Wednesday, 18 May 2011

march forth!.... or not, lazy git

You may recall, all that time ago on 16th February of this year I briefly mentioned journeying to and from school. I certainly don't, apparently I did.
Often on the first trip I pass - or get stuck behind, a coach. It's always the same coach, with the same children on it; always the same phone number printed in the same font on the same white rear. It's always the same. I go through the same routine of insulting it, calling the driver an idiot and contemplating making rude gestures at it as I pass it.
Of course, I never do the latter, because I'm a good child.
Nothing ever happens,  because I always beat it. In the end. I walk off, confident in the knowledge that I am superior and poses more Doctor Who trading cards than anybody on said coach.
The coach trails away and sulks, I'm sure it sobs endlessly at night. I'm sure it wails for it's rusty and dilapidated mother, and just for that minute - that second in which the last breath is taken; it's mother calls back.



  1. It wouldn't be a Parnham's coach per chance?
    If so, you'll find that its mother is rather fond of painting - especially in oils using a pallete knife. It was last spotted painting at the Cobb, Lyme Regis.In fact if I'm not mistaken she's become the latest member of the Sturminster Newton Art Society.