This one morning on the bus the only seat available was next to ‘Slevering Sleeping Dude’. He wasn’t a particularly inviting travel companion given he was more or less spread over two seats with his tongue plastered to the window, but seeing as I’d been to Greggs for a butty and a cappuccino (for munching once I got off, not to trough like a pig on a rammed bus!) and didn’t want to risk standing and it dribbling down the front of my new shirt while swinging from those monkey loops, I decided I may as well perch myself on the edge of the chair.
Anyway, bus gets half way into town, and is about to pull away from a stop when a crazy cyclist bombs it down the side, forcing the driver to slam his breaks on. Slevering Sleeping Dude shits a brick, grunts a durty big ‘MWUUUUEAGGH!’ and throws his hand out spasmodically, cracks me in the jaw, takes out the lid of my coffee, and somehow splashes foam right up my nose and down my lap in the process. I end up sitting there with sticky cheeks, mildly roasted bollocks and stained breeks like a drunk who’s pished himself.
Cheers, chump.
At least it missed my nice shirt! Silver linings and all that…
Next stop: St. Enoch Centre bogs for a quick Paisley wash then into the nearest clothes shop for dry pants and trews.