I’m a responsible citizen, and I don’t drive into town to the pub and get langers and drive back home with a hand over one eye so I can see one road. Or at least, I don’t do that anymore. Instead I use the bus.
Tonight I thought it might be nice to head into town for the old Hallowe’en party in my pub of choice. I knew there would be various people playing good-quality music, there would be friendly people who are friends being friendly to each other, and there would be relaxedness, which is always nice. So I slipped the iPod into the shirt pocket, zipped up the anti-cold jacket and headed off in good time for the 9:15 bus. Which didn’t come. Nor the 9:30. Two Polish girls, no doubt well-used to a reliable public transport system, stood in beside me to await the 9:45, which also failed to arrive. They had enough and flagged down a taxi. One of them motioned to me: you vant lift, yes? No thanks. I’ll wait till the next bus comes and I’ll abuse the driver for the fact that the three previous drivers were a crowd of gick-faces.
Smooth move, Bock. As the taxi pulled away, a car passed and I felt a hard thump against my chest. Had I been shot? No: I’d been egged, but somehow, the egg hadn’t shattered against my clothes, destroying my night as intended by the half-wits in the car. It somehow just rebounded and broke against the footpath instead of me. Now, I’m not a spiritual man. I don’t have a belief in guardian angels or anything like that, but as I examined my undamaged jacket, I began to develop a profound sensation that somebody up there was looking out for me. If it hadn’t been for that iPod, the egg would have gone right through my shirt.