On the day:
02/11/2011
On the way:
'2015' he murmurs to himself, incomprehensibly, in a low growl that the the local mutts might take as an offer of fisticuffs. There's more - gripes along the lines of 'Come on let's go' exhorting the driver to get a move on; the occasional ungrateful 'About time' when the bus pulls out - but mostly its too soft for even the hounds to make out actual words, if indeed they exist. In fact, the rumbling doesn't stop.
He not a small man, dark eyes staring disapprovingly out of a fleshy face topped with an outstanding mass of curly wet-sandy brown hair. His upper body is swathed in arctic fleece - black for the sweatshirt, olive green for the jacket - slate-grey trousers with the occasional white smudge cover his legs and he has light brown leather loafers on his feet.
Burger bun hands rest in his lap, but every time the bus stops his bright red upmarket supermarket Chistmas bag swings from fingers tipped with pointed nails as his torso lurches forward, squeezing a monosyllable from his lips.
You can hear that one. It starts with a 'c'.
On the pod:
Undivided - Bon Jovi
On the front page:
Hangover patch is 'a license to booze' (Metro)
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