Reflections on a bus journey

So I left the lovable chaos of the grandchildren for a literary evening. The Explorer bus ticket priced £5.80 is great value - by bus and train it would cost £16. When you're an unwaged writer these things matter, it may be twice as long but you always have time for reflection. I don't drive so travelling around by public transport is something I have to do. There are times of course when it's a pain, long-winded, with intervals of hanging around. But public transport does allow you to rub shoulders with the public, observe the latest fashions and behaviour and tune into conversations. Beware! there is a writer in earshot! I particularly welcome the turn of phrase, the creative articulation, the posh, the tough and the rough. Many a poem has been inspired by eaves-dropping.

Much of my wriiting has also been inspired by the journeying itself; who needs to go to Macchu Pichu for inspiration? The 16A from Folkestone takes you through some lovely landmarks and villages, past the picturesque Jackdaw Pub (must get off one day and grab a merlot) before heading for the A2 and eventually into Canterbury.

The sight of the cathedral always lifts my spirits, I always feel as if I'm arriving somewhere important. Last evening I was headed to Broadstairs for a writing workshop with my group, Thanet's Write Women. There was Broadstairs bus waiting so I hopped on. It was already dark at 5.15 so I knew there would be no looking out the window on the ride to Thanet so I spent the next hour and a half, yes! hour and a half, on the 8A, catching up on last Saturday's Weekend Guardian and dreaming of all the performances I would like to attend and books I would like to read. The 8A terminated just where I wanted to be, and I was the last passenger off the bus, making my way like John Wayne, weighed down with laptop and stuff, down the long dark road where I knew warm hearts and keen minds were waiting.