Where loos are killed

Being an experienced coach traveller by now, I knew that departure times should never be taken too seriously. Indeed, my flatmate told me that when she was young, she used to live between Galway and Dublin. The coach would leave Galway at no specific time - it would depart when it was full. Obviously very inconvenient for all the ones in between Galway and Dublin. They could spend hours waiting at the bus stop until a coach showed up. Well - and sometimes it wouldn't come at all because the bus driver had decided to take another road.
So - I knew that! What I didn't know was that bus numbers too shouldn't be taken too seriously. To get to Killaloe, I was told to take coach 323. When I showed my ticket to the bus driver, however, he said: "Oh no, you should have taken the bus that is just leaving there!" Great, the last bus on that day (there are only two on a Saturday!) and I missed it. No, I didn't. The bus driver started honking until the other one stopped, quite irritated. When I entered bus 345 (!), I realised that I could be glad that the driver had even heard the honk. He was listening to Irish folk music and singing happily along. And how wicked it was to drive in a city bus on Ireland's country roads...
Killaloe is charming - and full of racing kids. Horrified I stared at a black car speeding towards me. It passed. An old and doddery man waiting at the bus stop sniggered: "Won't be living long, huhu, won't be living long." The Irish definitely have a relaxed way of dealing with death!

When I passed the bus stop one hour later, the man was still waiting.



Don't forget: new quiz, new quote.