The Vale of York is notorious for fog in Autumn.
This morning was no exception. But it did not stop the lunatic motorists with a death wish from accelerating up the dual carriageway. York has become a very busy city. The re were already queues coming into town at 0645. The back streets are tricky places to drive a bus. the school I was due to pick up at was down a narrow street with parked cars, bollards amongst the narrow streets of Victorian railwaymen's terraced houses.
In view of my current record, I was particularly careful and proud of myself for not clobbering anything. I even managed to avoid the substantial, industrial sized wheelie bins within the tight turning circle within the school itself.
And, boy how lucky I was. this was the second friendly school I had visited in two days. As I sat in the staff room with my cup of real coffee, freshly poured from the cafetiere, a teacher smiled and said:
"You just relax and enjoy your coffee."
The parents came to wave their children off. the place was buzzing. They mingled with the passing office workers and shop assistants, dressed in their ubiquitous uniform of white blouse, black trouser suit and a knee length Inspector Clouseau-esque raincoat flapping in the breeze. The sound of clicking heels along the pavement was constant. The postman passed, peddling hard on his bike laden with three paniers, bulging with mail. He waved.
We departed. It was happiness personified. York is the friendly city.
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