The delicious smell of Cornish pasty permeated the waiting room as we sat. There were 4 of them in Rosie's bag, each wrapped in foils for warmth. No doubt the other patrons in the little room were wondering, now what is that amazing aroma ..?
Rosie and I chatted and laughed until at last the bus arrived. As we all tramped aboard, it was clear that the other patrons knew one another. Good natured joking was bandied about, the ladies calling out, "Hiya! You alright?"
"Oh yes, can't complain! Bob's working again." Smiling.
The bus became full, and my husband rose to offer his seat to a lady. And so I had another companion. She spoke to someone nearby, and then I asked, "Excuse me, but do you know the best way to walk the beach from Penzance to Marazion?"
"Oh, yes, there is an easy way to do it! Just get off at Long Rock and then go up and over the rail line, down the lane, and cross over and then you will find the beach. It's as simple as that."
She added a few other instructions that didn't sound terribly simple to me, but it was good information. Rosie and Ted were going to try it. The nice lady said, "I'll tell you when we get to Long Rock, and don't forget to just go up and over the rail line...." and so on.
As we rode along, she told me the reason she was on this bus. "I woke up this morning and couldn't believe it. You wouldn't believe it either - we were OUT OF MILK!" She appeared to be nonplussed by this dilemma. "It's the worst thing to wake up to," she exclaimed.
I agreed with this conclusion, and told her that it had happened to me lots of times. "Was it a surprise that you were out?" I queried.
"Oh yes, when I went to bed last night there was definitely milk. When I woke up this morning, it was clean GONE. I think my son drank it ..."
"Oh," I said. "What a pity!" I could feel her pain. When you wake up and make the coffee, and pour your cereal, anticipating the taste of these things, there is no ruder awakening than to the fact that the milk has disappeared. Honestly. This must be a universal problem, no matter what country you live in.
"And," she continued, "I had to get on this bus, which was a half hour late, and go all that way to the Tesco, just to get the milk that my son drunk up. Hmph!"
At which juncture, the Tesco came into view and she gathered up her things.
"Thank you for your help!" I said as she stood.
A number of other bus patrons called out as she left the bus. You would have thought these people were all related, or something. Everyone was friendly. Everyone was laughing. It was a jolly kind of place.
I think Americans might be a whole lot happier if they ignored their cars and climbed aboard a public bus now and then; rode down to the local to get the milk their son 'drunk up'. Some walls might come down; some worries might be lifted; camaraderie could set in. Just maybe.
And I can tell you something else that would make them happier. Get ready for it:
CORNISH PASTIES. There's nothing better.
See you along the way!
photo credit: <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/44891124@N08/12878221183/">simon835</a> via <a href="http://photopin.com">photopin</a> <a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/2.0/">cc</a>
photo credit: <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/33037982@N04/6396720481/">wallygrom</a> via <a href="http://photopin.com">photopin</a> <a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0/">cc</a>
photo credit: <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/86571141@N00/311152819/">podchef</a> via <a href="http://photopin.com">photopin</a> <a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/2.0/">cc</a>