Sunday, 8 August 2010

The Fatty Bus Driver. Who Me?

The other day I felt middle aged spread was catching up with me.

Having to walk the not so long distance between the bus and the service station main building, I had to walk between some parked cars. Embarrassingly I struggled. I could not fit between their wing mirrors, which creaked as I whacked them. This was a shocking revelation, as though I could never describe myself as lithe, I had never in my wildest dreams suspected that I might be bordering on the obese,

I tried to think of excuses. The cars were too big. The parking spaces were too small.They were parked at an angle etc etc. But I ran out of ideas and had to put it down to a few too many bacon and egg sandwiches at butty vans during my hours behind the wheel and little more exercise than walking once round the vehicle to check the lights.

Amazingly the day was saved by a gargantuan man who I met in the automatic doors at the entrance. He was nearly the width of the double doors and came out at speed, brushing aside anyone who was in his way. I've never been so happy to be slammed into a glass door before. It's always the smallest things which lead to contentment. Once out through the doors he turned to see where his tiny wife was. The words written on the front of his t-shirt emitted nothing less than complete truth and honesty. They said:


Sounds like a case of f**k off, rude letter to follow, if the Stig ever catches up with him.

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