"When the bus stops I'm going to get myself ready do something to that driver. I've got hot flushes and I'm just gonna take off my jersey," I overheard the lady in the second row behind me announce to the other ladies.
Usually this would be enough to send any bus driver's pulse racing. But the reality was that the lady, though one of the youngest of the party, was close to being given her bus pass. The other ladies from the WI around her were well into their seventies and eighties.
"How many people can you get into the bus's lavatory?" Another octogenarian piped up. "Do you think we could join the Mile High Club?"
"No, pet." The voice of reason at the back brought the debate to a close. "You may well get into the lavvy, but you certainly won't get out. We'll have to call the Fire Brigade. Then we'll never get home."
And so it went on. Who says life is dull when you reach pensionable age? This lot of ladies are inspirational and a joy to drive. There is never a dull minute and they take their bus driver under their wings. I've never felt so safe.
Having crunched my mirror earlier that morning with 53 eagle eyed witnesses behind me, I felt that my driving was under scrutiny. So every time I passed a tram along the Blackpool promenade without managing to hit it, I could hear a deep exhalation of breath.
"The first one who spots Blackpool Tower wins a quid," declared one of the ladies.
"I see it. I see it. Over there. Over there," yelled the excited woman in row 3.
"No, no," said another. "That's not the Tower. That's a pylon."
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