Well, last night I had to change my left rear tyre at 21h30 under the colourful flags of the R24 on may way back from OR. You can imagine how relieved I was to discover that I actually owned a wheel spanner and a jack! Not to mention that I knew how to use them. But the lights were bright, and the night was balmy and I felt very empowered and even more relieved that nobody stopped.
That part of the city is very odd on a Sunday night. Huge vehicles with flashing orange lights drive at snail’s pace – I kid you not – in convoy on mysterious paths that are somehow accessible to only them. Sometimes they drive on the actual highway but then there are arrows, again, in orange lights, that indicate that one should rather take the fast lane or be stuck out there till the birds wake up. I thought that was an important lesson. Especially as I am feeling age creeping up on me like a down duvet. Nice and warm now, but just a hot flush away from extreme discomfort.
Anyway. The ghost of The Golden Girls is in the air (two down…) and yes, I say, take the fast lane. Forty-five years (my remaining-time estimate, based on the fact that my grandfather made it to 85 smoking 60 a day, and although I don’t smoke AND I eat an obscene amount of greens, my 20’s and most of my 3o’s were irresponsibly toxic) is a long time, it might be a good idea to hurry. Although I suspect at the end of it there might be a restraining order against me from the Metrobus company preventing me from hanging out at bus shelters and hobbling into the paths of oncoming vehicles.
But anyway. Monday morning. Time to get on the road.