I Bus diary continued (1980 ish)
I did once invite a gentleman I’d just met on the bus inside the flat but it wasn’t a very good idea, as we’d already been for an orange juice (he drank coffee but I had given it up for Lent) and conversation was getting a little awkward though more fascinating moment by moment. He was half Indian, half Turkish, had a Polish girlfriend and a Polish landlord – of course – so could recognise what I had been reading. (i wish i Icould remember what it was )He also had a briefcase full of TS Eliot and other poetical works, I had observed, so again I was not amazed to discover he was a teacher, too. But then I began to feel, intuitively as yet, that the girlfriend might not be entirely happy, so I told him to go home. A little abrupt, perhaps, but honesty is the best policy – or is it my sheltered upbringing again? He did have a beautiful speaking voice, and if all other circumstances had been different, I might have been susceptible. As it is, I can hardly call him one of my bus friends, for he has changed his job and no longer uses this most sociable of routes. I suppose he was what one might term a pleasant interlude. Intelligent, interesting – but perhaps a little too intimate.
(Looking back I cannot remember what I meant. Over the years I have given him the name Brian whenever I thought of him – which hasn’t been all that often. No offence to any other Brians I may know!