Now that I've got my obituary out of the way, I can get on with my life.
I am now in Paris for a week. I only just managed to catch my flight yesterday. My planned rout was: Train to Exeter, bus to Exeter bus station and then another bus from the bus station to the airport. I checked it all out on the internet and it seemed that I should get there in plenty of time.
However, I had not banked on Public Transport!
The train was fine - we actually had a driver who bothered to turn up on time - but the connecting bus to the bus station did not show up. I asked a bus driver where it was and he said "It's the next bus"
I got on the next bus and asked if this was the bus going to the station. He said "No, that bus isn't turning up - he's lost somewhere."
The bus driver then told me that he was going to the station as the other bus was lost so, sonewhat relieved, I paid my fare and sat down.
According to the time table, there should have been only one stop to the station but my bus ambled slowly through town, stopping frequently to pick up or drop off passengers. Sometimes it just stopped for the sheer hell of it and waited hopefully for people to board or unboard.
Finally, it gave itself a little shake and set off into the country at a steady trot - rather like a spaniel when it thinks it's onto a scent.
I looked at my watch and saw that I wasn't going to be able to catch the bus from the station to the airport. It was now quarter to five, my flight was at half five and I should haved checked in 15 minutes ago.
I turned to the lady next to me and asked how long it was until we got to the station.
"Oh, we passed it ten minutes ago," she said placidly. "Did you want to go there?"
"I thought the bus would stop in it," I said. "On the timetable it says that its the last stop and it pulls into row 26. I need to go to the airport."
"Oh no, that's the next bus," she said. "Well you've missed the bus to the airport - won't be another for an hour. I hope you weren't wanting to catch a plane!"
She laughed a little at the absurdity of such a possiblity.
"Yes," I said tersely. "That's why I want to go to the airport - to catch a plane!"
She stared wonderingly at me. "To catch a plane?! Well then, you'll miss it! Hang on, I'll go and speak to the driver."
"A plane?" repeated the driver wonderingly when he heard my story. "Where are you flying to to?"
"Paris," I said hopefully. "Do you know it?"
It seemed highly unlikely that the bus driver would have a private plane stashed away nearby, ready to fly me to France - but I was willing to clutch at even damp straws.
"Paris?" repeated the driver, his voice vibrating with joy. "Why, I used to have a girlfriend there!"
Suddenly everyone was very helpful. The driver got on his radio and asked head office if it might not be possible that I could pick up the airport bus on rout somewhere. It wasn't. A taxi was now the only option.
The next stop was the hospital. Out I leapt in search of a taxi. But there were no taxis. The only taxi driver I managed to find told me that he wasn't allowed to pick up passengers from the hospital. Perhaps it was against Health and Safety. I had no time to investigate. I leapt back on the bus again.
"Our next stop is the Met Office," said the driver. "If I was you I'd phone for a taxi to pick you up from there. We should be there in ten minutes if the traffic isn't too bad."
"A goodly idea," said I, feeling nevertheless that it was beginning to look like a lost cause. (It was now five minutes to five.) "Do you know the number of a local firm?"
He shook his head sorrowfully. "I don't use taxis," he said gloomily.
"Four three four three four three!" shouted the last remaining passenger on the bus.
"Thanks!" I said and rapidly dialed the number. I ordered the taxi and sat back as the bus screeched off towards the Met Office.
I got to the airport at 5.15 and ran to the flybe check in desk. There was nobody there. Even the other check in desks were deserted. I ran round the place a few times with my rucksack - perhaps people would be drawn to where the action was.
Finally a girl appeared at the far end of the building and approached me cautiously.
"Can I help?" she asked.
"LateformyflighttoParis!" I shouted breathlessly. "CanIgoonthrough?"
"I just go and ask my superviser," she said. "But I think you're too late - the gates are shut."
After about five minutes her superviser came through. "We were boarding twenty minutes ago," she told me sternly. "The gates are shut."
I saw that now was the time for the gloves to come off - it was my last chance. I pulled out my British Passport and thrust it at her. She took it and, with a sneer, opened it;
The crazed vampire's face with its long lank hair leered up from the battered pages...her hand flew to her mouth to stiffle a scream...
The gates were reopened and i was allowed to board.
I am now in Paris for a week. I only just managed to catch my flight yesterday. My planned rout was: Train to Exeter, bus to Exeter bus station and then another bus from the bus station to the airport. I checked it all out on the internet and it seemed that I should get there in plenty of time.
However, I had not banked on Public Transport!
The train was fine - we actually had a driver who bothered to turn up on time - but the connecting bus to the bus station did not show up. I asked a bus driver where it was and he said "It's the next bus"
I got on the next bus and asked if this was the bus going to the station. He said "No, that bus isn't turning up - he's lost somewhere."
The bus driver then told me that he was going to the station as the other bus was lost so, sonewhat relieved, I paid my fare and sat down.
According to the time table, there should have been only one stop to the station but my bus ambled slowly through town, stopping frequently to pick up or drop off passengers. Sometimes it just stopped for the sheer hell of it and waited hopefully for people to board or unboard.
Finally, it gave itself a little shake and set off into the country at a steady trot - rather like a spaniel when it thinks it's onto a scent.
I looked at my watch and saw that I wasn't going to be able to catch the bus from the station to the airport. It was now quarter to five, my flight was at half five and I should haved checked in 15 minutes ago.
I turned to the lady next to me and asked how long it was until we got to the station.
"Oh, we passed it ten minutes ago," she said placidly. "Did you want to go there?"
"I thought the bus would stop in it," I said. "On the timetable it says that its the last stop and it pulls into row 26. I need to go to the airport."
"Oh no, that's the next bus," she said. "Well you've missed the bus to the airport - won't be another for an hour. I hope you weren't wanting to catch a plane!"
She laughed a little at the absurdity of such a possiblity.
"Yes," I said tersely. "That's why I want to go to the airport - to catch a plane!"
She stared wonderingly at me. "To catch a plane?! Well then, you'll miss it! Hang on, I'll go and speak to the driver."
"A plane?" repeated the driver wonderingly when he heard my story. "Where are you flying to to?"
"Paris," I said hopefully. "Do you know it?"
It seemed highly unlikely that the bus driver would have a private plane stashed away nearby, ready to fly me to France - but I was willing to clutch at even damp straws.
"Paris?" repeated the driver, his voice vibrating with joy. "Why, I used to have a girlfriend there!"
Suddenly everyone was very helpful. The driver got on his radio and asked head office if it might not be possible that I could pick up the airport bus on rout somewhere. It wasn't. A taxi was now the only option.
The next stop was the hospital. Out I leapt in search of a taxi. But there were no taxis. The only taxi driver I managed to find told me that he wasn't allowed to pick up passengers from the hospital. Perhaps it was against Health and Safety. I had no time to investigate. I leapt back on the bus again.
"Our next stop is the Met Office," said the driver. "If I was you I'd phone for a taxi to pick you up from there. We should be there in ten minutes if the traffic isn't too bad."
"A goodly idea," said I, feeling nevertheless that it was beginning to look like a lost cause. (It was now five minutes to five.) "Do you know the number of a local firm?"
He shook his head sorrowfully. "I don't use taxis," he said gloomily.
"Four three four three four three!" shouted the last remaining passenger on the bus.
"Thanks!" I said and rapidly dialed the number. I ordered the taxi and sat back as the bus screeched off towards the Met Office.
I got to the airport at 5.15 and ran to the flybe check in desk. There was nobody there. Even the other check in desks were deserted. I ran round the place a few times with my rucksack - perhaps people would be drawn to where the action was.
Finally a girl appeared at the far end of the building and approached me cautiously.
"Can I help?" she asked.
"LateformyflighttoParis!" I shouted breathlessly. "CanIgoonthrough?"
"I just go and ask my superviser," she said. "But I think you're too late - the gates are shut."
After about five minutes her superviser came through. "We were boarding twenty minutes ago," she told me sternly. "The gates are shut."
I saw that now was the time for the gloves to come off - it was my last chance. I pulled out my British Passport and thrust it at her. She took it and, with a sneer, opened it;
The crazed vampire's face with its long lank hair leered up from the battered pages...her hand flew to her mouth to stiffle a scream...
The gates were reopened and i was allowed to board.
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