Getting My Goat This Morning

Bus drivers. Specifically school bus drivers who sail past MrsN#3's daughter at the bus stop meaning that yours truly has to make an impromptu trip across town at 8.30 in the morning.

I mean, she's in her school uniform, stood at the school bus stop, she's got her weekly prepaid school bus ticket in her hand. It's a pretty safe bet she wants the school bus isn't it I'd have thought.

But no, he's fifteen minutes late arriving so he just sails past in an attempt to make up vital nano-seconds.

And what about the fact that we've already paid for a service that hasn't been provided? And my out of pocket expenses, wear and tear on the motor, emotional trauma and the dent that I now have in the middle of my bonnet (don't worry about the old lady - she knew the risks when she set foot on the zebra crossing).

I think we should bring back the birch, conscription and public hangings. You can say what you like about Pol Pot, but at least he made the buses run on time.