|Picture from HERE|
As I am newish to this area, I thought I would take the bus to Cirencester, for fear I would not find a parking spot. The journey took about 35-40 minutes. The bus was not as clean as I am used to and did not have free wifi.
Anyways I was enjoying the view, yellow rapseed fields, horses with their heads over gates, lots of little houses that looked like scenes from Larkrise to Candleford.
Two men got on in builders work wear and sat behind me, laughing at pictures on their mobiles.
I felt a tug on my hair when I turned the page on my kindle. I ignored it. I turned the next page. There was the tug again.
I turned and glared at the men, gave them my 'evil eye' look and turned back to my book. They were both plugged into their phones, probably listening to music and reading face book or something.
The bus carried on, twisting and turning, bumping over the pot holes and onwards to Cirencester.
More people got on to the bus, I moved over and an old man sat down next to me.
The bus carried on. I turn the page on my book. THERE WAS THE TUG AGAIN.
I threw my head around and glared at them and said in a really loud voice, "quit touching my hair!". Both men looked at each other and then at me. One held his hands palms out to me, "I didnt touch you!". Ok, I thought they wont do it again now, turned back to my book.
About 5 minutes later the bus arrived in Cirencester. I got off the bus and headed to Blackjack Street. I met my Friend who is now on maternity leave and her Mother was giving her some 'Me Time'. I told her about the bus. "God", she said. "It makes it so you dont want to use public transport".
We went to go into a shop to look at some pictures after a cup of tea. I lifted my arm to push the door open. I felt a tug on my hair. I looked at my Friend and rolled my eye.
"What?" she said.
"My hair, I know I am vain about it, dont pull it", I said with a sigh, rubbing my scalp where it now hurt.
"I didnt touch it, honest", she replied.
Inside the shop I pulled my bag in front of me, so as to not touch anything valuable. My hair tugged again, holding fast it really smarted. I pulled my bag strap over my head, my Friend looked at me like I had bees attacking me. "My hair is trapped", I whined.
And with that she went around the back of me, "raise your arms above your head!", she demanded. I was now red in the face as the man behind the counter had been ignoring us, but was obviously thinking we were complete lunatics.
And in one swift move she freed my hair. It was caught in the arm pit breathing vents of my sailing jacket.
It is now clear that I need to cut my hair, it is nearly to my waist when blow dried straight.
To the men on the bus, I apologise, for shouting at you. I am sorry, I am an idiot.