Linen

The new fun game which all the cool 134 bus drivers are playing this year is the change of guard on the Junction Road game. The busses pull up at a random bus stop somewhere near the depot and then sit for up to ten minutes whilst another driver appears with his little money box and faffs himself into a place where he feels it's possible to drive us onward.

It's rained all day today, which means I've been in a permanent state of sweatiness as I've made my way around London. Rain is not at all good for an hairy man like me - think wet dogs - although it does strike me how ludicrous it is that, give or take the odd layer of fur - human beings are inherently water proof, yet insist on draping themselves in fabrics which are anything but.

Today I wore linen. Linen is not water proof. In fact, I reckon, linen would be pretty useless in any crisis including fire, bouts of coldness, immersion in water, and unexpected erections!

Why am I talking about linen?

I've just returned from a swim which followed a session with an osteopath who pummelled me so hard he had to mop himself down with a towel afterwards. That's dedication to the cause, I rather think! It's not why I'm writing about linen.

I did some work in the morning on Brass, easing myself into the full tilt I'll need to be going on it as of tomorrow. Fortunately I did just enough work to turn the corner on one particular track, which means for a blissful and precious few hours until the arrangement is over, I am finessing rather than doing grunt work.

At the bus stop in Highgate, I did the rather mortifying thing of smiling at and saying hello to a woman I thought I recognised. It was only when she grimaced and looked through me that I realised I was trying to get the attention of the woman who plays the Mum in Our Family!

As I walked down the alley to our house, I happened upon three school children sharing a joint. They tried to style it out, with faces which said "what? It's just a cigarette..." The problem with smokers is that their smoking addled senses have made them forget that dope has the most shockingly powerful smell. Plainly I wasn't going to dob them into police, I'm sure the police have more important fish to fry, but I was somewhat annoyed by their brazenness.

I got home, and flung myself at the sofa and immediately heard the most shocking ripping sound. I looked down to see the gusset of my linen trousers ripped to smithereens! Now THAT'S why I was writing about linen!