Tuesday, 7th October 2014

"It's just a five minute walk." she said.

I believed her. I don't know why I believed her, but I did. It was ten minutes... but this is mostly irrelevant. It only bears relevance to the accumulative annoyance of the day and why I trust anyone when it comes to estimations of time.

I dropped Imogen off at the Childminders' house for the first time. It was raining. I then walked to the bus stop, in the rain, and arrived right on the expected arrival time of the bus.

A few minutes later, the bus came past in the opposite direction going towards the town centre which is about five minutes away. The bus, therefore, would be ten minutes away... while I waited in the rain.

Thirty minutes later, I'm still waiting for the bus.

Forty-five minutes later, the bus turned up, though it was the next bus on the timetable. The bus I was waiting for just decided not to turn up, therefore, the lecture which I was hoping to be early for, I was now going to be late for... after I got through the roadworks on the East Lancs.

I got to the lecture fifteen minutes late.

After the lecture, I chatted with a friend, who turns out to be a devout Christian and we almost argued about a point she thought I'd made, which she merely misunderstood, or couldn't comprehend.

After the final lecture of the day, I went for the bus to Bolton to meet a friend who had lent me five books. I had to catch a more frequent bus than the one I normally catch. When I wait for my normal bus - the 'X34' - usually two or three of the number '8' go by. The time was 3:42pm.

At 4:31pm, after getting drenched, and after two 'X34's had gone by, I sent a text to my mate along the lines of, 'have you set off yet? are you walking or driving? my bus hasn't come yet'. Depending on his reply, I was going to offer to meet him another day. My head was cold and wet, as too were my feet; rain had gone inside my jacket and I was hungry.

I waited for a reply. I took out my phone again and lo, although my phone had displayed battery power at 31% remaining on last check, it had now gone off showing no battery power left and need of recharge.

I wanted to fucking yell! Fucking iPhones!!!

I thought to myself, should I go straight home hoping Chris had inferred from my last message I was going to do the same myself, or, should I continue on to Bolton on a bus that was going to be loaded with passengers who had been waiting an hour themselves. Three bus loads on one bus.

I decided I couldn't stand him up as he might be walking... and he walks everywhere in sandals and he'd said that he was a little under the weather.

The bus it did arrive soon after and was like a bubbling and overflowing jam tart from a hot oven.

I managed to find a seat on the top deck, thankfully, but the bus seemed to unload at every stop due to the amount of people on board.

We were passed by another number '8' very quickly, this next bus being quite unburdened by wet and weary souls, therefore not needing to stop as regularly as our bus. It only had to stop to pick up passengers (which our bus seemed to do too).

After maybe fifteen minutes, some cunt decided they needed some fucking music to cheer them on their way. It wasn't jazz (my least favourite genre), it was Reggae (my second most loathed). When each song ended, another started, and I swear to the god in whom I don't believe that I really couldn't discern as to whether it was a new song that came on next, or the very fucking same vile, mind-numbing song on repeat.

I felt like my marbles were scattering and my blood was fit to explode out from my capillaries and through my tight and opaque outer-tissues due to a creeping hyper-tension.

And then another number '8' bus passed us shortly after Farnworth. I was ready to commit 'something-icide'. 'Anything-icide'. 'Everything-icide'.

I disembarked at the penultimate stop and wondered if Chris might be waiting in the bus station for my bus to arrive. No. That was a silly, and so brief, ponderance. A minimal preponderance of a ponderance.

I made my way to our previous meeting point in the library.

He wasn't there.

I walked to the large steps in the town square and scanned the area for signs of a large, white male with beard, glasses and sickly gait.

I saw him not.

So I went for the '582' to Leigh.

The queue was long, but I got a seat. A window seat. A double seat. 'Double-seat, double-seat, gotta get a double-seat'!

I took out my phone and pressed the power button with the prior knowledge it was futile action.

The Apple icon illuminated. The fucking thing had power after all. It came on, proudly boasting 28% battery-power remaining.

FUCK!!!

I texted Chris (knowing I was not going to get off the bus. No way, Jones-ay). Thankfully he'd driven and so it wouldn't take him long to get back home. We'd both gone a-looking in the library, apparently, but obviously had missed each other. I had spied not a very large man with sneezy-red nose, Action-Man hair and dark-brown Captain Birdseye beard.

I told him I'd get the books back to him next week, at which point my battery prematurely capitulated once more and went black before our conversation had reached its proper conclusion.

I got to Leigh, walked to Tesco's and thence on to home along the wet, puddle-rich streets. Bedraggled, bedevilled and begone.

So, this was my day. I hadn't gone to the gym either, which added to my self-disdain.

Next day, I unpacked my backpack and discovered it wasn't rain-proof. Chris's books were damaged slightly. This made the previous day's events even worse. I now had guilt.

I sent Chris a message apologising for the water damage. He was a gentleman about it.

Bottom line: FUCK!!!