bus thoughts

I got the bus into town for the first time in a long time last night. Usually I plan to get the Dart, but end up being too late, and always thinking I'd rather the speed and comfort of driving than drinking.

This time, getting ready and out of the house stressed me out so much, I felt like if I didn't run out of the door into the arms of a welcoming pint of Guinness then I wouldn't be able to summon the will to go home again. So I drove to Baker's Corner, left the car there, and got the 46 into town.

I just missed one, so I had to wait a good twenty minutes for the next - I don't think I got to town til 10.15, maybe, having left the house at 8.40. I suppose that's not too bad, but I still would have been happier in the car. If only I had a chauffeur though I did on the way home, and it was every bit as good as I've ever fantasised about - compared to the local nightlink, it was like being driven home in a Bentley - definitely going on the lotto list, along it the personal chef and masseur. Are you up for those roles as well, by any chance, Maxi?)

The one thing that made the journey interesting was that once we stopped in Donnybrook, the heaving, bouncing, f-ing, laughing, shouting crowd of kids on the top deck unloaded. A Halloween procession of sorts ensued - first came the lads, all trendy mullets and crappy clothes; scruffy jeans, runners, ill fitting Dunnes issue hoodies, and puffy warm winter coats, the like of which I may soon be buying for Bodhi.

Following them came the fancy dress; girls armoured with perfectly straightened hair, mostly blond, tiny weeny close fitting micro dresses, high high heels, elaborate make up, wafts of perfume. No coats. Each clunked carefully and joyfully down the steep bus stairs, flashing teen crotches as they descended. I swear to God. They must know - yet they all still go upstairs... One word, of course: Wesley.

Later that night in Eamonn Doran's, which I frequented as a teen (in Jeans and boots, blissfully ignorant of push up bras and five inch heels) I queued for the loo and lamented the women's toilet issue with the very attractive women on either side of me. One woman said, 'Oh well, at least we have boobs', while the woman in front of me said 'yeah, but that works for men too.' True. It IS a man's world.

When I mentioned the Wesley teens, who all looked like they were twenty one, the pretty young blond lady behind me said she had thirteen year old twins, and she kept them in! I do live in fear for Olivia, alright.

I was reading the Times on the bus, and saw a comment by some mother about refusing her daughter her €85 Toni and Guy cut and blow dry. Her irate daughter demanded to know why, and when told the country is in recession, her daughter responded 'What's that got to do with us?' What have we done to our kids!