.
That was until I rode on the 427 the other day. I think the driver had just had enough of all the school kids, the whinging old folk and the younger hipper people (like myself) who stand there grimacing as they end up nose to armpit with one of their fellow passengers.
Then there is the 607. This does the same route as the 427, but it doesn't have as many stops on it. On a whim most of the drivers completely ignore passengers at the stops they're supposed to pick up from, but gladly collect them from stops they're not supposed to. Anarchy reigns! This is partly the reason this route is name the "schiz-o-7", but so to is the fact you seem to get a very high number of Hayes weirdos on it.
Personal favourites include the bloke that walks around with a basketball up his shirt and Dancing Joe. He has an old school Sony Walkman and dances to whatever tunes he has playing on it. If he catches you staring at him he threatens to "cut ya good!"
Lastly we have the U7, and a personal favourite of mine. It's yellow and always seems to arrive just in time to save my ass from a kicking from the bad kids that hang around my bus stop. The drivers are always happy to see you and when they see you running, they never drive off. I think the yellow colour must chill them out.
Anyway, after I've ridden the bus, I walk to the gym and work on getting myself a toight arse. After that I take my hayfever stuff because the fake circulating air in the gym means I don't need to worry about an attack of the sneezes while I'm there. Also, I have enough difficulty working out how to operate the equipment there when I'm lucid, let alone when I'm drugged up.
The return bus journey is usually much more pleasant, as a result, and then I spend the rest of the afternoon asleep. Breezy will then come in and tell me off, complaining that I look like Side Show Bob because of the chronic case of bed head I'm rocking at the moment.
But still, it's quite nice feeling spaced out all the time. Yawn. Night!
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