
This, like all my great internal monologues began on the bus. There are only two places in life where such inner diatribe is possible; the toilet and the bus. Fitting when you think about it because if you’ve ever been on a bus late at night, you’ll know that they don't smell all that dissimilar either.
So I've got headphones on, which is a touch distracting while you're on a train of thought (you should thank me already for not doing the `bus of thought` joke and believe me I thought about it) but once my mind starts off on one, I'm not gonna bring it back. Buckle up and take any bathroom breaks now, its gonna be a long ride.
Anyway I'm listening to the radio, which means I'm not doing my normal bus routine consisting of the incredibly witty yet safely silent remarks that my immensely sarcastic brain comes out with, usually aimed at whatever inane conversations are going on behind me. It's all you can do on the bus to keep yourself entertained, that and the collective willing of everyone that you wont get the nutter sitting next to you, which he invariably does.
Some mind numbingly dull pop tune comes on and I take the headphones off, something which should indicate to you that I'm not listening to music of my own choosing. I mean, why would I choose to listen to something I don't like only to cast it aside when it comes on? The headphones are off anyway, and my ears are exposed to the world.
“I‘m fed up of all this reality TV nonsense, none of it is like real life” comes the voice from behind me, and I picture a ten foot tall alien sitting three rows back talking to one of the clangers.
The journey is, in mathematic terms, dull to the millionth power. I know every stop and even every building along the way. Its got to the point where I can close my eyes and know when we pass the massage parlour that nobody but me knows exists (and of those that I've told, none of them actually believe it is a massage parlour). Don't ask me how I know.
My story is a simple one. However this is not my story, at least not yet anyway. This process of putting thought to paper is supposed to be a healthy one. I’m just writing this in case a psychiatrist ever asked me to write down my thoughts, I'd then be able to throw this at him and say “have at that smartarse”.
A smarter man than me would point out how poignant it is that your journey with me begins as my public transport endeavour is ending, but don't you just hate people like that?
Wednesday is normally a busier day than this; after all I have a radio show to prepare for. Yes they let people like me on the airwaves. Unleash more like. I can picture an hilariously inaccurate caricature of me chewing on a CD like a rabid dog now. Nobody said this was going to be pretty. Or funny.
I'm getting a real big summer vibe today, starting with the blaring sun that's coming down and added to by the fact that I can smell what I can only describe as barbecue, you know the smell I'm talking about. This is being wafted in by the fact that the driver is going at a speed guaranteed to make the bus flip over at least eight times. Either its barbecue or the bus is on fire.
An old woman beside me jerks her head drawing my attention momentarily. Her eyes close slowly and she nods her head solemnly. As much as I'd like to hope she'd meditating, I sincerely doubt it.
I did already mention my radio show didn't I? Don't get me wrong, I'm not one of those celebrities that demands everyone be on their beck and call twenty four hours a day, at least not yet anyway. That's possibly the worst part about being famous, you instantly turn into a celebrity. Maybe when I am one, I'll make being a celebrity cool again.