half-term

We pulled in to a bus stop graced by a mother attending to three curly haired girls, all younger than 8, I guess. She wiped the mouth of the youngest with a spit-dampened cloth, while the oldest ignored beckons and drifted further from the shelter. A day out with the kids. It was half term, and the bus was teaming with mothers and sons and daughters on their way into the city centre, shopping and ice cream and playing in the Piccadilly water fountains. A guy across from me was reading his Bible. It was one of those red hardback ‘church-pew-standard-issue’ types, although if I had to guess I would have said he didn’t go to a church with pews, but rather to one with a pale blue carpet and lots of stackable chairs.