'Time Waits For No Man' by Ruth Allen-Humphreys

 

They say a watched pot never boils but they never mention kettles. It would have been quicker if there’d been less water, but it was tea for two. I watched in horror as the bus sped past without me on it. I was late, for a very important date. I waited, and then three more came at once. This was a blessing in disguise because it meant I travelled a new route, enjoyed a change of scenery and, as my pulse slowed, I found that a change is as good as a rest.

 

A lone magpie signalled sorrow; roadworks took us to the back of beyond. When my bus got in, I hit the ground running, resisting the temptation to look for my missing watch in my bag; I didn’t have the time. I burst into the meeting, better late than never I suppose, but my sweaty appearance did nothing to inspire confidence.

 

I locked eyes with my nemesis. I couldn’t think why they’d hired him. Between you, me, and the gatepost, I wouldn’t have touched him with a barge pole. Except of course he’d arrived on time and didn’t look like he’d been dragged through a hedge backwards. Putting aside my irritation, I concentrated on getting through the rest of the day.

 

At the bus stop, heading home, it seemed my luck had changed. A car pulled up; the window lowered. ‘His’ head popped out and offered me a lift. Gritting my teeth, I accepted; beggars can’t be choosers and I didn’t want to cut my nose off to spite my face. All I wanted was to climb the wooden hill to Bedfordshire, arrive in the land of nod and put the longest day, (the actual longest day; June 21^st) behind me. After all, tomorrow is another day.