The wheels on the bus went round and round but now they go bump (pause) bump (pause) bump. In the old days, before power shifted from the bowler and boater hatted men to the magical pointy hatted witches, life was a smooth circle (with the odd tangent) but it’s all triangles nowadays. Equilateral, right-angled, scalene. Archimedes’ Constant has finally yielded to Euclid’s Isosceles and smooth bus journeys have become a perilous and slow thump, thump, thump on solid triangular tyres. None of the schoolkids on this bus understand curves anymore. They see pictures of Marilyn Monroe and look disgusted. They all want triangular legs and nose implants to get a sharp pointy look, and who can blame them given that their snub and hook-nosed grandparents have all been turned into toads and statues.
Of course, if you can ride a broomstick everything’s just dandy but busriders hold on tight for fear of being tossed violently from their seat when the wheels come crashing down. I’ve never seen so many broken arms and bandaged heads. From the bus window I watch the coven, whizzing about up there, cackling and peering though blood shot eyes for traitors with a hankering for a smooth circle. That lady two seats up wearing round toed shoes rather than winklepickers must be poor or suicidal. A chap I know was toaded for six months for reading the ‘Story of O’. But I guess it’s not all bad. At least you can still buy Toblerone.