the week the car broke down and I lost my last remaining shreds of sanity

At the beginning of this week, we went to the stables for Od's riding lesson. The sun was shining, it was a perfectly crisp afternoon. The lesson was a success and we were on time, which is always a good thing.

On the way there, the car made a funny noise.

I didn't think much of it, my car is old and there are many funny noises within its vocal range. Our car is called Abigail. I don't know why. Abigail has always been a work horse and although she is old I do really love her. I have never loved a car before, and I've had far nicer ones than this but we share a bond - neither of us are really cut out for the task in hand but we get there with sheer determination and a bloody minded attitude.

On the way home from the stables, Abigail decided that she was not going to get above 15 mph, and that she would roar in a fit of toddler-esq temper all the way home. A ten minute journey took an hour. When we did finally pull up on the drive, Abigail was gently smoking.

So. No car, and a husband who is sat in a hotel in Europe talking geek speak for at least another week.

Still lots of things to do though. Library visits, drama classes and of course Brownies.

The bus.

I am back on them after a few years break, and do you know it isn't that bad. They run past our house every ten minutes, and lucky for me, that particular bus goes in the directions that I need, so I haven't had the trauma (yet) of changing buses.

I also rather like the bus drivers. We play a game, the children and I. Every time we get on the bus we all say hello in loud, cheery voices to the bus driver, make comments about the weather and ask him how his day is going.

They. Love. It

Who knew that bus drivers are such sensitive souls? All they want is some one to love them just like every one else...even the ones who look grumpy can't fail to crack a smile when some one enquires to their well being.

I have also noticed that I am now firmly on the buses side. When I was a car driver, I huffed and tutted at the buses pulling out where they fancy, stop-starting down the road but now I am a passenger, and I roll my eyes at the silly car drivers nipping in and out of bus lanes and cutting us up on roundabouts.

Being on public transport, also means I am very much more in the public eye.

Which means that each day we venture out on the bus, I am engaged in conversation with a stranger about why my children are with me at 1pm on a Tuesday. Mostly it is the elderly who are brave enough to ask, and mostly they think it's a wonderful idea.

To my face anyway.

And the last positive - we've been in the house so much more which means we've made a start of my stash of things to do, which means a whole week of posts to come about the creative daring do's we've been up to.