The Dreaded Telephone Call

The phone went at home late on in the evening.

"Schedule's altered," said the boss. "One of our drivers is running late so you will have to do his run tomorrow morning down to Merseyside."

My heart fluttered. That meant I would have to get up at 2.45am, get to the depot by 3.30am and leave by 4am - an hour and a half earlier than the route I had been assigned for originally. The fault lay at my door as I had specifically requested an early finish so that I could get to Hexham races in time for the first race. I had a funny feeling about an Irish horse and thought I would open my tightly secured Scottish wallet and have a rare bet.

"You will be taking the new bus we have just bought," he said as an afterthought.

"Oh really," I replied in an unconvincingly confident tone. The Accidental Bus Driver being given this task, was he mad? Being the only driver to successfully bump into the main depot doors at the top and on both sides and having a record for other various scrapes and dents, did not augur well.

Still, onwards and upwards. Surely nothing could go wrong. On the positive side, I would be collecting my money from the bookies in a little over eighteen hours.

Nothing could go wrong, could it?