Ideas and Bus Stations

We went for a walk in Lymm. 

Lymm's posh. Posey. No dog poo about. A bit la-di-da. 

The sort of place where you tell people in work you went for a walk - because just by having been there, you must by association, a Good Person. Their bus stops look like this:

The bus stops by us aren't wooden - there are a garish yellow tubular metal. Which means they aren't burnt to the ground, and as added bonus, you have the opportunity to receive a quick lesson in the most fashionable names for male and female genitalia while you wait for the Number 32. Win-win.

This bus stop in Lymm has a tiled roof. And sash windows. And that yellow paper in the window? An advert for ironing services. There wasn't even one little blob of chewy stuck under one of the fold down seats. Some people would call it quaint. I'd call it weird. But then I've always felt uncomfortable around people with principles.

After spending half an hour analysing a bus stop, Dave finally dragged me into the nerdily litter-less village centre. Thankfully, I was made to feel slightly more comfortable by the fact it was pouring with rain, and while walking around Lymm Dam, we managed to roll the pram through a blob of horse  manure (like I said, no dog poo in these parts). Scraping the stuff out of the wheel treads with a wet leaf wrapped around a twig, really took the edge off the place for me.

Calmer and soaked to the skin, we went into a cafe for a brew and a round of toast.

After trying to kick the last of the manure from the pram tyre before entering, we took up a spot in the window, and unpacked the series of items necessary to facilitate Boo's mealtime. I gave the waitress The Poop's food and milk to warm, and perused the menu while she popped it behind the counter.
Before I could stop myself, I had exclaimed, at the very top of my voice "Crumpets with jam and butter - six quid?! They're 59p a PACKET in Spar". Looking up, I saw Dave staring hard at me. The waitress, now standing immediately behind me, had returned, wearing an awkward expression, to take our order. Painfully enough, we could not leave immediately, Betty's food now hostage behind the counter, and my indignant streak forcing me to order "Two teas only, please".

After creating an atmosphere you could cut with a knife, Dave and I scolded our throats gulping back our tea, threw Betty's dinner at her, and left to a chorus of tuts, sighs and head shakes from the local patrons.

We had to pass that bus stop walking back to the car. I drew a tiny pair of boobs on the back of the ironing paper with a biro.
That'll show 'em.