...work!

I was waiting at the Marnixstraat bus station. In fact, I was arriving there. I was approaching the bus 80 section of the bus station on foot, when I became aware of pigeon warbling. It's not so unusual there. It's a pigeon hang out. If you mind your own business, there need not be trouble, but they're watching....oh yes, give them an excuse, and...well, I wouldn't like to guess what would happen. You wouldn't want to approach with half a sandwich hanging from your pocket..ooh no. Shudder!
The warbling was of an elevated, perhaps excited manner. And lo, upon perusal, I noted a puffed out young man pigeon doing the jerky sexytimes strut around a young lady pigeon, who I have to say, didn't appear immediately to be rejecting the lad's affections. But oh the horror!...she had no feet! I've seen it before. I'm not sure what causes it. It could be some pigeon foot disease, but I have a feeling they land on hot things and leave their feet there. Maybe I should check it ahhht.
Still, she was otherwise a fine example. And honestly, I was a little touched by the effort that this young lad was going to. Love, or at least absolute unfettered desire had allowed this chap to see beyond the foot issue.
But sadly, this lumbering ape's arrival burst the balloon. The moment was lost. She was off. He just stood there, unpuffed....probably couldn't fly with a hard-on. Looking at me as if to say "You bastard!".
...."Oh look! A sandwhich!" and he was off...."Bitch had no feet anyway".

...home!

The guy that sat next to snoring backpacker girl (see last post) was maybe mid-40s, dressed in a suit and carrying a brief case. 'Respectable' looking, some might say. He sat for a while amusing himself with sarcasm and tongue clicking. He then opened his briefcase and produced some A4 paper, and a huge set of colouring pens. I was intrigued at what masterpiece he was about to produce.
He sat for over an hour drawing a colour coded flow or process diagram so small and psychedelic that it surely couldn't be of any informational value to any one.
Perhaps it was a draft.

...home

On the early international train from Brussels to Amsterdam, a backpacking girl got on at Antwerp, launched herself across 2 seats and slept using her backpack for a pillow. Not long after, she started snoring, but was politely left by our fellow passengers, who contented themselves mostly with sarcasm, looks of derision and tongue clicks (infinitely more annoying than the snoring, in my opinion).
At Dordrecht, the train started filling up, but the new passengers chose to leave her to sleep and stood in the aisle. Come Rotterdam, the train was packed, and despite my sympathies for the tired backpacker, we only pay for one seat, and she was taking two, so she was woken and asked to make space for someone to sit.
My sympathy evaporated as she angrily informed the conductor that she wasn't to be woken until Amsterdam!
(She did capitulate eventually and slept leaning across the table for the remainder of her journey.)

...the way home!

Gawd bless the sheer existence of folk. Now, I'm guessing I would jeopardise this human by divulging any real detail her (or his) well, details. All I need tell you is that I once again, woke up on a night bus at least two light years from anywhere useful, and she (or he) gave me a lift home in their own private car. I didn't ask for this. I did explicitly outline my situation to her (or him!) but he (or she) wasn't driven by my disaster. Just good naturedness. I paid. I was asked to, but it was clearly not a bus deal, and it was clearly due to my own incompetence. For paying, I got home for less than a cab, and the individual was saved some petrol money to get home. Good on himerherrrrrrrr.............

...home!

....I live in Dutchland. I live in an apartment in a fairly (or unfairly) well to do neighbourhood. I'm not trying to say that those more well to-do or less so are any more or less inclined to a morning greeting. No sir, or madam. I generally keep myself to myself.
When I was a kid in Reading, in the late 70's/early 80's there was a Polish family living across the road. I probably shouldn't remember much about this/them, but I do. The kids were called Robert and Richard, they were a bit wayward, I don't (nor want or need to) remember their family name (Storey?!), and they had a dark red Vauxhall Viva. I thought this car was awesome. Anyway...that's a billion miles from my point! I keep myself to myself...I don't hide, I just don't talk particularly much to the neighbours.
Just after seeing a scantily clad in-line skater, I was bidden "Good morning!" by a Derge'n! In Inglese! Don't get me wrong, most Derge'ns are talented Inglese speakers, but how did he know?
Maybe he's an Hinglish!

Douglas Adams had a story about biscuits. This story is nothing like that at all.

I would personally just like for that Derge'n to have a great day at woik. Thanks Derge'n!

I bade him a cheery g'morrow too...lucky devil!
Jord o' flaprs

...home!

I was approaching my apartment block thinking only of warm and home and sleep and maybe food when I heard amongst the bird song, a swooshing of in-line skates. It was a guy on in-line skates (bear in mind this is about 6 AM) wearing a shocking combination of thong and vest....down the road!...just skating in possibly less than it is humanly possible to wear!
Seemed to be having a great time, to his credit.

Ugh.

...home!

I was only thinking the other day how I've not contributed to this here whatsit for a while...then three come along at once! This is the only similarity it has with buses.

One of the problems with this is that I can't think of the first one. Hmm.
It might actually have had to do with buses.
One, in fact.
Likely a night one.