It was the local market day service earlier in the week. It is the highest service bus in England. Great on a day such as the day I went, where there was not a cloud in the sky and Scotland was visible with ease. Not so good when it is raining or snowing, when the cloud is down and it is impossible to see anything.
The Flying Pig was commissioned to do the run. These days I am never quite sure what is going to happen with this ageing bus. It's a great old servant which I am very fond of, but there tend to be more stutterings and strops these days from it.
Today there was a strop. In fact, far more than a strop. A complete refusal to go anywhere as all the electrics and the engine cut out while going up a steep hill. There was a lot of teeth sucking going on in the back. It was mainly the sucking of false teeth as it is predominantly the elderly who use the service.
'We're going to be late home,' scowled a cross voice from the back. 'I'd better ring home - or maybe not there's no mobile reception around here.
But the Flying Pig burst back into life when I turned the key. We continued on our way as if nothing had happened. It was a minor strop.
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