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Whenever the bus is late I really regret having to catch it at all. I am off to Ilkley, without any desire, earning £41 once I’ve paid for transit. Yesterday it was £7 return to Harrogate. Is it really worth flogging myself for an hour just to pay to get to work?
The milling numerous expectant and impatient passengers at the Wetherby bus station frighten themselves that they haven’t yet seen the very late x98. As one this cohort of tumultuous beasties jumps on the 770 which will deliver them to Leeds in the year 2099. Patience is without peer.
Quickly my journey grinds to naught with a tailback from Collingham to Seacroft and a cackling old man - this is driving nails into my palms - as a 40 minute trip now doubles.
In the rush of delays I journey without stopping for a refresher at Leeds City Station. To another well planned and simple 3 coursers at the Winter Gardens where I am needed just to carry the grub from oven to holding cupboard and dish up some Brake Bros dauphinoise for 60+ while head chef steams over saturated and dried roast Beef: a la Brake Bros again. In such a rush we are as my time is up at 9pm for another torturous journey.
One more time it will be. A wedding on Friday the 23rd then not again.
On the return leg had to avoid many many drunk and foolish people to hang around for my bus along to home. Not a pretty spectacle. Erin asked me if I was alright? I said yeah…
Creeped into a silent house, ascended to a cold made bed and smothered my self in fast becoming dreams. By the morning I felt strange, a disturbance at 1:30am and a text message at 8am.
I wanted to go out, get drunk and stumble home on Saturday. I felt crap, I looked crap and I was told I looked crap too. I left the house at 11am with a growing feeling of nausea. I had a pint of what I assumed was a restorative pint of Thatcher’s Katy and wobbled to the muse with an enlarging sense of unwell. I’d begun to plough through the Saturday edition of the Telegraph, taken a handful of swigs of Rooster’s Liquorice Stout and suddenly I couldn’t contain this feeling any longer. A momentary projectile vomit occurred. I returned to ponder if this was some passing phase. Felt my gore rise again, and decided to quit back home as I felt ‘quite faint’.
Back to a deserted home and a change of clothing. I tried to overcome the spreading of woe. I flicked numerous channels for around an hour before my guts gave out and I decided to hop into the unresisting bed where a cold chill took me.
I woke up covered in cold sweat at 10:30am, had a warm bath and sat about on edge all day. Needless to say it is Sunday and I feel less inclined to defecate: however I still feel very cold and my guts have this ongoing ache which has persisted for around 18hrs.
Oh, to feel so turbid and constrained a handful of days before I begin another new job: moan is me.
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futurefjp posted this