A range of digitalised destination boards – three to be precise, all heading Frank’s way. Frank took the first, and what turned out to be the worst choice. The slow bus that seem to travel half way around southern England before arriving at the place where he was supposed to be.
The continuing sunshine did nothing to improve the situation: it had tricked Frank into leaving home without a coat when an easterly wind arrived and cut through him. Which didn’t take long, what with Frank being so terribly thin that even some of his enemies worried about him.
This wind was just another piece of psychic ammunition that the day had decided to hurl at him.
If anything could go wrong, it would.
An endless series of low level disruptions that threatened to tip Frank over the EDGE.
In fact, things were so bad that Frank was wondering where the EDGE was so that he could tip himself over without any further pushing.
Take this morning.
The first bus didn’t arrive.
The second bus finally arrived twenty minutes late.
An old man on board lost his temper and shouted at the herd of students who’d invaded the bus like a cattle stampede. If cattle carried mobile phones and listened to rap music sans headphones. If cattle were dumb enough to buy single tickets when they needed returns and had to go clattering down the spiral staircase and go through the whole rigmarole of getting the driver to change the tickets which held things up for another twenty minutes and Frank was late for a very important meeting and felt like someone had placed a cinder block on his breastbone.
From now on, Frank vowed that he would study destination boards more carefully.