Bloodbus

After a tough shift I like to relax with a wee half of whisky and a bit of classic soul. Tonight the warm tones of Brook Benton's "Rainy Night In Georgia" helped me unwind, along with a glass of slightly more fiery Highland Park single malt. Unfortunately, tonight also turned out to be a rainy night in Maryhill.

The bingo had just ruptured on Maryhill Road and within minutes there were hundreds of little ball shaped figures waddling towards the bus stops. There was no escape for any bus driver who, like me, just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

I pulled into the stop, opened the doors and somehow managed to absorb dozens of twittering, cackling and spluttering muppets. All of them were soaking wet which had the effect of steaming up my windows. Glancing round at all the gray, wispy heads, it was as though they were all part of the same fluffy cumulus cloud that had somehow floated down and started to drizzle inside my bus.

Just when I thought there were no more to come, I checked my mirror only to see yet more candy floss hair styles running in my direction. Well, when I say "running" it was more like "exaggerated ambling": arms swung a bit more, lateral wobble increased and they gave a broad rictus grin - but they didn't actually move any faster. If anything, all that effort of pretending to run actually slowed them down.

After what seemed like an eternity, there was a break in the inundation and I was able to close the doors and move away. At the next stop there was yet another muppet, but she didn't concern me as much as the young woman with whom she was speaking. As I pulled in, I could see that the young woman was absolutely distraught. She way crying inconsolably and all her make up had slid an inch down her face. After I opened the door, the muppet gave her a pat on the shoulder and said "I have to go, that's my bus."

"Aye, I can't thank you enough, I'm so sorry about this," sniffled the young woman.

The muppet boarded the bus leaving the woman sobbing at the stop. She whispered "That lassie's got problems."

"Yeah?" I said, and being a nosey bastard, I almost said, go on, tell me! But thought better of it.

Obviously the young woman had got talking to the muppet at the bus stop and just spilled her guts. But, despite the fact that the muppet would have been a compassionate samaritan and offered sound advice gained through a lifetime of experience, muppets do not come with a confidentiality clause.

Quite the opposite actually: they squeal, they squawk and they blabber. In fact, they gossip on such an industrial scale that there is no doubt that every sordid detail of that poor woman's affairs would spread at a geometric rate through Maryhill's grapevine - all thanks to one muppet. Just one. Much tea will flow.

However, to the muppet's credit, she tried to lift the mood by complementing a little cutesy girl who was getting off the bus with her Mum. "Look at you! Aren't you beautiful!" The little girl giggled but her Mum just pulled her along as she was too absorbed in a cell phone conversation to acknowledge the muppet.

As she stepped off the bus, I could hear what she was saying into the phone: "Willy's just been up to the house and kicked the door in. I'm getting the police to him. He was screaming and shouting and he just booted the front door right in."

Must have been a big Willy.

The money shot: Willy comes the hard man.

You can read the rest of this blog post by picking up a copy of the Bloodbus book at Amazon.

I'm not being a money grabbing bastard, I just think it's not fair on people who bought the book to then find out it's free on the internet. Can't have that. So check it out now by clicking the book below: