Due my amnesic moment with the Flying Pig yesterday, I have been punished and given the Donkey today on the College run. The Donkey is a sluggish old bus with a floppy gearbox. It is like driving one of those Italian cars which, as the saying goes, has regularly been in the garage and fixed by Toni. But apart from the gearbox where the gearstick feels slack and spongy, she's a good old thing who, when wound up, is a good go-er. Besides with my record, complaining would look suspiciously like a case of a bad workman blaming his tools.
There are no such things as coincidences, but there must be something close, I thought as I turned into the coach park to find it full of caravans. I had stayed up late last night to watch Big Fat Gypsy Weddings. It is the best show on telly. I had no idea that I would be running into them so soon. They seemed peaceful enough, the cars were not the usual old bangers, the children were well dressed even though there was an eviction notice pasted to the automatic barrier at the coach park exit.
Nonetheless I rang the Council, in shameful arse protection mode, to make sure the cameras in the car park were working and would record if my wheels were stolen.
The crime theme seemed to follow me round. While I was sitting on a bench in a shopping centre, a boy and a girl sat next to me and discussed the serious criminals in Carlisle.
"My mate hasn't been to prison. He's only 18 and he's got 56 offences," said the boy.
"Yeah, that's not fair," said the girl in obvious disgust. "I've got loads of mates in jail, and they haven't committed half that number." I golloped my Cumberland sausage sandwich, walked once round Carlisle city centre and hurried back to see what state the Donkey was in.
There was no need to worry. The wheels were still on. The doors were locked. The travellers had moved on.
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