So my friends.
Do you remember the sour-faced old boot I told you about yesterday?
Ah, let’s just pause for a moment and drink in the deliciousness of her grumpy demeanour as the memories return to tickle the taste buds of irony once more.
She was the person who, in no uncertain terms, indicated I should sit somewhere else rather than next to her because she didn’t want to move her stuff and yet, at the very next stop… She had to move her stuff because the coach got so full?. And how I smirked periodically at her for the rest of the journey in to London village?
The hatched-faced harridan has returned.
Or, to be more correct, I have returned to sit beside the hatchet-faced harridan. This time she was unable to deflect the aim of my bottom as it zeroed in on that seat next to her.
Yet to show her displeasure at having to sit next to the guy she verbally repulsed yesterday morning…
Elbows were deployed.
Yep, just like a Multi-Role Combat Aircraft she went for the subsonic grump and widened her elbows away from her body in an attempt to take up just that little bit more space.
And a newspaper was read (The Independent) and she made sure she held her hands as far apart as possible, to incur as much of my physical space as she could.
But la la la! I’m a morning person so she didn’t bother me. Oh no, I just got on with selecting audio files, editing the playlist for tomorrow’s podcast and generally did very busy-making things that needed to be done. And listened to much music.
And I may – just may – have started writing this post, and may possibly have got as far as ‘The hatchet-faced harridan has returned’ and may possibly (again) have made much of a meal of finding the correct spelling for the word ‘harridan’.
And yes, I am soooo aware that she was reading the draft post over my shoulder.
The interesting thing is… Beneath this fine layer of mickey-taking, I quite like her really. There’s something, some indefinable quality of her character that is quite attractive and interesting.
Anyway, and then the coach broke down (which I’ve already blogged about) and when we all transferred to the next coach in the line of service (which was 10 minutes behind – and therefore rather throwing out any excuses for log-jamming traffic at 05.30) guess what?
Yep, she choose to sit next to… somebody else.
Too bad she didn’t wait until I’d got to the bit where I’d said I quite liked her, isn’t it?