The Expert On The Bus
Life
We were sitting quietly on a bus to Yarmouth, Isle of Wight, when he got on.
The Expert.
He took the seat behind us and immediately launched into a full dissertation on cheating in cycling.
“That Lance Armstrong. He cheated a bit.”
Groundbreaking insight.
We pulled out of Newport bus station. Without missing a beat:
“Dunno why he’s going this way. You can’t turn up the road.”
The driver turned up the road.
“Ah, we are going this way then. Thought we would.”
Mary and I exchanged glances. The kind that said: we are in the presence of greatness. In his own head, at least.
As we passed Carisbrooke Castle:
“There’s the castle.”
Thank you, Professor Obvious.
We hit traffic near some roadworks — clearly marked with signs, cones, diversions, the lot.
“Ah, we’ll be held up here. There’s roadworks.”
Astonishing.
“Busy, innit?” he added.
It wasn’t just us. You could feel a silent wave of passenger despair ripple down the aisle.
As we rolled into Yarmouth, the ferry from Lymington appeared.
“You can get the ferry to Lymington from here.”
Then, moments later:
“There’s the ferry.”
Bless him.
Just before we escaped, he delivered his parting shot:
“You can get to the Needles that way,” he said, pointing at the only road leading to the Needles.
I felt sorry for everyone still on board.
Good luck, fellow travellers.