"Get on board if you think you're hard enough"

This post is dedicated to Esme Duggleby and the bus-sick expats in Deutschland.

Stagecoach buses are the Asda of public transport. Whereas First buses tend to attract a less fucked up commuter, the dregs fill the aisles of the 83 and the 88. I feel like I’m slumming it on an 82: I feel like an in cognito Baron on the 88.

Just on the way home tonight, a woman got on and hollered at the driver when he set off before she sat down. Then a little later, the driver opened his door to scream abuse at a car that had dared to pull out in front of it. I kept quiet and made sure I thanked him when I got off.

Got home and Esther had picked all her spots and was sat in bed looking bored. We made tea and watched the first episode of Glee season 2 tonight. I was grumpy as hell when I got home because:

1. I handed my essay in and felt nothing.

2. I had a pint and then realised it was pointless because I couldn’t get drunk tonight.

3. We made the mistake of going somewhere cool. In the Deaf Institute there was a guy in his early 20s who had a much better beard than I could ever grow. And there was a table full of art school girls all with the same haircut (fringe and brown bangs) and the same “I’ve just discovered charity shops/stolen my auntie’s clothes”. I seemed to be invisible to these people and it pissed me off. What, TinTin isn’t a recognized style icon? How dare you.

"Hey! Don't ignore me coz I'm not dressing Naval"

4. I knew that now I have done my essays, I no longer have an excuse not to do the tedious jobs I have been putting off.

This was one big mardy pants wearing my clothes. Anyway, me and Esther watched Glee and I suddenly realised I was breaking into a half smile goddammit!

The best line of the show was when Sue Sylvester called Santana’s fake boobs ” exploding sandbags” and told her “Now take your juicy, unripened chest and get the hell out of my office”. Sue is a lone voice against silicon in American TV, and I love the fact that you sometimes want to be her more than you want to be Quinn Fabray or Santana. This feeling is rare.

Sue Sylvester is my hero.