before my journey ends

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Simon forgot his shirt. It was a blue shirt, maybe stripey, with a starched collar. Simon was young, not more than seventeen. I called him, but he ignored me. Simon was on a bus, but not this bus. The bus he was on exists only in Dreamland. I don't know if he got his shirt back. This bus, a real one, is the second of three I will travel on in an effort to get to the town in which Toddler Niece and her Mumma live. Reward for my thirty mile three hour journey will be a pub lunch, an afternoon of babysitting whilst Mumma works {the perks of being a head teacher ... popping in to school for necessities during the summer holidays} and a night away from Husband. Tomorrow may be fairies, or it may be maize mazes. Who knows what the two year old will choose. There is no Simon on this bus, to my knowledge. There are quite a few older ladies, some of them of the brusque and arrogant variety, some more gentle. An occasional older man joins the bus. A child or two. And me. I don't yet fall into the older lady category, but it won't be too many years. Will the bus pass still be available when I'm an older lady? Will the NHS? Will the world still be turning? I think the lady next to me is trying to read my words. Or maybe that's just what I would be doing if I was sitting next to me. Curiosity is a good thing. The bus is being Speedy Gonzalez now, whizzing by lakes and swans and an abundance of wild flora. There's the church, surrounded by sheep. I know that girl on the poster at the bus stop. She's a student where I work. Work have been busy creating new advertisements this summer. The more students we have, the more money we get. It's all about the profit. But then, isn't everything? Happy days!