Normally I complain about how painfully long the journey between here and town can be.
I gnash my teeth at the circumstances which see us take fifty minutes, or more, to do a journey timetabled to take around twenty. I bemoan the various pensioners who slow it up, or school children, or those people who get on the bus and are then surprised that they have to pay or produce a pass. No, really, wait until you’re onboard befored you start looking for your purse. That’s the way.
This morning, though, I thought I was going to die. Or, failing that, end up back in 1955 playing guitar at my parent’s prom hoping I don’t completely fade out of existence,
We went so fast we caught up with the bus from nearly ten minutes earlier. Realising this, he paused at a stop for a few minutes to allow the bus in front to gain some headway. We then lapped it within two stops.
I’ve never seen anything like it. I barely saw this, either, to be honest because my eyes were closed for a lot if it.
I’ve never been so early for work. Or so awake as gallons of adrenaline flooded my system having been preparing me for fight, flight or brace for impact all the way in.
We took less time to make the journey than it takes to get home via the same route at 11pm when there’s no traffic.
I don’t know whether to be amazed or terrified.