Never Let It Be Said

that I don't use public transport. 

The Isle of Lewis has, for a rural area, a pretty good bus service. Some people may not agree but then they don't they are unlikely to have ever lived in a similarly remote area of, say, rural France or Italy.  

It is strange that so many people equate 'public transport' with bus services. Someone once 'accused' me of never using public transport. I pointed out that, on the contrary, I flew everywhere and often used a train to complete my journeys. On the Island, though, my car is my lifeline. I'm far too busy to wait for buses and, if I'm truthful, I'm not yet willing to change my lifestyle to suit bus timetables. That time may, on the assumption that I am fortunate to get older and that there are still buses, arrive.

However, yesterday, Anna and I (I'm down in Glasgow for three weeks for hospital appointments and some socialising in between) went into the City Centre on a bus. We returned on a bus too. I have to admit that it was quite a painless experience. It was also considerably less expensive (to the extent that it was free using my Scottish Entitlement Card) and I didn't have to pay the usual £8+ parking fee. On the downside we had to put off any 'big' shopping until another time. 

For those who don't know, this is a bus - the bus we came back to Anna's on actually:

I should be in hospital tomorrow for a routine op so it may be a few days before I'm back in Blogland.

The Bus Service

When I came to Lewis all those years ago I never imagined that I'd be here for more than a couple of years. There are a thousand reasons why I am still here and why I probably always will make this my home when I'm in the UK. To be honest I can think of no place in the UK that I'd rather be. So why have I suddenly embarked upon this rather odd posting? It's all to do with services and, in particular, bus services.

All those years ago Mum remarked that we were very isolated on the Island and, even more so, in Back. She wondered what we would do when we got old. I pointed out that we lived 100 yards from a post office and general shop and, later, a petrol station, garage, hairdresser and chemist. If that was not enough the bus passed our door and the convention was that you stood at the gate and the bus stopped and deposited you back at your house after your travels. The system pertains today except that the bus services are much better.

For the last 15 years I have lived in a village with no shop except for a post office. However the bus comes to my door - well to within 12 yards of my gate - where it turns. I think the service starts at 0700 and carries on until about 2300 from Town. I'm not sure how frequent it is but it's probably hourly - perhaps more in the 'rush hours' when it takes children to school. If I chose to take one of the many services each day I could be deposited in the centre of town or the Co-op (slightly out of the centre if you find walking hard) or the Hospital.

It wouldn't cost me anything either because I'm over 60. Scottish residents over 60 travel free by bus anywhere in Scotland.

The irony of Mum's concern was that long before she left Broad Green there were few shops left nearby and the few that she may have needed were on the other side of the motorway junction and reached by a long and rather unsavoury underpass. It's hard to believe that, when I was a child, what is now a six lane motorway was a road on a single carriageway bridge over a railway. As for taking a bus, many years ago I decided to leave my car at Mum and Dad's and go into the City on one. It was a big mistake: they were scarcer than hen's teeth.

Idea, Buses, Busses and Missing Blogs

It was never an idea set in stone that I should post on this Blog every day as I attempted to do in New Zealand. There I was both trying to let friends know what I was up to and inform them about the wonderful country in which I was living. It didn't really occur to me that when I came back to the UK that experience would make me look more closely at where I am and what I'm doing and how it might be made to look, or even be, interesting to others. I didn't realise just how it would heighten my awareness of the apparently everyday things around me. It helps, of course, that CJ's blogs are always so observant of his surroundings or books or - well, you name it.

Anyway this morning I was thinking to myself as I did a few emails, scanned in some more slides, listened to some more music, pondered on the weather (again), looked at the changing beauty of the land and seascapes visible from the study (they would be even more visible if the blind wasn't partly drawn against the bright sun but then I suppose that's partly ameliorated by the fact that the door is wide open because at 0900 it's 20 deg on the north wall of the study which, I would remind readers in the southern hemisphere, is the 'cold' wall of the house), listened to the birds (and pondered on whether sparrows had a 'standard speed of flight') and wondered what to have for breakfast. What was I thinking all those words ago? I was thinking that not very much had happened to blog about. How silly is that? When there is so much. But I couldn't get any ideas to germinate. And then they hit me. And I thought of buses and the calculations we did at Uni on statistical probability - or something to do with why buses all end up coming at once.

Perhaps I could do a blog on spellings - the Portuguese have apparently decided to rationalise their spellings and I couldn't decide whether it is 'busses' or 'buses' (it's either or both).

CJ always (and I think that always means always) has a little notebook with him and is constantly jotting notes in it. He is, I think, the would-be diarist of old and is, in fact, by using blogs the modern equivalent. So I decided that I would use a notebook too because by the time I'd got to a pen and paper such ideas as I do ever have have long fled the brain. So this morning when I was having my shower.......