Do you remember Ghandi?

You know - that bloke in India? He used to go round burying other people’s shit, in the hope that they would catch on and bury their own - and so reduce the amount of typhoid, dysentery and other diseases in that plague- ridden land.

They shot him.

I sometimes think I am like Ghandi: taking responsibility for other people’s shit.

But I have had enough, I can tell you. From now on it’s ‘Looking out for Number One’.

I am still travelling by public transport whenever possible in order to preserve the life of the car (the noise from the differential is getting louder with every journey). I know you think it is a bit of a come-down for a man of my social standing, but there are bonuses: I am getting more exercise by walking to and from bus stops, and although it’s a bit knackering, I intend to stick at it because I want to lose some weight. Not that I am obese or anything - I just want to be lean and fit.
Also, as I have previously mentioned, you get to meet the public – and I like ‘people-watching’. I try to imagine what someone’s life is like. What they might be going home to: a night of passion? a domestic fight? soap operas on the telly? the bottle and oblivion? a lonely, empty house?

Bus drivers too. Now they vary enormously. Some are pleasant, with a smile and a word of greeting; others are surly, resentful – as if you – the passenger - have intruded on what would have otherwise been a quiet drive out in the country.

I sometimes wonder if a person’s life can be read in their face. Hang on, I’ll have a look in the mirror –
Yes, it definitely can!