trying to tell the poor girl working the cafeteria counter at Lumm services on the M52 at 10 on a Tuesday night how to make a long black that doesnt make you want to lick your own armpits afterwards.
That particular realisation added to lifes valuable lessons learned, the rest of the inexplicably long night bus trip from Manchester to Dublin to traverse. It is a peculiarity of the British bus system that negotiating a distance that would still leave you inside the metropolitan Sydney limits, somehow takes all night.
In the midst of this, the eerly post-apocalyptic experience of wandering a 51,000 tonne car ferry that is completely deserted. Queue implausable b-movie zombie backstory.
A little disquieted and red-eyed, 2 am consolation of a pint or two of guinness as we head of into the inky black of the Irish sea.
Dublin awaits.
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