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Saga of a woman old enough to know better who lets her life be governed by the ridiculous hobby of breeding and showing dogs, musing on life, the twenty first century, Cameron and his mini-me, and the occasional sheep.
"IN DOG YEARS, I`M DEAD"

Monday, September 13, 2004

MOBY BUS 

Just back from a show near Guildford - the show was excellent but the journey was harrowing.

You will know by now that my dog journeys begin with me being packed into a big white bus in the carpark of a hotel on a lonely stretch of moorland road in the small hours. With luck they continue in a succession of dozes and fitful sleep until we reach our destination.

This one had begun badly, with a paucity of seats - a situation resolved by the formidable lady in charge, easily recognised by her fuschia hair, announcing that if everyone didn`t sit down on something - anything - right now.now we weren`t going at all. We got going, and took care not to inquire what people in the murky depths of the back were actually sitting on...........

I woke suddenly at 3am. The smooth motorway rhythm had given way to a succession of stops amd starts. We were navigatiing through a town, and I realised that it was Wigan.

I have always had some curiosity about Wigan, home of the pier and Spaceman Digby. I was even more curious as Wigan wasn`t anywhere near our route.

My curiosity was well satisfied as we looped in and out of the centre of town endlessly, caught on some deadly tarmac moebius strip. The only locals about were a bit the worse for wear, but have probably sworn off it for life, having been haunted by numerous sudden reappearances of the phantom bus, "gashly white" like Tom Pierce`s gray mare, always from a different direction.

The passengers, on the other hand began to have more than a little sympathy for the Flying Dutchman, although at least Vandervecken had the whole ocean to roam in and wasn`t confined to north Wigan. Would we too be condemned to wander for ever until redeemed by love? - (a very unlikely ending for dog fanciers.......)

Actually the situation was resolved by the formidable lady, who took very firm charge of the driver, a man of the type known where I live as a "right numpty", and eventually got it across that there is a road called the M6 and that we had a pressing need to be on it. At last Wigan receded in the distance.

Did we leave behind us the imprint of Moby Bus, the great white commercial vehicle, endlessly pursuing an unfathomable destiny in the North of England?.........damn, I`ve got stuck on these nautical metaphors again.

Somebody stop me!.

Wigan looks quite a nice place, really.
Posted by: Elizabeth / 1:17 PM
Comments:
Ok! you owe me a pair of knickers! The bit about the Flying Dutchman did it!Make them size 14 as Im living in denial these days!Bye
# posted by Anonymous Anonymous : 7:24 AM
 
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