New Year

As I can't currently find the bloody card reader thingy I can't get the photos off my camera so the christmas update is have to wait until I can find it. So I thought I'd make a start on the New Year one instead, I'll have to do it in two parts I think because there's a lot to say and I have to write down all of it just in case I forget what a fiasco most of it was and am tempted to the same stupid things again. So, for my memory and everyone else's amusement here is part one if Vicola's New Year Fuckup.

29th December

11.30am : I'm packed and ready. My dad arrives to pick me and drop me at the bus station in town where I'm going to get the Megabus because a) it means I don't have to drive and b)it's cheap and I refuse to spend huge amounts of cash on a trip to the inlaws. Micah got the bus on the 27th and it all went fine and ran on time so surely it will for me, right?

12.40pm: The bus has arrived and my luggage is on board, as am I. I'm sat a table with 3 very nice people and it's toasty warm. The driver is struggling to get all the luggage on but eventually he gets it all on and off we go, only 15 minutes behind schedule.

1.30pm: Successfully changed drivers and we're off again, heading for the motorway. It's all good.

1.45pm: After a series of whiplash-inducing judders and alarming grinding noises we are on the hard shoulder. Things not looking quite so promising as they did 15 minutes ago.

2.00pm: The coach is grinding its slow and painful way along the road but what is this? Are we heading back towards Preston?

2.15pm: You bet we are. Do we make it back to Preston Bus station? Not a bit of it. We're now parked outside Preston Fire station and the caoch driver has just announced that the coach is, to use a technical term 'fucked' and we're going to have to wait for another coach.

2.45pm: The lady on the end of the radio has just anounced that the replacement coaches will be arriving in 10 minutes so off we get to unload our bags and wait.

3.30pm: We're still standing next to the stranded coach and now the sleet is coming in sideways. My toes have gone numb and I'm debating whether my feet would be warmer in my walking boots despite the fact that they have been tied to my bag for the whole time we've been outside and are now full of icy water.

4.00pm: The replacement 'coaches' arrive. Big, plush, warm juggernauts with fab heating and a toilet? Nope. Buttock-crunching crap wagons that look older than me by quite a few years. Heating limited to what you can produce yourself by breathing hard and no loo. So I nip back onto the broken coach for a pee before we set off for Glasgow. Enter loo cubicle only to find that I have accidentally entered Satan's toilet facilities and the smell nearly knocks me over sideways. Why would anyone do a shit in a coach toilet then not flush? It's just rude.

4.15pm: Set off for Glasgow. Am now not in a very good mood and am wearing three pairs of socks, jeans, vest top, jumper, fleece, coat, wet walking boots, hat, gloves and a fearsome scowl. Am giving serious thought to asking the driver to drop me off at Carlisle so I can stay at my cousin's house and go home in the morning.

6.30pm: Am dying for a pee.

7.15pm: Arrive in Glasgow and along with Erica, my new bus friend, break the land speed record in a sprint for the loo, only to find that I don't have 20 bastard pence and have to beg change off a stranger while bobbing up and down with my legs crossed. Elegant.

7.45pm: Set off on a nice comfy, warm coach for Perth. We are told that the 6 of us that are carrying on to Inverness will stay on the nice coach and everyone else will be transferring to another bus. Happy days.

9.00pm: The Inverness travellers are greeted at Perth by a very nervous looking man who says that he has something to tell us that we might not like. Why am I not suprised? He proceeds to inform us that there is no driver for us till 10.15pm so we can't head on to Inverness till then. Erica berates the man who now looks plain scared and makes him agree to giving us a full refund for both this journey and the one on the way home. I stand around smoking (although I am supposed to have given up) and loooking sullen. Now I really want to go home and am v grumpy. All is not good. Megabus pay for us to have a MacDonalds.

10.20pm: Set off for Inverness. Am now so knackered that I am losing the ability to speak and I suspect I have gone cross eyed. All I want is for the person who invented bus travel to contract horrific piles and I am wishing I'd just told Micah that I didn't want to go to Scotland and had stayed at home with the dog and the telly instead.

12.35am: Finally arrive in Inverness bus station. Although it has been 13 hours since I left home it feels more like 13 years. I'm grumpy, I'm tired, I'm not nice to know. I want the whole world to bugger off and leave me alone and I am really regretting being reasonable and coming instead of following my instincts and staying home. Have decided that I am an idiot for even imagining that this is a good idea and I've only got 5 cigs left. Fortunately Micah and his dad are at the bus station to pick me up and we head back to his house where I make polite conversation for 40 seconds before going to bed and crashing out. Not so much asleep as in a coma.  

 

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