The Bus Trip

Last night I got a new council house built for myself by my father (who built council houses). Dreaming of him a lot these days. It was a large affair with dozens of others all the same. There was a number 147 double decker bus waiting to take me to the house which was also number 147. I walked from the bus to the new house through a desert of mud cliffs, all with deep caves plunging into the bowels of the earth. Not your usual housing scheme environment. It was as if the land had yet to be formed into parks for hoodies and co-op shops etc.
I was pleased that I got the right bus just as I was absurdly pleased in reality the other night when I caught the 7.15pm, number 22 bus, from Menzieshill, Dundee, to the West Port, on my own, and without incident.