Tim Dowling: Wine, Women and a night bus ride

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Posted by: Newswalle

My wife and I run for the bus, on the way to a 50th birthday party in Oxford. I further out, just before the doors close. Panting, we took our seats while the bus lurches towards stopped traffic.

"We will never get there," says my wife.

It gets worse: It was outside Oxford was a crash, and the police closed the A40. The pilot announces that they diverted us through somewhere.

"Southampton?" my wife asks. "Did he just say Southampton?"

"I do not think so," I say. "That would be around the long way."

My wife is not satisfied, and turns to the man across the aisle. "Southampton said?" She asks.

The man smiles politely.

The detour takes us to the edge of Oxford, which shifts the bus and head back to London. "Where are we going now?" my wife screaming.

"In order to stop before," I say. "The park and ride."

"Why are we doing this?" She asks.

"Because people have left their cars there," I say.

Again, you are not satisfied. She's trying to get the front man, and the man sitting behind him in a mutiny. You are sympathetic, but are reluctant to commit. This, it seems, is that the two down into the Park and Ride.

"Look," he says as they are. "With their cars. Where is my lift?"

We are only an hour late to the party, but you have a little too early to leave to catch the bus home. My wife hires two attendants, both women, among the guests, so they can continue to laugh and clap and wait can drink. "You come back with us," he says. "We need to get some wine."

"I do not think you are allowed to drink on the bus," I say.

"Oh, shut up," she says. "Come on."

He simply disappeared to midnight; the first bar that we should not serve. I'm back, as the three women to plead move from negotiation to bribery.

"I can not," says the woman behind the counter. "We are on CCTV."

When I opened walk from pub to pub, I fall back. By the time I reached them, have secured an open bottle of white wine and four glasses. "Where did you get that?" , I ask.

"Do not ask," says my wife. "Keep Walking".

The bottle rests upright in a travel bag and cover it with a handkerchief. When we got to the street, we can see to drive our bus. Again, we are forced to run.

The upper deck of the bus is sparsely populated and quiet; most of the other passengers seem to sleep. By the back seat, dim interior lighting.

"Not the atmosphere I expected," says our friend. "Do not worry."

"Uh-oh," says my wife, a face, extract the empty wine bottle in the pocket.

"Oh, no!" another friend says.

"Surprisingly," says my wife, "which landed in the glasses." You will draw in a row to four glasses filled bag. It's like a magic trick.

"What luck," says the first man. "Cheers".

It was only later I realized that my wife had just the Wine splash rose from the bottom of the bag, dodging floating lips two bars and a banana. He took a cautious sip of my clear glass and hear the gossip about three other guests at the party, the conversation occasionally interrupted by cheers.

"Maybe we have to be a little loud," my wife said soon. We have, located down the aisle of the bus in the minds in the dark.

"Do not worry," the second friend says. "Everyone is affected."

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