Freaky Friday

Mrs Nunn has travelled a lot. She has even travelled alone. This astounds me. Because Mrs Nunn has no "traveller's radar". Those of you who frequently travel alone will know immediately what I mean. For those of you who don't... Your traveller's radar is always on when you're in a strange place. It's a sixth sense that tells you if a certain street is likely to have a cafe on, or leads to a red light district. (In my time, I've done both.) It tells you which person on the bus is likely to be a freak who spends their entire journey arguing with their left hand. It makes you conscious about the times you need to keep your bag close by. It is perhaps the most useful travelling tool there is.

Mrs Nunn was born without this radar.

Case in point: we're off to Niagara Falls via a Greyhound bus. Anyone who has ever been to the USA or Canada will know immediately that Greyhound bus stations tend to attract the crazies. Port Authority bus station in NYC is the only place in New York that has ever made me feel genuinely uncomfortable. Still, we bought our tickets and went for breakfast in a cafe next door.

We ordered. We went to grab a seat. "Let's sit here!" exclaimed Mrs Nunn. She sat down. Right next to a woman whose trousers were round her ankles (and was wearing - unfortunately - no underwear). The lady had compensated for her lack of underwear with a sprightly sprig of leaves in her hair. I say "sprig" - it was more of a small tree. Still, I suppose it did the trick, and distracted me - momentarily - from her genitals.

"How about we sit here, instead?" I asked and guided Mrs Nunn to the other side of the cafe. Mrs Nunn wasn't happy as our new seats weren't as comfortable. Eventually I pointed out the unusually-attired lady. Whom she hadn't even seen.

Don't even start me on the coffee maker story.

So we're leaving Canada at midnight, and then - if the flight is on time - I'm bombing jetlaggedly up the M1 to attend a ten-year high school reunion. I suspect a Plog may follow. Though I have to be careful as my Plog is linked to my Facebook page, and I've already been pulled up twice on my Annabelle stories by separate people who have (correctly) guessed her identity... Luckily they laughed along, but apparently I'm not as subtle as I thought. Who knew?