On Duty

I am on duty this evening. An extraordinary set of circumstances has conspired so that I have to sit in a part of my office from 5.00 this evening until 9.00 tomorrow morning. It is now half past midnight, just 30 minutes away from British Summer Time, and - needless to say - I can feel a cold coming on.

London's callous viciousness again showed its ugly face when I was on my way here earlier. I was in the box seat on the 91, pootling along the Cally. A gang of young kids were standing (as they often do) outside Caledonian Kebab. No wonder this country is in such a state if that's what passes for entertainment for the young, but anyway, I noticed an older man among them - small but balding - and he was noticeable because he looked a bit pissed, staggering slightly into the road. I could see him smiling, and though I did register that it was odd to see him among these kids, he didn't appear threatening in any way. Then, the smile still playing about his lips, he raised his hand up so that it was next to his ear, and I noticed that he was holding a small bottle of Glen's (or some such) vodka in that hand. Without changing the smile, he suddenly launched the bottle, with some force, at the bus and I heard it smash against the side. I couldn't tell if he had hit a window or the metal structure, but the driver stopped the bus immediately and I, and the few passengers who were with me on the uppder deck all stood up and moved to see what had happened. Strangely, a young black girl on the back seat thought the whole thing was somehow amusing.

Little baldy didn't react to the angry words and gestures of the bus driver, except to laugh and caper around a little, before slowly walking away.