Tag Archives: 84x

Morning Routine

The bus arrives just after seven, having sat tantalisingly close at the traffic lights just twenty yards away for over one minute, since the lights at Roches Pharmacy are the worst co-ordinated ones in the developed world (the undeveloped world don’t have traffic lights at all, and let me tell them they’re not missing much). I climb the stairs, fall (fairly literally) into the seat I usually occupy these days and put the ticket back into my wallet and then lift one butt-cheek off the seat while I slide the wallet back into my pocket. Then I open my man’s handbag backpack, take out my netbook and remove it from its little sleeping-bag . I turn it on, place it onto the seat beside me and, while it is slowly waking up (am I the only one who thinks computers used to come on more quickly?) I take my glasses and my iPod from my coat, then take off said coat. The netbook proudly announces itself ready with that embarrassing and horrible Windows7 greeting by then, so I type in the password (“bumber”, from an old Tinhouse story) then wince as it mades its final “I’m awake” squawk.
I put on my glasses, make sure to put the case somewhere where I won’t be able to find it when I get near the other end, put the iPod in my ears (no, not all of it, obviously) and turn it on.
I bundle my coat so as to make a table for the netbook, try it, find it’s not right, the netbook slips forward. I re-arrange the bundle and try it again. Then again. Finally I get it into a position where I can type without having to hold the netbook with one hand (God knows I’m slow enough already).
By this time we have just reached the roundabout at the bottom of the hill between Greystones and Bray so I cling to the netbook for dear life (its dear life, it was very dear) while the bus sweeps left onto the roundabout, drives right around it and then swings left off it). We start our journey along the Southern Cross Road.
Seven minutes have elapsed since the bus first hove (what’s the present tense of that?) into view at my bus stop, but as last I am ready to write.
If only I had something to write about.