You catch the driver’s eye, and a nod from him can fix your day. Just the tiniest tilt: you’re seen. You hop on, tap your card with ceremony, and claim a good seat. You feel part of the route. That nod is your ticket.
Upbeat
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The Driver’s Blessing
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City on a Tablet, Granpa on the Sofa
I’ve supported Man City for fifty-eight years, maybe more. I haven’t got Sky this season, but today I can watch on my son-in-law’s tablet while the girls put on a film. Volume low, subtitles on (me, not them). I’ll sit between blankets and crumbs, one eye on the score, the other on their cartoon plot. At sixty-three, I’ll take it: the girls first, City second.