A very short week

4 to 6 September 2015

Days off are all very well but they can only end one way, going back to work. At least when I left the house on Friday morning I knew I only had two days ahead of me. The morning clouds were edged with fire as I set off along the river path and I had high hopes the flames would spread before I reached the other end of the boardwalk. My eyes were firmly fixed on the sky as I strolled along the path but it came to nothing more than a tinge of pink reflected in the river below. The gulls were squabbling noisily, a few small birds were singing and, as always, I wished I could be going anywhere but work.

After two extra days out of the office there was a mass of stuff to catch up on, a ton of disruption reports to add to the database, lots of emails to work my way through, not to mention the phones and the normal inbox. Two members of staff had been poached to run some college events so the phones ended up taking priority and everything else went by the wayside. It was irritating.

Even more irritating were the time wasters. We have a few regular bus geeks who call to talk buses with us. Believe it or not, most of us have zero interest in large vehicles full of passengers, or the finer points of bus design. Unfortunately, it was my misfortune to get two of them back to back and, while I watched the call queue grow I had to politely listen and make interested noises. All the while my foot was tapping impatiently waiting for them to run out of steam and go away. What on earth is the fascination with buses?

The calls were unrelenting, mostly about school passes, the forthcoming low summer timetables and service changes. Yah da yah da yah, the same old questions, the same old answers over and over. Maybe it would be easier to bear if all the information wasn’t readily available on line but it seems people need to be spoonfed everything these days. The odd thing is, a lot of the things people ask us we know absolutely nothing about, we just rummage around on the Internet while they waffle on. It’s amazing how knowledgeable you can sound when you’re looking at a combination of Google Maps, Traveline and good old Google, with a few other bits and bobs like fare guides and disruption reports thrown in.

In the early afternoon Commando called. He was going to pick up my prescription and I’d forgotten to leave him my medical exemption certificate. As he’d be passing the office anyway and I had the certificate in my purse, I said I’d stand outside and wait for him. Unfortunately, traffic made it a longer wait than I’d expected. My office is in a rather run down part of the city notorious for prostitution. Two police cars slowed as they passed by, the officers inside looked at me standing by the side of the road with suspicion. Then Panda came past in her car and stopped for a moment to chat. When another police car passed very slowly I warned her, “I’m going to get arrested for prostitution if I stand here much longer and you’re going to be arrested for kerb crawling!”

There was some kind of mass swan event going on along the river as I walked home. A huge convoy were swimming towards the boardwalk stopping occasionally to bend those slender necks and snaffle up some tasty morsel. Behind them the ducks and gulls were gathered. It all looked like some kind of swan outing and I wondered where they’d all come from and where they were heading. Perhaps they all belong to some swan travel club and they’d come to visit the Itchen for the afternoon. If they had they’d picked a bad day for it because a huge black cloud hung over them. Luckily I made it home before the rain began to fall.

The sky was even less interesting for my Saturday morning walk to work. It at least the rain had stopped. It was sad to see the roses I’d admired such a short time ago beginning to fade, petals withering and dropping. Everywhere I look these days there seem to be slightly melancholy signs that summer is ending, like all good things I guess. There was no sign of all those holidaying swans, just a flat, empty river, when I came to the slipway. When I left the river behind one lone swan watched me pass the bank where the trees and shrubs have been cleared. I wondered where all the others had gone?

There was hardly time to breathe all day. The calls came thick and fast and we did what we could, I even managed to answer a couple of emails in a brief lull. One call stood out.
“I want to report one of your drivers for a rascist act,” the woman said. “I want his name and I want him sacked.”
“Could you tell me exactly what the driver did?” I asked, fearing the worst.
“He drove straight past my son. Looked him right in the eye and just drove past. He’s done it before and I know it’s because my son is black. He’s a rascist and I want him sacked.”
“Of course I’ll send the details to the depot to investigate but there are many reasons why he might not have been able to stop,” I told her.
“Are you calling me a liar?”
“No, but you’re making a very serious allegation and it has to be properly investigated.”
“I want the driver’s name. I’m going to the police to report him.”
“Until the depot come back to me I don’t have his name and I’m not allowed to give it to you even if I did. there are data protection laws.”
“Are you refusing to give me his name? Then I want your name. I’m going to report you for being rascist too.”
I wonder if she’s ever heard the story of the boy who cried wolf?

After Bristol I felt like taking a familiar route on Sunday morning. Commando left for a twenty mile run and I went out not long after. For once the main road was quiet so I had a chance to stop on the central island to look at the clump of mayweed that has taken up residence there. On such a busy road it’s surprising anything has had a chance to grow but it seems to be thriving. As  I carried on across the road I smiled to myself thinking of the tiny seed that had blown from goodness knows where and somehow found the sustenance between the paving slabs to grow into these cheerful flowers. The miracles of nature never cease to amaze me.

The walking in Bristol, the travel and two mad busy days had taken their toll. The walk to the river was more a lazy plod. When I got there the swans were all down by the jetty, despite there being no one throwing bread. For once I had no plan, nowhere to be, nothing special to see so I clambered down the steep slope onto the jetty and stopped for a while. After some initial interest the water birds realised I had nothing for them and went about their business churning up the mud in their quest for food. Ducks, gulls and swans milled about and there amongst them were the cygnets.

From above I could see the pattern of the grey brown feathers, the droplets of water on their backs. If I’d reached out I could probably have touched them. The story of the ugly duckling sprang to mind, not that anyone could seriously think these graceful birds anything but beautiful. It was always one of my favourite fairy tales, maybe because I felt an ugly duckling myself and always hoped, one day, I’d turn into a swan. Sadly, I’m still waiting but these young fellows will have snowy white feathers and orange beaks like their parents by this time next year.

When I was joined on the jetty by a mother and daughter and then a young couple it was time to go. Feeling lethargic I carried on beside the football pitches where Sunday matches were playing out towards Woodmill. If the coffee shop was open I might stop and sit a while, if not, maybe I’d carry on to the White Swan. With the blue sky and sunshine I should have been enjoying my walk but, somehow, I wasn’t. My legs felt like lead and I had the beginnings of a headache. Maybe I should have brought water.

The doors to the coffee shop were firmly closed when I reached Woodmill and, as I was standing there looking out over the water, my phone rang. It was Commando. He’d cut his run short at seventeen miles. A combination of the dodgy ankle and a lethargy not unlike my own. He was upset with himself and worried this persistent ankle issue would jeopardise the marathon. Of course I turned for home.

We frittered away the rest of the day doing nothing much of anything. Around four o’clock Commando said, “grab your shoes, I fancy an ice cream,” and, almost before I knew it, we were in the car and heading for the shore. We parked up near my favourite bench, got our ice creams from the van that’s permanently parked up there and wandered slowly along the promenade eating them. We sat for a little while on the shingle looking out at the sparkling water with the last of the Sunday sun warming us. As we walked back towards the car a cruise line fog horn began to sound. This is a normal noise when you live in a major port but this cruise ship began to play a tune with its fog horns. Neither of us had ever heard anything like it before and we stopped to listen in astonishment.

It was a perfect end to my short week. Sometimes Commando has the best ideas.